↪️Or the time you nearly gave Leon a heart attack.
The Locker and The Lickers
The facility had turned into a maze the deeper you and Leon moved through it.
What had once been organized laboratories and storage corridors had collapsed into a tangle of broken walls, emergency lighting, and sealed containment doors that opened into places neither of you had planned to explore. Somewhere along the way, in the confusion after the spider incident and the blast from the grenade, the two of you had gotten separated.
Leon had taken one hallway.
You had taken another.....And now you were hiding in a metal locker.
Your knees were tucked tightly to your chest, the oversized tactical boots Leon had found for you awkwardly wedged against the metal interior. The locker smelled like rust and old cleaning chemicals, and the thin ventilation slits near the top barely let in any air.
You were trying very hard not to breathe too loudly.
Somewhere in the corridor outside, footsteps echoed.Not the slow dragging of zombies, no these, these were quick.
Erratic.
Human.
You squeezed your eyes shut as tried to stop your body from shaking.
Please let that be Leon, oh please let that be your husband.
The locker door suddenly rattled.
You froze.
A moment later the metal door was yanked open violently.
A wild-eyed woman in a torn Umbrella lab coat stared down at you.
Her hair was tangled, her face smeared with grease and blood, and her expression carried the manic intensity of someone who had not slept in days.
For a split second, both of you simply stared at each other.
Then you screamed.
The woman screamed.
She grabbed your arm and yanked you out of the locker.You flailed instinctively, your fist shot forward and landed squarely in her throat.
The woman gagged violently.
You had absolutely no training in combat, but panic had apparently decided you were now a professional.
You followed the throat punch with a wild kick as the boot connected with her shin.
The woman staggered backward, clutching her throat.
“What the hell is wrong with you?!” you shouted.
The woman recovered quickly and lunged toward you again, snarling like an animal.
Before she could reach you, something dropped from the ceiling behind her.
A Licker.
A fucking Licker
The creature landed on her shoulders with a shriek, its claws digging into her lab coat as it clung to her back. The sudden weight knocked the woman off balance immediately.
She stumbled backward.
You screamed again.
The woman flailed wildly as the Licker’s long tongue whipped through the air.
In her panic she staggered straight into a large industrial machine mounted along the wall.
A body disposal grinder.
Her elbow slammed against the control switch.
The machine roared to life.
There was a horrible mechanical grinding noise.
The woman shrieked.
Then....
Well.
Things escalated quickly.
You covered your mouth in horror as the machine did exactly what it had clearly been designed to do.
The Licker jumped free just before the worst of it happened and vanished back into the ceiling vents crawling away, nails clinking.
The hallway fell quiet again except for the grinding motor slowly winding down.
You stood there frozen. “…Oh my god.” Your voice was barely a whisper.
The locker door behind you creaked slightly.
Footsteps approached from the opposite end of the hallway.
Leon rounded the corner a moment later, gun raised and flashlight scanning.
His eyes landed on you instantly.
“Hey!”
He jogged over quickly.
“Are you okay?”
You nodded weakly, still staring at the machine.
Leon grabbed your shoulders and quickly looked you over, checking for injuries.
“You’re not hurt?"
“No.”
He looked relieved, then he followed your gaze.Leon looked at the grinder.There was a pause.
“…Huh.”
You turned to him slowly, giving him a weak smile as you swallowed thickly. “Is she okay?”
Leon blinked.
Then looked back at the machine.
Then back at you.
“.....No.”
He shook his head.
“No… she is not okay....she got turned into paste babe."
You looked horrified. “Leon! Someone just turned into mush!”
Leon rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly,clearing out his throat“Yeah.”
You gestured wildly at the machine. “That’s horrible!”
Leon sighed slightly. “Yeah, well… I can’t rewind time.”
You stared at him.
He shrugged.“Besides, she was a horrible person.”
You blinked.
“What?” Leon gestured vaguely toward the Umbrella insignia on the shredded lab coat caught in the machine. “Umbrella scientist.”
You looked back at the grinder again.“…Still!”
Leon tilted his head thoughtfully. “Well,” he added after a moment, “on the bright side…”
You glared at him. “There is no bright side.”
Leon pointed toward the disposal unit. “…She’s technically becoming dog food now.”
You gasped. “LEON!”
Leon raised both hands defensively. “What?”
You smacked his arm. “Someone just died!”
Leon sighed and holstered his gun. “I know.”
You crossed your arms. “That’s not funny.”
Leon looked at the hallway.
Then at you.
“…You throat punched her.”
“She pulled me out of a locker!”
Leon nodded slowly. “That’s fair.”
You sighed, running your hands through your hair, your eyes closing as you wrapped your arms around your stomach. “I just wanted to come with my husband to work.”
Leon wrapped an arm gently around your shoulders and started guiding you away from the grinder.
“Next time,” he said calmly, “we’re staying home.”
You pointed accusingly at him. “You said this was an easy job!”
Leon paused. “…Compared to the spider, this has actually been pretty average.”
The situation had become… strange, the more you and Leon explored.
The man had come here expecting a standard containment sweep. A few wandering infected, maybe one or two mutated creatures that had survived the shutdown of the lab. Something routine he could handle before finally transitioning into a quiet desk job.
Instead, the building you two were trudging through now looked like a battlefield, and you were responsible for most of it.
Not intentionally.....But technically.
Leon stood in the middle of one of the facility’s loading corridors staring down at the remains of what had once been another Licker. The creature lay sprawled across the concrete floor beneath a collapsed shelving rack that had clearly not been designed to fall from that angle.
He slowly turned his flashlight toward you.
You stood several feet away, holding a loose metal pipe in one hand like it had personally betrayed you.
Your expression was defensive. “That one was not my fault.”
Leon blinked slowly. “You swung the pipe.”
“I tripped!”
“You tripped into the pipe.”
“Yes!”
“You tripped… into the pipe… which then knocked over a crumbling wall… which crushed a Licker.”
You gestured wildly. “It's an old wall!!”
Leon stared at the wreckage again. “…Thats the third one."
You lifted your chin stubbornly. “I am not counting.”
Leon snorted and continued walking. "I sure as hell am."
The next hallway smelled strongly of chemical residue and damp concrete. Emergency lights flickered along the walls, casting jagged shadows across the floor. The two of you moved cautiously forward, Leon sweeping the flashlight ahead while you clomped behind him in the oversized boots that still hadn’t stopped squeaking.
Something scraped above you, Leon stopped instantly.
“Don’t move,” he whispered.
You froze.
Both of you slowly looked up.
Another Licker clung to the ceiling above the corridor, its claws dug deep into the metal support beams as its long tongue flicked through the air.
You inhaled sharply.
Your foot shifted.
The squeaky boot slid on a patch of spilled chemical residue.
You windmilled your arms wildly.
“I’m falling—”
Your elbow slammed into a dangling cable that had been hanging from a broken light fixture.
The cable yanked loose.
A heavy industrial lamp dropped from the ceiling.
The lamp landed directly on the Licker’s head.
There was a loud metallic CRUNCH.
The creature collapsed onto the floor in a twitching heap, blood splattering everywhere.
Silence.
You stared at it.
Leon stared at it.
You slowly straightened. “…Okay that one might be my fault.”
Leon lowered his flashlight slightly. “…Four.”
You pointed accusingly at the ceiling. “It was hanging weird!”
Leon didn’t even argue this time, he just kept walking.
A few minutes later the two of you entered a narrow stairwell that connected the upper labs to the storage levels below. The metal stairs groaned under Leon’s boots as he started down carefully.
You followed behind him.
Halfway down the steps you caught your toe on the edge of one of the oversized boots.
Your arms flailed. “Leon—!”. You grabbed the railing to stop yourself from tumbling.Unfortunately the railing was loose. It ripped free from the wall.
The entire metal bar clanged down the stairwell like a falling battering ram.
At the bottom of the stairs, another Licker had been creeping slowly through the corridor, minding its own business, the railing struck it squarely across the skull.
The creature collapsed instantly.
Leon slowly turned around on the stairs.
You stood there still clutching the broken end of the railing.
“…Five.”
You looked horrified.“I didn’t even see that one!”
Leon rubbed his forehead. “Didn't say you did."
You dropped the railing piece. “Are these things just… following me now?”
Leon tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’m starting to think you might be a biohazard.”
You glared at him. “This is your fault.”
“How.”
“You brought me here!”
Leon sighed. "If I recall you hid in the back seat of my car."
"That's beside the point."
The two of you reached the lower lab corridor where the fluorescent lights flickered violently above rows of sealed storage rooms.
A loud screech echoed through the hallway.
Another Licker burst from a side vent and leapt toward the floor ahead of you.
You screamed and instinctively grabbed the nearest object to defend yourself.
It was a rolling lab cart.
You shoved it.
Hard.
The cart rolled forward with surprising speed.The wheels hit a patch of loose glass and the entire cart tipped forward.The heavy equipment stacked on top of it came crashing down.
Right onto the Licker.
The creature disappeared beneath a pile of microscopes, metal trays, and shattered containers.
Leon stared. You stared.
"Six.” Leon coughed into his hand.
You threw your hands into the air. "I DIDN’T EVEN TOUCH IT!”
Leon crouched down and nudged the pile with his boot. “…You absolutely touched it.”
You groaned loudly. "This is ridiculous!”
Leon stood again, shaking his head. "You’ve killed more Lickers tonight than half the strike teams I’ve worked with.”
You crossed your arms. “I’m not proud of that.”
Leon gave you a sideways look. “You should be.”
You squinted at him. “I feel like you’re judging me.”
Leon smirked. “I’m impressed.”
You looked down the hallway suspiciously. “…Are there more of them?”
As if answering the question, another scraping sound echoed through the ventilation system above. Leon slowly looked up.You slowly looked up.Both of you sighed at the same time.
Leon gestured ahead. “After you.”
You immediately shook your head. “No.”
Leon grinned. "You’re on a roll.”
The deeper you and Leon moved into the facility, the more the place started to look like a bizarre crime scene where gravity, loose equipment, and your questionable balance had all conspired against the building’s remaining biohazards. Broken shelving units leaned against the walls. A ventilation grate hung half open from when a Licker had attempted to ambush you and instead been crushed by a falling light fixture. Somewhere further down the hall a faint chemical leak hissed quietly from a damaged pipe.
Leon stepped cautiously around a puddle of something glowing faintly green on the floor while sweeping his flashlight slowly across the corridor.
You walked beside him in the oversized tactical boots, which still squeaked every few steps and occasionally made you wobble like you were learning how to walk again.
Neither of you spoke for a moment.Then something dropped from the ceiling ahead of you.
A Licker landed on the floor about ten feet away with a wet, scraping thud.
The creature crouched low, its exposed muscles flexing as its claws dug into the concrete. Its long tongue flicked outward as it tasted the air.
You froze.
Leon raised his handgun calmly.But before he could fire, something strange happened.
The Licker looked at you, or that is what you assumed as its body shifted. It's long tongue tasting the air.
Then it slowly… clicked backward.
The creature actually shuffled away a few inches, letting out a high-pitched shriek as if reconsidering its life choices.
You blinked. “…Wait.”
The Licker took another step backward. You stepped forward slightly.
The creature shrieked again and retreated further.
Your eyes widened. “ITS AFRAID OF ME?!”
Leon lowered the gun slightly and watched with interest. “Looks like it.”
You pointed at yourself in disbelief. "ME!?! THAT THING RIPS PEOPLE APART! AND IT IS AFRAID OF ME?" Your voice high.
You took another cautious step toward the creature to test it.
The Licker flinched and skittered backward again, claws scraping across the floor.
You turned toward Leon, absolutely baffled, your hand on your chest. “Why is it scared of me?!”
Leon thought about it for a moment, tilting his head slightly.
“Well…...”
You stared at him. “Well what?”
He gestured vaguely around the hallway. “You probably killed like half its family.”
You gasped. “LEON!”
The Licker shrieked again and scuttled another few feet away from you like it had just seen something deeply traumatic.
Leon lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I’m joking.”
You glared at him.
“Mostly,” Leon added casually.
You pointed angrily at the creature. "I did not intentionally kill anything! You stupid thing."
Leon nodded slowly. "No, you just accidentally committed mass Licker homicide.”
You crossed your arms. “That pipe was loose!,the pipe fell and the railing broke!”
“You threw a grenade.”
“That one was YOUR fault!”
The Licker shrieked again as you stepped forward another inch.
You noticed and pointed dramatically. “SEE?!”
The creature backed up so fast it nearly slipped on the concrete.
You stared at Leon in dissbelief. “IT’S TERRIFIED OF ME!”
Leon watched the situation unfold for another moment.
Then he calmly raised his gun. “Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. “I’d be nervous too.”
You opened your mouth to argue.
Leon fired.
The shot echoed sharply through the corridor.
The Licker dropped instantly.
You spun toward him in outrage. “LEON!”
He lowered the gun and holstered it like nothing unusual had just happened. “What?”
“It was scared!”
Leon gestured toward the hallway behind it. “It was also blocking the exit.”
You looked back at the creature.
Then at him.
“…I could’ve handled it.”
Leon snorted. “With what, your squeaky boots?”
You glared at him. “These boots have killed more monsters tonight than your gun.”
Leon paused, then nodded slowly. “…That’s actually a fair point.”
You looked smug, Leon started walking again down the hallway.
“You’re still not allowed to lead the mission.”
You stomped after him. “YOU LET ME LEAD THREE LICKERS AGO!”
“That was an accident!”
“And look how well that worked!”
Leon rubbed the back of his neck.“Honestly I’m still processing that part.” He then wrapped his arm around your hips. "Now let's please, get out of here alright."
And somewhere, very deep in the facility a group pf Lickers were shaking.
(You land a highly coveted position at the FOS and are immediately assigned to Leon Kennedy. As you learn more about him, you begin to see what lies beneath the gruff façade.)
Word Count: ~ 4.4k
Rating: T - minor angst but mostly just sweetness with a sprinkle of a yearning, old Leon
Author's Note: This is more of a character analysis of our older Leon than anything, and I am a little insecure if this is out of character, but I got super inspired by another post (I can't find anymore aagghh) about how this Leon would just melt into a significant other once he feels safe to do so and I CAN SEE THAT (don't tell the other entries but this one is my favorite). Hope you enjoy 💕
As you settled into your chair in the HUB, surrounded by other information operatives speaking with their agents, you couldn’t help but wonder if you better should have met yours beforehand. Especially considering it was your first day in the FOS.
You’d been told he had declined the introductory meeting and gone straight to the new mission instead – but not to worry, you’d see each other afterward, and he was generally very friendly. A bit resistant to advice, perhaps.
That hadn’t exactly filled you with confidence. As a new information operative, you could have used an easy field agent. Not that you weren’t used to headaches from your previous government position – only that there had been a good reason you’d applied internally for the FOS in the first place.
Your supervisor for the first few days – and the woman who had hired you – Ingrid Hunnigan took the desk beside you. She offered you an encouraging smile when she caught sight of your nervous expression.
“Don’t worry, really. Leon is a great guy once you warm up to one another. And this mission doesn’t have high stakes.”
The corner of your mouth twitched. “Thanks, Ingrid. But that’s usually what people say when the mission absolutely will have high stakes.”
She let out an amused huff. “With that kind of insight, you’ll handle Leon better than most.”
You made a soft sound of recognition. A brief silence passed between you, and for a moment you wondered whether this had been such a good idea after all. But Ingrid didn’t give you the option of backing out – she gestured toward your headset.
“Leon’s in the helicopter approaching the landing zone near Inverness. You know everything about the mission. Just guide him through it.”
Your throat remained dry despite the heavy swallow that followed. Your nerves didn’t calm under your resolute – if slightly forced – nod. You put on the headset, activating not only the intercom but also your outgoing image to your field agent’s comms device.
“Agent Kennedy, come in. This is your new IO.” You added your name at the end – a small attempt to build trust from the start.
On the large monitor in front of you flickered a map of Scotland. A red dot marked the helicopter’s position above Inverness, near Loch Ness.
Silence on the other end. No incoming image, either.
Your eyes grew dry from staring at the screen. You shot Ingrid an uncertain glance, but she was already absorbed in a conversation on her own headset.
Nervous energy fluttered in your stomach. You swallowed the filler word rising to your lips to ease the silence and instead remembered your training – and your position.
“Agent Kennedy, this is your information operative. Come in.”
When there was still no response, you tapped increasingly confused against your state-of-the-art microphone.
“Did I even turn it on?” you muttered to yourself.
“You did.”
The deep voice in your ear made you squeak in surprise. So much for calm professionalism.
At last, an incoming image appeared on your screen – and with it, the face of Agent Leon Kennedy.
A veteran of the DSO. More than that – co-founder alongside the late President of the United States, Adam Benford. The fact that you’d been assigned to him at all had stunned you. But of course you had accepted the role. You’d wanted this position after all.
The agent was looking downward, clearly holding his comms device in hand, the roar of helicopter rotors audible somewhere behind him. He was already in motion. Wind caught the dark strands of his hair in the stormy Scottish air.
“Couldn’t answer. We just touched down at the arrival point. Proceeding to the lake now.”
Straight to business. It could have been worse.
“Right. If our intel is correct, the handoff of the smuggled goods should be taking place at this location.” Your fingers flew over the keyboard, the mouse clicking sharply under your hand. “If you can, get a visual of the area and assess.”
You transmitted the updated objective near Loch Ness to his device.
“Understood. I’ll report when I’ve secured the cargo.”
You froze. “You mean when you have a visual.”
“Sure. Let’s say I said that,” he replied, a strangely amused undertone in his voice.
And then he cut the connection.
“H–Hey!” you called out, pinging him again. No response.
You stared at the screen, mouth slightly open, needing a moment to process your first exchange with Agent Leon Kennedy.
“Is he always like that?”
Ingrid smiled – and her gaze softened in a way that suggested fond memories.
“You’ll get used to it,” was all she said.
If she remembered her time working with him that fondly, it couldn’t be that bad… could it?
It was worse.
On the screen, the GPS dot marking Agent Kennedy’s position moved steadily forward – but he didn’t respond to calls, effectively ghosting you, and with you any useful incoming information.
At some point you resorted to text messages, hoping he might at least read those. You reminded him to check in once he had visual on the site.
But… even this early on, you doubted he would.
With a sigh, you removed your headset for a short break. The chair tilted back smoothly, ergonomically supporting your head. You pressed your fingers against the bridge of your nose and squeezed your eyes shut.
“Bit of advice,” Ingrid’s voice sounded beside you. She looked at you with understanding. “Try being a little more relaxed with him.”
“This is my workplace,” you replied dryly. What were you supposed to do? Crack jokes with the seasoned field agent?
“I know,” she said with smile. “But hear me out. Leon tends to make light of most things. That’s his way.” Her attention briefly flicked back to her own screen, something there drawing her focus. Her expression grew more serious as she began typing. “He takes his job seriously. But you have to help him deal with it.”
“Deal with it…?” you began, but Ingrid didn’t answer, already too absorbed in her own work.
You considered her advice. It wasn’t as though Agent Kennedy was eagerly awaiting your voice in his ear anyway.
Field agents in the DSO lived dangerously. And you had read his file. He had – to put it mildly – a complicated history. A survivor of Raccoon City. The man who had rescued the president’s daughter from a cult entirely on his own years ago.
Had those experiences turned him into a lone wolf? Someone who didn’t take kindly to orders? Maybe that was what Ingrid meant. Thoughtfully, you slipped your headset back on – and immediately heard your agent’s voice.
“Come in. Anyone there?”
“Oh!” you exclaimed. “Sorry, I was –” You paused, then decided to follow Ingrid’s advice. “ – online shopping. Given that you stopped checking in, I got bored.”
Was that funny? Or the most catastrophic misstep imaginable?
After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, Leon activated his outgoing image.
He appeared somewhere in the Scottish Highlands, rain streaking through the darkness around him, his hair damp and clinging in strands. It was night – you still couldn’t see much – but you saw enough. A handsome face marked by faint lines of age, his expression looser now than earlier, curiosity flickering in his gaze as he looked at your image.
“Didn’t mean to drive you into a boreout,” he quipped, that amused undertone returning to his otherwise rough voice. “I’ve secured the cargo. Located and restrained the smugglers at the lake. Calling for extraction.”
You had half a mind to tell him that this was absolutely not how procedure was meant to go. But something told you that wouldn’t accomplish much.
You still had one card left to play.
“In Scotland, they’re called lochs.”
His eyebrows twitched upward – brief, but noticeable. You were a trained operative, after all.
“Alright, Miss Know-It-All. Didn’t realize they’d assign me another teacher like Hunnigan at my age.” The words sounded sharp, but the tone behind them had softened.
You smiled. “For more general knowledge and useless facts in the future, don’t ignore the intercom, Agent Kennedy.”
“Leon,” he corrected.
You gave him your first name in return.
A win.
“About that extraction…” he continued.
“Right. Economy class, correct?” you pushed it just a little further while already calling in the chopper.
“Didn’t know we were on a budget.”
You laughed, and Leon let out a low chuckle in response.
Whatever that small, innocent piece of advice from your supervisor had set into motion over the next months bordered on the supernatural.
The first time you met Leon Kennedy outside of field communications was immediately after the Scotland mission.
The coffee machine hummed as though mocking your clumsy attempts to operate it. Why was every office coffee machine in existence completely different from every other one? This one displayed a red triangle on its ultra-modern screen, drawing a frustrated sigh from you.
“The filter needs changing.”
The voice sounded right beside you.
You flinched. How had someone managed to approach you that silently?
One glance to the side answered the question instantly.
“Leon.”
Surprise colored your voice at the sight of your agent standing there in the FOS offices. You had assumed he would write his report and then be deployed to the next mission – that the next time you saw him would be on your screen again.
Only your extroverted nature saved you from simply staring at him as though you’d seen a ghost – which, frankly, would have been ironic. From now on, you were partially responsible for making sure he didn’t become one.
It was just… his presence was both intimidating and strangely magnetic.
A smile spread across your face – whether out of politeness or an effort to appear especially approachable, you couldn’t quite tell. “Thanks. I’ll have to call maintenance, I guess.” You extended your hand. “Nice to meet you in person.”
The very noticeable muscles of his arms rippled beneath a nearly criminally tight athletic sweater as he unfolded them to accept your handshake. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips.
Completely unexpectedly, a shiver ran through you – one you barely prevented from manifesting physically – when your skin met his. His hand was softer than you’d anticipated. His grip more careful than what you were used to from other agents.
Unfortunately, despite extensive training, you had never possessed a convincing poker face. That was precisely why you worked at a desk and not in the field. You could never run covert operations; every target would read you instantly. You would never be able to play a role that wasn’t entirely yourself.
Still, you were highly trained in reading microexpressions. So you didn’t just notice the way your eyes widened slightly or how your lips parted a fraction – you also noticed that he noticed.
And here was the twist: you were fairly certain something shifted in his far more practiced poker face as well. A subtle dilation of his pupils in eyes narrowed just a touch too tightly. The faintest twitch of his brow.
The way your hands lingered together two seconds longer than socially necessary.
Then you were both disciplined enough not to let the moment escalate.
Your smile remained firmly in place – perhaps a little wider now – while he maintained his gruff composure, though his frown had softened, his features relaxing ever so slightly.
“So…” you continued once your hands had returned to your respective sides, “to what do we owe this pleasure? Here to fix the coffee machines?” You gestured toward the stubborn device denying you caffeine.
Leon glanced at it. A smirk. “Just one of my many alternative career paths.” But almost immediately, his startlingly intense gaze returned to you, threaded with something you would swear was gentleness. “I wanted to reschedule our introductory meeting. If you’re available.”
Had you not already sensed that strange current humming between you, the way he stood there – tall, undeniably impressive, yet shaped by a history that had marked him in ways few could comprehend – would have charmed you on its own.
As it was, you simply wanted to know him better.
Remembering that part of your job was to help him cope, you crossed your arms and pursed your lips. “Let me check my calendar for a free slot – somewhere between mission prep and arguing with coffee machines.”
Leon responded with a smile that reached his eyes.
Your experience as a government-trained pencil pusher paid off in ways you never would have expected.
Leon Kennedy was a closed-off man. He didn’t reveal much about himself. Not exactly a chatterbox – but not silent either. He existed somewhere in between. And, above all, he always had a quip ready. For nearly every situation.
You noticed it during your first meeting.
You told him about yourself – how you’d entered government service, why you transferred to the FOS, that you loved musicals, that your favorite food was sushi.
Leon’s response? “So a musical adaptation of Finding Nemo would be your ideal night out?”
The question caught you so off guard that you snorted before you could stop yourself. “What?” you laughed, covering your mouth and giggling a little too brightly – you hoped it was amusement and not because you found him unprofessionally attractive.
What you did become sure of rather quickly was that he hid a significant portion of himself behind those kinds of remarks.
You had read his file. What he’d lived through did not leave anyone untouched. And through these small exchanges between the two of you, you began to understand what Ingrid had meant.
He took the job seriously.
But you were going to have to help him carry it.
It became clearer and clearer to you the more you stayed in contact with Leon. The way he was: focused, highly specialized, but – at least after the initial storming – very attentive whenever you reached out to him. After only a short time, he let you take the lead in nearly every situation, took your input seriously, and only disagreed when he had a genuinely good reason.
It wasn’t that Leon – and maybe all agents of the DSO – needed dispatchers solely for professional guidance. He needed you to process what he was seeing. The conviction behind that realization was so strong that you went out of your way to guide him through every situation – no matter how terrifying it became. And God, you saw terrifying things at the DSO.
“I’ve been thinking,” you heard his voice – more open now, always a little softer when he addressed you directly.
“Uh-oh, better not hurt yourself doing that,” you joked, focused on your grocery list for tonight. It already came naturally to you – helped by the fact that Leon was extremely capable and you rarely had to worry about him.
He huffed before continuing unfazed. “I know a pretty good sushi place – can I take you there sometime?”
Your synapses fired wildly through your brain; your attention snapped fully back into place. Not before the pen slipped from your fingers at your startled jerk and you had to catch the rolling thing on your desk. Had your agent just asked you out on a date? Or was this more of a business dinner? Was that even allowed? You almost wanted to ask Ingrid – but she wasn’t sitting next to you anymore, of course, busy somewhere else with her management duties. Wait, hadn’t she once mentioned that he’d asked for her number too?
“Like… a date?” you blurted out impulsively, biting into your fist a second later in embarrassment. Way to keep it cool.
“Nice scramble there,” Leon remarked, mildly amused.
That’s when you realized your outgoing image was still on. Your heart was pounding erratically, a faint unease pooling in your stomach. It took you several seconds to find your composure.
“There was a spider.”
He made a sound of recognition, mercifully not pressing further about your embarrassing reaction. “Should I pick you up at eight?”
“Uh… you’re on a mission two states away?”
“No problem. I’ll hurry up and ping you when I need extraction.”
Now you were charmed – evidenced by the soft warmth creeping into your cheeks. “First class this time?”
You had suspected that Leon Kennedy was a true gentleman. Your first date confirmed it.
He picked you up from the FOS in his Porsche – everyone knew it was Leon’s Porsche you were getting into. You braced yourself for the inevitable gossip. A small price to pay for going out with an attractive man and absolute sweetheart.
He opened doors for you, pulled out your chair, ordered sake for you and a lemonade for himself. You knew he didn’t drink – more than that, that he was a recovering alcoholic. You knew a lot about him, things he had either revealed casually in passing or that you had read in his file.
He probably knew everything there was to know about you, too. Still, you never addressed that directly. Instead, you told each other things you both already knew – within a frame that felt safe.
Leon had never spoken about Raccoon City.
“Ever been to Japan?” you asked, sipping your sake as your sushi was served. Leon didn’t just know “a sushi place.” It was the most expensive one in the city.
“Been to China,” Leon answered briefly. His gaze turned distant for a moment. You had heard – and read – about that incident as well. Back then, Leon had faked his own death through Ingrid to pursue the former National Security Advisor, Derek C. Simmons, all the way to China. Everyone knew the story. Leon knew that you knew.
“Can’t really recommend it,” he added smoothly, defusing his slip into the past.
“What were the most beautiful countries you’ve ever seen?” you asked curiously.
Leon studied the sushi in front of him, considering which piece to start with.
“Well,” he began, picking up his chopsticks, “one of them was definitely Scotland… with its lochs.”
He looked up at you, giving you an amused grin – followed by a wink that drew a soft, nervous giggle from you.
All that knowledge about Leon, all the familiarity you had built with him, and that final spark when he had asked you out – it was enough. For you. For both of you. Enough to somehow, naturally, almost supernaturally, keep ending up in the same room again and again, drawn together, drifting closer and closer.
You couldn’t know what Leon truly carried inside him – what he truly felt. But you could help him deal with it.
“You wanna come up for a nightcap?” you asked after your first date, almost completely without shame, without hesitation. It felt natural to want your agent in your space – to protect him.
Leon didn’t hesitate either. He parked the Porsche in front of your building and let you lead him upstairs. As an FSO agent, you didn’t earn poorly, so you could afford a beautiful apartment with a good view.
“Look, a coffee machine I actually enjoy operating,” you joked from the kitchen while preparing an espresso.
“I might not be able to give you what you deserve.”
Leon’s voice behind you was suddenly serious.
Surprised by the emotional shift, you turned to him as the machine hummed and whirred. He was leaning against your dining table, arms folded, head tilted slightly as he watched you. His brow furrowed as it often was, dark blond hair falling into his face – but his eyes carried something you hadn’t seen before. Was it worry? Pain? Whatever it was, it hurt him.
And you knew what he meant. He was a field agent. He had seen and endured things most people couldn’t imagine.
“Oh,” you said softly, leaving the coffee behind and taking a few small steps toward him. As you approached, his arms unfolded instantly.
“Why did you ask me out then?” you asked quietly, carefully – but confident there was something real between you.
He exhaled as you came closer. “Because…” he began, but the words caught in his throat. His eyes were fixed on you – your face, your eyes, your hair, your beautiful smile.
You stopped in front of him, your bodies barely separated, attentive to his reaction in case it became too much – in case he decided this was a mistake.
Leon looked down at you as his body, which had been subtly angled away, shifted forward without conscious effort, directly into your space. You both felt the energy between you – pooling, swirling, growing restless before settling into something steady and quiet.
A soft breath left your lips when he gently – cautiously, even – placed his hands on your hips and pulled you closer. Your bodies met with the soft rustle of fabric. Your stomach flipped, your eyes unblinking as you searched his, whose irises moved slightly, unsure which part of you to focus on next.
“Honestly,” a flicker of amusement returned to his gaze, “I didn’t think that far ahead.”
You blinked, then let out a quiet laugh.
“It’s okay. Don’t worry.”
Even though you knew he couldn’t help but worry.
So you leaned forward and pressed your lips to his.
His hands at your sides stiffened at the sudden contact. More than that – his whole body went rigid for a brief moment. A moment in which he very well could have pulled away.
But then, as if crossing an invisible barrier, Leon released a long breath through his nose. His body relaxed, his shoulders lowering, his hands sliding from your hips to trace your shape. He pulled you firmly against him and leaned fully into the kiss.
From the second he did, everything you had suspected but never fully seen came to the surface. His movements were devoted. No pressure – only going as far as you were willing to give.
The way he searched for you made you lift your hands to his jaw, his stubble lightly prickling your fingertips – his soft exhale against your lips your reward.
The kiss deepened. Your perception blurred – there was only Leon. His closeness. His taste on your tongue. The quiet, instinctive responses of your bodies. Tingling. Shivering. Searching fingers. Deep looks when you finally pulled apart after what felt like forever.
“Espresso…” you whispered with a soft smile, “… or straight to bed?”
Leon’s mind – fogged by you, your scent, your steadiness – slowly returned from the trance you had drawn him into. His glassy eyes refocused. A beat passed as your words sank in – then a deep laugh rumbled from his chest.
“Bed sounds nice,” he murmured, his fingers playing with a strand of your hair. “I’ll probably kick myself for saying this later but… can we take it slow today?”
You almost made a joke, the way you usually did with him – something about the wisdom of old age, or whether he didn’t find you sexy. But your common sense stopped you. He looked vulnerable, so you would treat that vulnerability with care. You nodded in understanding, took his hand, and led him once more – guiding him into your bedroom.
You had realized quickly that Leon S. Kennedy was a special kind of person. Funny, always ready with a remark, content when you laughed – and someone who needed help just as much as he wanted to give it. A veteran who had seen everything, and so rarely received anything in return.
If you could, you would at least be a small comfort to him. A small harbor, if he wanted one.
Leon entered that harbor without hesitation the moment the lighthouse began to shine.
You lay in your bed, clothes having become obsolete for the kind of closeness Leon sought – and found – with you. Your wardrobe lay scattered across the floor; only your bra and panties remained, and his boxers.
The intimacy surrounding you was perhaps more overwhelming than anything you had witnessed during missions with Leon. He enveloped you in his toned body, holding you close enough that your goosebumps brushed against his own, your body heat rising together. You felt not only defined muscle, but the fluttering of his heart against your chest, the small shivers running through him in response to your touch.
He looked at you as though you were a beacon in a pitch-black night – a familiar landmark when searching for the way home. His gaze burned into yours as he studied you intensely, lips parted for more air, devotion and gratitude written across his features. You had to be careful not to fall endlessly just because of that look.
You had no sense of how much time had passed when he exhaled softly and captured your lips again, deep enough to steal your breath. Hands explored – faces, hair, arms, backs. Everything about him so strong it was almost astonishing how soft he became here.
Leon practically melted into you, responding to every touch with a closer press of his body, sometimes even with a content hum against your lips or a gentle squeeze of his hands against your skin. Again and again he sought to move against you, to remain within your space, to feel you.
Even though he had said he wanted to take it slow, his touches grew just a little more suggestive – enough to make actual heat bloom under your skin and draw a quiet moan from you when you felt his arousal against your thigh.
“Sorry,” he murmured only inches from your lips. “You’re very sexy. So soft…” The words faded into the thickened air of your bedroom while his fingers continued tracing their paths along your skin.
“Mhm,” you hummed contentedly, enjoying his touch. “You were the one who said you wanted to take it slow.”
Leon smirked. “Doesn’t mean I won’t react to such a beautiful woman lying almost naked in bed with me.”
Another kiss landed on your lips before he shifted downward, resting his head beneath your chin on the pillow. His lips brushed your skin a few times along your cleavage while his strong arms slipped around you.
When you wrapped your arms around him in return, he sighed in satisfaction. Your bodies fit together perfectly, the atmosphere turning quiet and serene. Your eyelids grew heavy, closing slowly, while Leon inhaled your scent as often as he could.
“You are one good dispatcher,” he rumbled against your skin.
The Grand Master and the Cat Keeper (Varka x Reader)
Synopsis: You came to Mondstadt to disappear quietly. Varka found you anyway. What begins as evening conversations and rescuing stray cats turns into something deeper. Something warm, magnetic, impossible to ignore.
A/N: I listened to Varka’s voiceline about him wanting to adopt cats and...well. My entire brain short-circuited. This was supposed to be a short fic about Varka meeting reader’s stray cats. And then suddenly I had… 12k+ words of slow-burn tenderness, emotional tension, cat bonding, and accidental domesticity.
Please enjoy cat-dad Varka and the love story he absolutely did not expect to have, but absolutely deserves. 💙
Tags: Fluff. Slow Burn. Banter. Flirting. Emotional Tension. Mutual Pining. Mutual Support. Domestic Vibes. Cat Adoption Shenanigans. Cat Dad Varka. Protective Varka. Light Angst. Comfort. Confession. First Kiss. Heated Kissing. Found Family Energy. Reader Has Walls. Varka Breaks Them Down Gently. Mondstadt Ships It. Varka Is Not Subtle.
Word count: 12570
⋆ ✦ ⋆
You’re crouched in a narrow alley when you hear footsteps.
Heavy ones. Unhurried. Getting closer, then pausing, as if whoever’s out there is listening.
You freeze, one hand hovering protectively over the three stray cats curled beneath your makeshift shelter. They meow softly, one even hissing in its sleep, and you stroke them until they settle.
Technically, you’re not doing anything wrong.
Since arriving in Mondstadt a few days ago, you’ve been collecting strays—three so far —and your landlord would absolutely evict you if they knew. So you built the cats a quiet little shelter out of crates, cloth, and stubbornness, and you visit every evening.
Tonight is no different.
At least until—
“Knew I’d heard something.”
You stiffen. You dust off your clothes quickly and step out into the lantern-lit street and stop dead.
A man stands there.
Not just a man.
The tallest man you’ve ever seen: broad shoulders beneath worn armor, scarred forearms, hair tousled from the late-night wind. His presence is so solid, so warm, it fills the entire street before he even speaks.
From the stories, he must be the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius.
You do not let yourself panic. You also do not let him near your cats.
Before you can overthink it, you straighten up. “Grand Master. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
His expression brightens with amused surprise.
“No need to be so formal with me. Just Varka.” He crosses his arms loosely, a grin tugging at his mouth. “What’re you doing out here this late?”
Your spine stiffens instinctively. “Just… taking an evening walk. Mondstadt is the city of freedom, isn’t it?”
“Woah, easy there.” His grin widens, delighted rather than offended. “Just making conversation.”
You’re sure he means no harm, but the idea of him discovering your cats and forcing you to move them makes your stomach twist.
“I have insomnia,” you say quickly. “I wander around at night.”
He tilts his head, unconvinced and amused in equal measure.
“You know, you can’t fool me. Unless you’re hissing on a regular basis, you’ve got cats somewhere.”
“Hissing can be healthy,” you counter. “If used properly and without the intent to harm.”
Varka blinks. Then he laughs. A low, warm sound that does terrible things to your ability to think.
“…I see.” He studies you with a new kind of interest. “Didn’t expect that answer.”
You cross your arms. “With all due respect, don’t you have better things to do?”
He looks around the quiet street, then back at you. “Not really, no. Just came from Angel’s Share. Was heading to sleep.”
His expression softens, voice dropping into something warm and sincere.
“But I protect this city. Don’t like people wandering alone at night, no matter how safe it seems. Alright?”
“Mm.” You click your tongue. Then nod slowly. “I see what this is about now. Not chivalry… though it’s appreciated.”
You narrow your eyes. “You want to see the cats.”
Varka‘s grin breaks wide open. “Yeah. I do. Please?”
Somehow, it’s endearing. This mountain of a man asking like you’re the one granting him a favor.
“They’re a little feisty,” you warn.
“Even better.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “They’ll love me.”
“You’re not giving up, are you? There are cats everywhere. Why don’t you go admire someone else’s?”
He laughs, a sound that fills the alley. “You fuss over them so much. Now I want to meet them.”
A meow echoes from your shelter.
You sigh. “…Great. Now they noticed you. Your laughter’s too loud.”
“I’m a loud man.” He shrugs, still grinning. “But I can be very calm, if I need to be. People say I’ve got a soothing aura.”
“Uh-huh.”
He puts a hand to his chest in playful offense, then gives you a long, assessing look like he’s piecing something together.
“C’mon. I’ll behave.”
Against your better judgment—and because your cats already know he’s here—you lead him to the shelter.
“Cozy,” he mutters, crouching beside you. “Could use some work, though. I’ve got ideas.”
“You’re very invested,” you deadpan.
“Mhm.” He offers his hand to the ginger kitten, his voice going unexpectedly soft. “I always wanted to adopt cats.”
That… does something to you. “Are you always this chatty?”
“Yeah, usually.” He glances up at you, eyes warm. “Why? You like it?”
You look away. “We’ll see about that.”
But the truth is already obvious.
One of the cats crawls onto his arm and starts licking him. You choke on a laugh.
“Got names for them yet?” Varka asks.
“Kinda,” you say too quickly.
He smirks. “Thought so. C’mon. Tell me. I can keep a secret if it’s part of some sacred cat oath.”
“With the cats?”
“Yeah. You seem the type to talk to them constantly.” He watches the way your mouth twitches. “That’s a compliment.”
You roll your eyes. “Of course you have opinions about cat names.”
“Oh, I have more than opinions.” He leans in conspiratorially. “I have suggestions.”
Your heart does something unhelpful.
You gesture toward the black-and-white one curled in a box. “That’s Pepper.”
Varka hums, nodding as if evaluating the name on some internal scale of worthiness.
“Strong choice. Looks like a Pepper.”
The ginger one paws at his sleeve. “And that one’s Bristle.”
He grins. “Very accurate. Fiery little knight.”
You hesitate before adding, “The third one… doesn’t have a name yet.”
Varka’s head snaps up so fast it makes you blink. “No name?” he repeats, like you’ve just revealed a sacred vacancy.
He looks between you and the tiny grey kitten curled against your ankle.
Then, softer, hopeful: “…Are you letting me?”
Your heart stutters. His voice dropped. Gentle in a way you didn’t expect from a man who looks like he could bench-press a beast.
You shrug, casual, though you definitely did this on purpose. “Maybe. If you don’t pick something ridiculous.”
He places a hand dramatically over his heart. “I take this honor very seriously.”
He studies the kitten with the focus of someone naming a knight, not a stray.
The kitten stretches, bonks its tiny head against his massive palm, and immediately begins purring.
Varka’s expression softens. Melts, even. “…Whisper,” he says.
You blink. “Whisper?”
He nods, suddenly shy in a way you wouldn’t have thought possible for a man this enormous.
“She’s quiet. Watches before she acts. Careful little thing.”
Your lips curve. “Whisper it is.”
If Varka were any happier, the street lamps would probably brighten in solidarity.
He clears his throat like he needs to steady himself. “So. You’re new to Mondstadt.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Everything about you says you’re not from around here.”
His eyes flick over your posture, your shoes, your careful way of speaking. He doesn’t judge, just notices.
You fall into an easy conversation for a while. You tell him about the cats, mostly, about where you‘re staying at the moment, and he listens and makes commentary. Gives you some info about the city, always with that grin.
Then he pauses, just looking at you. “You exploring? Passing through? Or planning to stay a while?”
You look down at the cats, then back at him. “Not sure yet. Maybe I’ll tell you next time.”
A slow, pleased smile spreads across his face. “Counting on it.”
He rises to his full height, the alley shrinking around him again. “You need a permanent place, though,” he says lightly. “Something safe. For the cats.”
His eyes catch yours. Warm. Intent. “I’ll keep an ear out.”
You open your mouth to protest—he’s the Grand Master, for Archon’s sake—but he’s already crouching again to give Whisper a final chin rub.
“Get home safe,” he says, stepping back. “And don’t wander alone at night, yeah?”
“Why?” you tease. “You going to scold me again?”
He grins. “No. I’ll just show up again.”
And with that, he disappears around the corner, leaving you in the alley with three cats, a racing heartbeat, and the distinct sense that Mondstadt just became more complicated than you planned.
— ✦ —
You don’t plan to run into him again.
And yet.
Three nights later, Varka appears with a basket slung under one arm.
“For the cats,” he says, like this is a completely normal thing for the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius to be doing at midnight.
The basket is full of fish.
Pepper takes one sniff and hisses with pure excitement.
Varka beams like he’s just negotiated a major treaty. “Knew she’d love it.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“Wanted to.” He crouches down, already offering Bristle a piece. “Besides, I was in the area.”
You raise an eyebrow. “At night. In this specific alley.”
“Patrol route,” he says, far too quickly.
You don’t believe him for a second.
(He comes back the next night too.)
It becomes a pattern.
Not every night—but often enough that the cats start looking for him. Often enough that you stop being surprised when his footsteps echo down the alley.
Often enough that you start… expecting it.
You call him “Varka” now without hesitation.
Not Grand Master. Not sir. Just… Varka.
He pretends it doesn’t affect him.
(It does.)
You notice the way his expression shifts every time you say it, something warm and pleased flickering across his face before he schools it back to neutral.
You notice, and you don’t stop saying it.
One evening, Whisper bypasses you entirely and scrambles straight up his arm to perch on his shoulder.
Varka goes very still, like he’s afraid to move and dislodge her.
“She picked her favorite,” he announces, voice soft with wonder.
“You bribed her,” you point out.
“Effective leadership.” He grins, then very carefully reaches up to scratch under her chin. Whisper purrs so loudly you can hear it from three feet away.
Something warm and unhelpful settles in your chest.
Days slip by like this. Quiet moments. Soft shifts.
By the second week, you’ve stopped pretending this isn’t happening.
“You know,” you mutter one evening, speaking more to Bristle than anyone, “he’s very persistent.”
Varka, who’s crouched two feet away coaxing Pepper out of a box, perks up immediately.
“See? I knew you made oaths with them.”
“Not oaths.”
“Guidelines, then. Sacred cat agreements.”
“Varka, stop listening to my private conversations.”
“Can’t.” He doesn’t even look sorry. “Too charming.”
You try to glare at him.
It doesn’t work.
(It never works.)
Sometimes you catch him watching you.
Not your face—your hands. The way you move around the cats. How gentle you are when Pepper gets skittish, how patient when Bristle refuses to settle, how soft your voice goes when Whisper curls into your lap.
Each time, his expression does something you don’t quite know how to name.
Soft. Like he’s cataloging every detail and filing it away somewhere important.
Once, you look up too quickly and catch him mid-stare.
He doesn’t look away.
Just smiles—small and wondering and entirely too warm—and says, “You’re good with them.”
“They’re cats,” you manage. “Not exactly difficult.”
“Still.” His voice drops, goes quieter. “It’s nice. Watching you care about something.”
You look away first.
One evening, the conversation shifts.
“How’s the apartment search going?” Varka asks while refilling Pepper’s water bowl.
“About as well as you’d expect.” You sigh. “Mondstadt’s apparently full.”
“Yeah.” He nods. “Lot of people moving in lately. I’ve been asking around though—there might be something opening up soon.”
You blink. “You’ve been asking?”
“Told you I’d keep an ear out.” He glances over, slightly amused. “Though apparently I’ve asked enough people that rumors are starting. Kaeya asked if I was setting up a secret hide out.”
You snort. “What did you tell him?”
“That I’m helping a friend.” His eyes are warm. “He didn’t believe me for a second.”
“And what does he think?”
Varka’s ears go slightly pink. “Nothing worth repeating.”
One evening, when Varka shows up at the usual time, you’re hyperaware of every look, every smile, every time his hand lingers near yours.
“You alright?” he asks, noticing your distraction.
“Fine,” you lie. “Just… long day at work.”
You’d found a job at one of the shops. Nothing glamorous, but steady. Enough to pay for the temporary room and save a little. Enough to prove you could stay in Mondstadt if you wanted to.
If you wanted to.
You’re starting to think you do.
He doesn’t push. Just settles beside you, close enough that his warmth reaches you, and starts telling Pepper about his day like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
A shopkeeper stops you in the plaza one afternoon.
“Excuse me—are you the one the Grand Master’s been visiting every night?”
You choke on air.
Behind you, Varka—who’d been trailing at a polite distance like he just happened to be walking the same direction—immediately becomes very interested in a basket of apples.
“I don’t—we’re not—it’s just—” You flounder.
The shopkeeper grins knowingly. “He talks about you, you know. And the cats.”
“He what—”
“Good man.”
She’s gone before you can form a coherent response.
Varka is still examining apples with the focus of someone who absolutely heard every word and is choosing violence by pretending he didn’t.
“Varka.”
“Mm?”
“Did you tell half of Mondstadt about the cats?”
“Only the relevant half.” He finally looks at you, grin unrepentant. “They were curious why I kept disappearing at night.”
“And you thought the truth was a good idea?”
“Better than letting them think I was up to something suspicious.” He shifts the apple basket to one arm. “Besides. I’m proud of those cats. Why wouldn’t I talk about them?”
The way he says those cats does something to your chest you refuse to examine. Like they’re his too. Like he has any claim to them beyond showing up uninvited with fish.
You feel warm.
And then you notice something wrong.
He’s favoring his right shoulder.
It’s subtle. Most people wouldn’t catch it. But you’ve been watching him for weeks now (not that you’d admit it), and you see the way he rolls it slightly when he thinks no one’s looking, the careful way he moves when reaching for things.
That evening, when he shows up at the alley, you’re ready.
“Here,” you say, holding out a small jar.
He blinks. “What’s this?”
“Salve. For your shoulder.”
Surprise flickers across his face before he schools it. “How did you—”
“You keep rolling it.” You shrug, trying to seem casual even though your heart is beating too fast. “Figured you pulled something during training or… whatever it is Grand Masters do.”
He stares at the jar like you’ve handed him something precious.
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know.” You press it into his hand before you can overthink it. “But you’re always taking care of everyone else. Someone should take care of you too.”
The words hang in the air between you.
Varka goes very still, his fingers closing carefully around the jar.
When he looks up, something in his expression has shifted—softened and intensified at the same time.
“Thank you,” he says quietly.
You clear your throat, suddenly flustered. “It’s just salve. Don’t make it weird.”
His laugh is soft, a little rough. “Too late.”
He tucks the jar away and the way he looks at you makes your breath catch.
Like you’ve given him something he didn’t know he needed.
You mention, casually, that the nights are getting colder and the cats could use better blankets.
The next evening, Varka arrives carrying three.
Thick ones. Wool. Probably expensive.
“These were lying around in the storage,” he says, far too innocently.
You raise an eyebrow. “And they just let you take whatever you want from storage?”
“They will. I can be very convincing,” he says, completely sincere.
You don’t even argue. Just take the blankets and watch him arrange them carefully in the shelter, adjusting corners with the same focus he probably uses for military strategy.
“You’re going to get in trouble,” you say quietly.
“Worth it.” He doesn’t look up. “They need to be warm.”
A couple of weeks ago, you were hiding cats in an alley.
Now the Grand Master of the Knights of Favonius is stealing blankets for them.
You’re not sure when your life became this strange.
(You’re not sure when you stopped minding.)
— ✦ —
One evening, the rain begins just as you’re finishing up with the cats. Soft at first, then steady enough that you glance up at the sky and sigh.
Varka, who’d shown up twenty minutes ago with “extra fish, just in case,” follows your gaze.
“Come on.” He straightens, brushing cat fur off his pants. “Angel’s Share is right there. I’ll buy you a drink.”
It’s not a question.
But the way he looks at you makes it feel like one anyway.
You should say no.
You should go home, draw a line, remember that he’s the Grand Master and you’re just someone passing through Mondstadt with three stray cats and no permanent address.
But the rain is picking up, and he’s looking at you like spending more time together is something he actually wants, and—
“Alright,” you hear yourself say. “One drink.”
His smile could light up the whole plaza.
“One drink,” he agrees.
(You both know it won’t be just that.)
He’s already holding the door open for you, warm lamplight spilling out behind him.
Inside, the tavern is nearly empty.
Varka scans the room once, decides immediately, then places a guiding hand near your back. Not touching, but close enough you feel the warmth.
“Upstairs,” he says with a little grin. “Quieter there.”
You follow him up the wooden steps to a table overlooking the main floor.
He gestures for you to sit.
“Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab the drinks.”
Before you can protest, he’s already gone.
A moment later, he returns with two glasses and sets one gently in front of you.
“It’s something light,” he says. “Figured you might want to keep a clear head.”
You blink. The consideration isn’t surprising coming from him, but it’s unfamiliar to you. And it warms something in your chest.
He settles into the seat across from you, forearms braced on the table. His size makes the corner nook feel smaller, more intimate.
“So,” Varka says, softer now. “Tell me why you came to Mondstadt.”
You take a slow breath. You hadn’t planned to tell him this. But something about the quiet space, the warm wood, the light on his face makes all speaking easier.
“I’m from Fontaine,” you begin. “Born there. Raised there. My family’s… well-off.”
Varka doesn’t react with judgment. He simply listens, steady and open.
“But I never fit,” you continue. “All those expectations. Parties. Perfect etiquette. Being graceful and charming in all the ‘right’ circles. It felt like wearing someone else’s life.”
His brow softens.
“So,” you shrug, “I left. Traveled a while. Tried to figure out who I actually am without all the noise.”
“And that brought you here?” Varka asks quietly.
“Yeah. Mondstadt was meant to be temporary.” You look out the window, at the rain streaking down the glass. “But it feels easier to breathe here. More honest.”
When you look back, Varka is watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher. Gentle, contemplative, warmed by something he hasn’t named.
“Thinking about staying, then?” he asks, and there’s something careful in his voice. Like your answer matters more than he wants to admit.
“Maybe,” you say. “I’m not sure yet.”
His expression does something complicated. Hope and patience warring in his eyes.
“Actually,” he says, expression brightening slightly, “I might have a lead. One of the knights mentioned a place near the plaza. Landlord’s reasonable, apparently. Not confirmed yet, but…” He shrugs. “I’ll know more in a few days.”
Something in your chest eases. The uncertainty you’d been carrying about where you’d live, whether you’d have to leave Mondstadt, whether the cats would have a real home.
“Thank you,” you say quietly. “For caring about that. About… all of us.”
His expression softens. “Of course I care.”
The words settle between you, weighted with something neither of you quite names.
He takes a sip of his drink, and when he speaks again, his voice is thoughtful.
“You know,” he begins, “people like to pretend paths are straight lines. That you’re supposed to follow one clear direction, beginning to end.” He huffs a breath. “My life cured me of that notion eventually.”
“Oh?” you ask, leaning in.
“Yeah.” He taps a finger lightly on the table. “Spent years trying to become the hero. The symbol. The one who charges in first and gets all the glory.”
A soft laugh. “Turns out, that wasn’t me. Never was.”
You blink. “Really?”
“Really.” His voice goes low, almost thoughtful. “Glory’s loud. But real importance?” He shakes his head. “That’s quieter. More grounded. Protecting people. Showing up. Making a place safer. Kinder. That matters more to me than any legend.”
It matches him. Perfectly.
“So,” he finishes, tilting his head, “if you strayed from the path life laid out for you? Good. Sometimes the wandering is the only part that actually belongs to you.”
His gaze lingers a second too long. Your pulse trips.
You weren’t expecting this. Not from someone who looks like he could wrestle a Lawachurl and win. Not from the Grand Master who everyone in Mondstadt seems to revere.
But he’s looking at you like he understands exactly what it means to walk away from a destiny someone else chose. Like he’s done it himself.
“That’s…” You swallow. “That’s exactly it. I couldn’t have said it better.”
Something shifts in his expression. Warmth, recognition, something deeper.
“Then you’re on the right path,” he says quietly. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet.”
The moment stretches between you.
You clear your throat, needing to lighten the weight before it pulls you under.
“You’re very philosophical for someone who was interrogating me about hissing before.”
He lets out an unrestrained laugh. Deep and warm.
“I stand by it,” Varka says. “Still a reasonable question.”
“It’s really not.”
He shifts closer. Not much, but enough that the warmth of him reaches across the table.
The conversation flows easily after that. Easier than it has any right to, considering you’ve known him less than a month.
You tell him about Fontaine. Not the practiced version you give strangers, but the truth: the suffocating expectations, the parties where you felt like someone on display, the moment you realized you’d rather have nothing than live someone else’s life.
He listens like every word matters. Asks questions that show he’s not just being polite—he actually wants to understand. “What was the moment you decided to leave?” “Did anyone try to stop you?” “Do you miss any of it?”
You find yourself answering things you normally wouldn’t. Remembering details you thought you’d buried.
When you pause, suddenly self-conscious about how much you’ve shared, he just refills your glass and says, “Go on. I’m listening.”
And he is. Completely. Like nothing else in the world exists except you and this conversation.
In return, he tells you stories.
About fights—though he never boasts, always deflects credit to others. About the knights and their various mishaps. About Mondstadt and why he loves it, why he stays, why protecting it matters more to him than any glory ever could.
You listen just as intently, asking your own questions, calling him out when he’s too modest, teasing him when he gets that fond look talking about “his” knights.
When he laughs—really laughs, not just that warm chuckle—you feel it in your chest. Like the sound is burrowing under your skin and making a home there.
The tavern empties around you.
Neither of you moves to leave.
At some point, his hand ends up near yours on the table. Not touching, but close. So close you’re hyperaware of the space between your fingers, the way the light catches on his skin, the fact that closing that distance would be so easy.
You don’t.
But you think about it.
And when you glance up, you find him watching you with an expression that suggests he’s thinking about it too.
“You’re different tonight,” he notes, voice dropping into something more intimate.
You arch a brow, trying to lighten the weight of the moment. “And you’re different when you’re not sniffing around alleys trying to find cats.”
“Cats were a welcome surprise,” he says, voice dropping. “But I’m not complaining about the company either.”
The air between you shifts.
He notices your sharp inhale, and his mouth curves. “Relax,” he says, eyes glinting with amusement. “I don’t bite.”
“I’m not nervous,” you lie.
“Sure you’re not.”
He holds your gaze for a moment longer than necessary, something unspoken passing between you.
Then he glances toward the window, where the rain has softened to a gentle mist.
“Rain’s letting up,” Varka says quietly, almost reluctant to break whatever this is. “Should probably check on the cats before it starts again.”
He stands, then pauses—hand extended, waiting.
You accept without thinking. His hand engulfs yours. Warm, steady, careful.
And the walk back feels different.
Closer. Quieter. Charged with something neither of you names.
He doesn’t let go of your hand until you reach the alley.
Even then, his fingers linger for just a moment. Warm and careful and entirely too aware of what they’re doing.
When he finally releases you, the absence feels louder than it should.
— ✦ —
The next few days blur together. Varka starts finding excuses to see you outside the evening cat visits.
“Was in the area,” he says, appearing while you’re buying vegetables.
You raise an eyebrow. “The headquarters is on the other side of the city.”
“Long patrol route,” he says, entirely shameless.
He carries your bags anyway.
One afternoon, you’re reading on a bench near the cathedral when a shadow falls across your book.
You look up.
Varka stands there, two cups of tea in hand. “Thought you might want one,” he says.
You blink. “How did you know I was here?”
“Lucky guess.” But his eyes are warm, pleased he found you.
You take the tea. Your fingers brush his.
He notices. You pretend not to.
But as he settles across from you, you can’t help noticing the way the afternoon light catches in his hair, the breadth of his shoulders, the way his hands dwarf the teacup.
He’s always been large—you knew that objectively.
But sitting here in the quiet cathedral square, watching him handle the delicate cup with surprising care, you realize he’s also just… handsome.
The thought arrives unbidden and unwelcome.
You take a sip of tea to hide your face.
The next day, Varka arrives looking harried, ink stains on his fingers.
“Rough day?” you ask.
He groans, settling beside you. “Paperwork. Mountains of it.”
He makes a face. “Tomorrow's going to be worse. I'll be drowning in papers until sunset. At least.”
“Sounds terrible.”
“It is.” He watches Bristle chase a leaf with clear longing. “This is much better.”
The next afternoon, you find yourself standing outside the headquarters, a basket of lunch in hand and a half-formed plan in your head.
This is probably a terrible idea.
You walk in anyway.
The entrance hall is impressive. A few knights mill about, and you suddenly feel very out of place.
“Can I help you?”
You turn to find a woman. Blonde hair, gray-blue eyes, an air of competent professionalism that's somehow both intimidating and kind.
“I'm looking for Varka,” you say. “Is he... available?”
Her expression shifts—recognition.
“You're the one with the cats,” she says. It's not a question.
Your face heats. “I—yes. How did you—”
“He talks about you.” Her smile is gentle. “I'm Jean.”
“Oh." You're suddenly very aware that you're talking to someone important while holding a lunch basket like some kind of—
“He's in his office,” Jean continues. “He's been buried in paperwork since dawn and his mood is... not good.”
“Actually,” you say before you can lose your nerve, “I was wondering if I could borrow him. Just for a bit. He mentioned being swamped today, and I thought—” You gesture vaguely with the basket. “—maybe a break would help?”
Jean's expression does something complicated. Surprised, pleased, almost relieved.
“I think that's exactly what he needs.” She glances toward his office, then back to you. “Take as long as you want. I'll handle anything urgent.”
“Are you sure? I don't want to—”
“I'm sure,” Jean says, and there's genuine warmth in her voice now. “He needs this.”
You knock on the door.
“Come in,” comes a weary voice.
You push the door open to find Varka behind a desk absolutely buried in papers. He's bent over a document, quill in hand, and he doesn't look up.
“Jean, I promise I'm working on the—”
“Not Jean.”
His head snaps up.
For a second, he just stares. Surprise and confusion and then something that looks almost like relief flooding his expression.
“What are you doing here?"
“Rescuing you.” You hold up the basket. “You said you'd be drowning in paperwork. Thought you might need sustenance. And—” You glance at the mountain of documents. “—possibly a reason to stop before you go insane.”
Varka blinks. Then he laughs. Tired but genuine. “You have no idea how tempting that sounds.”
“Then come with me.”
“I can't just—” He gestures at the desk. “There's still so much—”
“Jean said she'd cover anything urgent.” You lean against the doorframe, giving him your best challenging look. “Come on, Grand Master. When was the last time you actually took a break?”
His jaw works.
“You're trouble,” he mutters, but he's already standing, and you see the grin he's trying to hide. He clearly welcomes the distraction.
“So I've been told.”
You lead him out of headquarters, through the plaza, and then—instead of stopping at the fountain or a bench—you head toward the city walls.
“Where are we going?” Varka asks, amused suspicion creeping into his voice.
“You'll see.”
When you reach the base of the wall, you set the basket down and start climbing.
“What are you—” Varka stops dead. “Are you climbing the city wall?”
“Yep!” You're already halfway up, using the handholds in the stone. It's not difficult. The walls are old, plenty of places to grip.
“That's not—you can't just—” He sounds somewhere between alarmed and baffled. “That's not allowed!”
“Says who?” you call down.
"Says the Grand Master!”
You pause, looking down at him with a grin. “Then I guess you'll have to come arrest me.”
His expression is torn between duty and disbelief and something that looks suspiciously like he's trying not to laugh.
“I told you I came to Mondstadt for freedom,” you point out, settling onto the top of the wall and letting your legs dangle. “Can't get more free than this.”
He stares up at you for a long moment.
Then, shaking his head with a laugh that sounds almost helpless, he follows.
He makes it look effortless, of course. One smooth motion and he's beside you, settling onto the wall with considerably more grace than you managed.
“You're going to give me a heart attack,” he says, but he's smiling now. Really smiling.
“Someone has to keep you on your toes.” You open the basket, handing him bread and cheese. “You were drowning in bureaucracy. Figured you needed reminding that there's a world outside that office.”
“By making me climb the city wall.”
“Exactly.”
He takes a bite, and for a moment you both just sit there, legs dangling over Mondstadt, the breeze carrying the scent of flowers from the meadow below.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “I... needed this. More than I realized.”
“I know.” You bump your shoulder against his. “You get this look when you're buried in work.”
He glances over, something complicated in his expression. “You really do notice things, don't you?”
Before you can react, he reaches out and ruffles your hair. Playful, warm, entirely unexpected.
“Hey!” You swat at his hand, laughing.
“What?” His grin is unrepentant. “You caught me off-guard with the wall climbing. Fair's fair.”
“That's not—that's completely different!”
“Is it?” He's leaning closer now, eyes bright with mischief. “You surprised me. I surprised you. Seems even to me.”
Your heart is thumping in your chest.
You're very aware of how close he is. How his hand is still in your hair. How easy it would be to lean in, to close that distance, to—
He seems to realize the same thing.
His expression shifts, the playfulness fading into something more intense, more aware.
For a breathless moment, neither of you moves.
Then he clears his throat, hand dropping, putting a careful few inches between you.
“We should probably eat,” he says, voice slightly rougher than usual.
“Right. Yes. Food.”
But you're both very aware that something just shifted.
— ✦ —
Two days pass without seeing Varka.
It’s not unusual—he’s the Grand Master, he has responsibilities. But you’ve gotten used to his presence in the evenings, the sound of his footsteps in the alley, the way Whisper perks up when she hears him coming.
The cats notice his absence too. Bristle keeps looking toward the alley entrance. Pepper seems restless.
On the third evening, he finally appears.
And everything in you goes still.
He's different.
There's no blood, no visible damage. His armor is intact, his posture upright as ever. To anyone else, he'd look fine.
But you've spent weeks watching him. Learning the easy warmth of his presence, the way he fills a space with calm.
This isn't that.
This is contained. Tightly controlled. Like he's holding something back with sheer force of will.
The air around him feels heavy. Like the atmosphere before a storm, all potential energy and barely-leashed power.
“There you are,” you say, keeping your tone light despite the unease curling in your stomach. “Thought maybe you'd gotten bored of us.”
“Never.” His voice is normal. Warm. Steady. But when he crouches beside you to greet the cats, you see it.
The careful precision in every movement.
The tension in his shoulders.
The tightness around his eyes, around his mouth.
The way his hands are just slightly less gentle than usual. Not rough, but effortful.
This is what strength looks like when it's been tested. When it's held too much for too long and is barely holding together.
“Extended patrols,” he says, running his hand over Whisper's head. “Situation outside the city.”
“Everything okay?”
“All handled.” That practiced smile again. “We were victorious. No casualties.”
Most people would accept this. The mission succeeded, the Grand Master is fine, that’s all that matters.
You’re not most people.
You watch him settle beside you, the way he rolls his shoulder slightly when he thinks you’re not looking, the careful control in every movement.
“What’s it like?” you ask quietly.
He glances over. “What’s what like?”
“Leading people into danger. Fighting the way you do.”
Something flickers in his expression. Surprise, maybe, or something more guarded.
“Why?” He recovers with that easy grin. “Want to see me train sometime?”
The image arrives unbidden. Him in the training grounds, armor off, shirt clinging to his frame, that focused intensity you’ve glimpsed turned toward combat instead of cats—
Your face heats. “I—sure—but that’s not—” You catch yourself, narrow your eyes. “Hey. Don’t try to change the topic.”
His smile falters slightly. “Wasn’t trying to—”
“Yes, you were.” You turn to face him fully. “You do that. When something’s uncomfortable, you deflect with humor or change the subject. I’ve noticed.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and you wonder if you’ve pushed too far.
Then he exhales slowly, and something in his posture shifts. Not quite sagging, but releasing something he’s been holding.
“Nobody really asks that,” he says finally, voice quieter than usual. “About what it’s like. They ask if we won. If I’m injured. If the city’s safe. But not…” He gestures vaguely. “Not what it feels like.”
You wait, giving him space.
“It can be straining,” he admits. “Every decision could mean someone doesn’t come home. Every plan I make, I’m weighing lives. And when we win—when everyone makes it back—I’m supposed to celebrate. Be the confident leader who never doubted.”
He looks down at his hands. “But sometimes I’m just… tired.”
Your chest aches.
This man who carries so much, and nobody asks if he’s okay because he’s always okay, he has to be okay, he’s the Grand Master—
“Come on,” you say, standing abruptly.
He blinks up at you. “What?”
“We’re going for a walk.”
“It’s late—”
“I know what time it is.” You’re already gathering the cats’ leads.
“With the cats?”
All three cats immediately perk up, meowing and purring as if in agreement.
You give him a pointed look. “You have your answer.”
He stares at the cats, then at you, then back at the cats.
“Well,” he says, a hint of genuine amusement creeping into his voice, “my four companions have decided. Who am I to argue?”
The streets of Mondstadt are quiet at this hour, just the soft glow of lanterns and the distant sound of the tavern.
You walk side by side, the cats exploring ahead on their leads. Whisper stays close to Varka’s heels. Loyal little thing.
“Thank you,” he says after a while. “For asking. For… this.”
“You don’t have to thank me for basic decency.”
“Still.” He looks at you, something complicated in his expression.
You stop walking. The cats pause too, sensing the shift.
Before you can overthink it, you step closer and wrap your arms around him.
He goes rigid—just for a second—before his arms come up slowly. Carefully.
“You’re a good person, Varka,” you murmur against his chest. “Not just a good leader. You’re… genuinely good. Kind. Thoughtful. The kind of person who remembers which cat likes which blanket and asks the right questions and notices things without someone mentioning them.”
You feel him exhale, long and slow, some of the tension draining from his frame.
“The kind of person people look up to,” you continue, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “Not because you’re strong or victorious or never make mistakes. But because you care. That’s why they follow you. Why they trust you.”
His eyes are very bright in the lamplight. “I don’t…” His voice is rough. “I don’t know what to say to that.”
“You don’t have to say anything.”
He laughs—surprised and a little unsteady. “You’re extraordinary, you know that?”
“Why, because I give hugs?”
“Because you see things.” His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheek. “You ask the questions nobody else asks. You notice things nobody else notices.”
The moment feels suspended, fragile.
“I admire that about you,” you say quietly. “You’re good at helping people, but you’re also good at knowing people. Seeing what they need. Being what they need.”
You hesitate, then add, “I wasn’t always… good at that. Knowing who to trust. I got hurt once—someone I cared about got hurt because I trusted the wrong people. Made the wrong call.”
His expression shifts. Understanding, protectiveness, something deeper.
“It made me careful,” you continue. “Maybe too careful. But you…” You meet his eyes. “You’re not like them.”
“Hey,” he says softly, both hands framing your face now. “Whatever happened before—that wasn’t your fault. You can’t control what other people choose to do.”
“I know. But it still—”
Bristle headbutts his leg aggressively, meowing with impressive volume.
You both startle, then laugh.
“I think someone’s jealous of the attention,” Varka says, crouching to give Bristle the pets she’s demanding.
“Or hungry,” you point out.
“Always a possibility with this one.” But he’s smiling. Something warm and genuine and entirely for you.
Pepper joins in the demand for attention. Then Whisper. Within seconds you’re both surrounded by insistent cats.
“Alright, alright,” Varka concedes, standing. “My four companions have spoken again. We should head back.”
The walk back is lighter somehow. His shoulders aren’t quite so tense. Your own chest feels less tight.
When you reach the alley, he helps you settle the cats before turning to leave. “Varka?”
He looks back.
“I mean it. What I said. You’re… you’re really good. Don’t forget that.”
Something in his expression goes very soft. “Coming from you,” he says quietly, “that means more than you know.”
And then he’s gone, but the warmth in your chest stays.
Behind you, Whisper purrs contentedly. “Yeah,” you murmur. “I know.”
— ✦ —
The next evening, when Varka shows up at the usual time, you’re hyperaware of every look, every smile, every time his hand lingers near yours.
“You alright?” he asks, noticing your distraction.
“Fine,” you lie.
He doesn’t push. Just settles beside you, close enough that his warmth reaches you, and starts telling Pepper about his day like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
You watch him. This enormous man baby-talking to a cat—and something in your chest aches.
Don’t, you tell yourself. Don’t get attached. You’re leaving eventually. This isn’t permanent.
But it’s getting harder to remember why you would do that.
Varka brings you a scarf one day after.
“Nights are getting colder,” he says, wrapping it around your neck before you can protest.
His fingers linger at your collar. You can feel his breath, warm against your temple.
For a moment, neither of you moves.
You’re acutely aware of everything—the calluses on his fingertips, the warmth radiating from him, how close his mouth is to your forehead. How easy it would be to tilt your head up, to—
Then Bristle meows, breaking the spell, and you both step back too quickly.
“Thank you,” you manage.
“Anytime.” His voice is rougher than usual.
You don’t take the scarf off, even after he leaves.
It smells like him.
Two days later, you notice his gloves are worn through at the fingertips.
You don’t say anything. Just buy a new pair and leave them at the Knights of Favonius headquarters with a note:
For patrols. Don’t argue.
That evening, when he shows up at the alley, he’s wearing them. “You know,” Varka says, crouching beside you, flexing his fingers in the new gloves, “you’re making it very hard to be the one who takes care of you.”
“Good.” You don’t look at him. “You do too much for everyone else anyway.”
“And you don’t do enough for yourself.”
“Pot, meet kettle.”
He laughs. Surprised and delighted and entirely too warm. “Fair point.”
When you finally glance over, he’s looking at the gloves like they’re armor blessed by the Archons.
“They fit perfectly,” he says quietly.
You watch his hands as he flexes his fingers again.
You’ve seen those hands gentle with kittens, steady when holding them, and suddenly you’re thinking about them in contexts you absolutely should not be thinking about.
“I know your size.” The words slip out before you can stop them.
His eyes snap to yours, something intense flickering in them. “Do you?”
“I pay attention,” you manage.
“Yeah,” he says softly, voice rough. “I’ve noticed.”
Neither of you looks away.
Pepper headbutts your leg, demanding food, and the moment shatters.
But Varka doesn’t take the gloves off for the rest of the night.
And you notice.
One evening, Varka arrives earlier than usual, and there’s something different in his expression.
“I found a place,” he says without preamble.
You blink up at him. “What?”
“An apartment. Two rooms, near the plaza. I talked to the landlord about the cats. He’s fine with it.”
Your heart does something complicated.
You’ve been looking for weeks. Every place either doesn’t allow animals, costs too much, or the landlords take one look at you—a newcomer with no references—and politely decline.
You were starting to think you’d be in that cramped temporary room forever.
“Is it… expensive?”
“Affordable.” He names a price that makes your shoulders drop with relief. “And the landlord’s flexible. As long as you take care of the place, he’s not picky.”
“Varka…” Your voice catches, but his gaze tells you that words aren't needed.
“Want to see it?” he asks gently. “No pressure. But I think you’d like it.”
The next day, he takes you to see it.
It’s perfect.
Small, yes. The floors creak and the kitchen is barely big enough for two people. But the windows are tall, the light is good, and when you mention the cats, Varka points to the corner near the hearth.
“Perfect spot for them,” he says. “Warm. Safe.”
You stand in the middle of the empty apartment and feel something shift in your chest.
A permanent place.
In Mondstadt.
“I’ll take it,” you hear yourself say.
Varka’s smile could light up the entire city.
“The place will be ready in about two weeks,” he says. “Landlord needs to do some minor repairs first—fix a few floorboards, check the window latches, that sort of thing. But it’s yours after that.”
Two weeks. A permanent place in two weeks.
It feels both impossibly far away and remarkably close.
“I’ll help you move,” Varka says, like it’s obvious. Like there was never any question.
“You don't have to do that.”
“I know.” His eyes are warm. “But I want to. Besides, those cats aren’t going to move themselves.”
You laugh despite yourself. “Pretty sure Bristle would try.”
“Exactly why you need supervision.” Varka’s grinning now. “Can’t have her directing the whole operation.”
“You know he likes you, right?” Sara asks one day when you’re picking up food.
“Who?”
She gives you a look. “The Grand Master. Varka. The man who rearranged his entire schedule to ‘accidentally’ run into you.”
“He hasn’t—we’re not—”
“He looks at you,” she interrupts gently, “like you’re the best thing that’s happened to Mondstadt in years.”
Your throat tightens.
“He’s just… kind. That’s how he is with everyone.”
“No,” she says simply. “It’s not.”
That night, Varka shows up early.
You’re still arranging the shelter when his footsteps echo down the alley.
“You’re here early,” you say, not looking up.
“Finished work early.” He crouches beside you. “Thought I’d help.”
You hand him a bowl of food without comment.
His fingers brush yours as he takes it.
This time, he doesn’t pull away immediately.
Neither do you.
When Varka arrives the next evening, you notice immediately.
The careful way he sits. The slight tightness around his eyes. The way he’s holding himself just a fraction too still.
“Long day?” you ask quietly.
“Just the usual.” But his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
You don’t push. Just shift slightly closer, your shoulder brushing his.
It’s a small thing. Barely noticeable.
But you feel him exhale—long and slow—some of the tension leaving his frame.
His eyes drop to where you’re touching, then to your face. The look there is complicated. Warm and wanting and carefully controlled.
“This helps,” Varka says, voice rougher than usual.
You’re suddenly very aware of the warmth of him, the solid presence at your side, the fact that you’re close enough to feel his breathing.
“What does?”
“This. Being here. With you.”
Your heart stumbles.
He’s not looking at you—he’s watching Whisper play with a piece of string—but his voice is too honest, too open.
“Here it’s just quiet. Just the cats. Just us. That's enough.”
He finally looks at you.
You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can’t do anything but sit there with your shoulder pressed to his, feeling the warmth of him, the weight of what he’s not quite saying.
“You don’t have to be ‘on’ all the time,” you say softly. “Not with me.”
Something in his expression cracks open.
“I know,” he says. “That’s why I keep coming back.”
“You’ve been quiet lately,” he adds after a moment.
“Just thinking.”
“About?”
About how I’m falling for you.
“Nothing important,” you say instead.
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, he asks: “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”
You finally look at him.
“Of course,” you lie, panic taking over.
His jaw tightens slightly, like he knows it’s not true.
But he doesn’t push.
He never pushes.
Two days later, the rain comes.
Heavy and cold and relentless.
You stay with the cats longer than you should, making sure their shelter is secure, that they’re warm and dry.
By the time you finish, you’re soaked through.
Varka didn’t come tonight. Some emergency at the headquarters, probably.
You tell yourself you’re not disappointed.
You tell yourself it’s better this way. Less complicated, less dangerous, less likely to end with your heart in pieces when you eventually leave Mondstadt.
You tell yourself a lot of things as you walk home in the rain, shivering, already feeling the first warning signs of a fever settling into your bones.
— ✦ —
The next morning, Whisper doesn’t come out of the shelter. When you coax her into your hands, her tiny body feels too warm, her breathing small and uneven.
Your stomach drops.
You bundle her gently into your cloak and go looking for help.
But halfway across the square, the world swims.
You blink hard, but the plaza keeps tilting.
When did the sun get so bright? When did your legs get so heavy?
Right. You didn’t sleep much. Didn’t eat much. Didn’t think about the rain soaking you through last night, or how your throat’s been raw since morning, or how you can’t seem to get warm no matter how many layers you put on.
You take another step—
And sway.
A large hand steadies your shoulder instantly.
“Easy,” comes a familiar voice. “You okay?”
You look up.
Of course he’s here.
Varka is always exactly where he shouldn’t be, and exactly where you need him.
“I’m fine,” you say automatically.
His eyes flick down to Whisper, then to your unsteady posture.
“You’re not,” he says quietly.
“I’m just tired.”
“And feverish.” His gaze sharpens. “And trying to walk across the plaza with a sick kitten instead of asking for help.”
Your jaw tenses. “Whisper needs a healer. That’s all.”
“So do you.”
You stiffen, ready to protest, but your legs choose that moment to wobble again.
His hands catch your elbows, steady and warm. Stronger than they have any right to be.
“Sit,” he says gently but firmly. “Now. Before you fall.”
You bristle, instinctively defensive. “I don’t need—”
“Yes.” His voice is low, steady, and utterly unmovable. “You do.”
Your breath stutters. He lowers you onto a bench against the fountain wall. Carefully, like you’ll topple if he moves too fast.
Then he crouches, eye-level now, looking between you and the trembling kitten in your arms.
“What happened?”
“Whisper’s… warm. She’s not eating. And I—” Your voice cracks. “I didn’t want to bother anyone.”
His expression is impossible to read. Something between soft worry and something deeper, tighter.
“You don’t bother me,” he says quietly. “Not ever.”
Your breath catches.
He stands, shrugs off his cloak, and drapes it around your shoulders before you can stop him.
The weight of it settles over you, still warm from his body. Too intimate. Too caring. Too much like something you don’t deserve.
“Varka—”
“You’re shivering,” he says. “Let me help.”
You look down at Whisper again, guilt and fear twisting in your chest.
“I should’ve paid more attention. I should’ve—”
“No.” His voice is suddenly firm, almost rough. “Stop that.”
You blink up at him.
“This isn’t your fault,” he continues. “Animals get sick. Weather changes. You’re doing everything right.”
You swallow hard.
He meets your eyes, steady and unflinching.
“And you don’t have to do it alone.”
You look away, throat tight. “I don’t want to rely on you for everything.”
His jaw flexes. Something flashes in his eyes—frustration, yes, but underneath it, something that looks almost like hurt.
“I don’t want you relying on me for everything,” he says slowly, voice tight with something he’s trying to control. “But I do want you to let me help when you’re sick and trying to carry a sick kitten across the plaza alone because you’re too stubborn to ask.”
He takes a breath, steadying himself. “I want to be here for this. Don’t you get that?”
Your breath hitches.
There it is—the edge of frustration.
“I didn’t want to be a burden.”
He exhales sharply, like the words hit him somewhere deep.
“You’re not,” he says, voice low and earnest. “Not to me.”
Before you can reply, Whisper stirs weakly.
Varka straightens immediately. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s get both of you taken care of.”
And when you hesitate—because of course you hesitate, because accepting help feels like admitting defeat, like proving you can’t do this alone—
He waits. Hand extended. Patient. Unmovable.
Like he’ll stand there all day if that’s what it takes.
Whisper mewls softly in your arms, and the sound breaks something in you.
You take his hand.
His fingers close around yours, and he pulls you to your feet gently.
“There,” he murmurs, so quietly you almost miss it. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
You don’t answer.
Can’t.
Because his hand is still holding yours, and you’re wearing his cloak that smells like him, and Whisper is tucked against your chest, and Varka is looking at you like—
Like you matter.
Like this matters.
And you’re not sure how much longer you can pretend it doesn’t.
— ✦ —
The next days pass in a blur of recovery and quiet anticipation.
Whisper bounces back quickly. Within days she’s climbing and exploring like nothing happened.
You take longer, but Varka checks on you daily. Brings soup. Insists you rest. Threatens to carry you back to bed when he catches you trying to organize your belongings too early.
“The apartment isn’t going anywhere,” he says firmly. “Neither am I.”
You stop arguing after that.
By the time moving day arrives, you’re mostly recovered and entirely out of excuses to avoid the flutter of nerves in your chest.
This is really happening.
A permanent place. In Mondstadt.
With Varka helping you settle into it.
You’re halfway through carrying a box up the stairs when Varka appears in the doorway, arms already reaching.
“I can carry my own things,” you protest.
“I know.” He takes the box anyway. “But I’m here, so you don’t have to.”
By the time the sun sets, your belongings are inside and Varka is helping arrange furniture like he’s done this a hundred times.
“The desk should go near the window,” he suggests. “Better light for reading.”
You both move to shift it, and suddenly you’re in close quarters. His arm brushing yours, his chest nearly against your back as you navigate the narrow space.
He smells like wind and leather and something warmer you can’t name.
“Careful,” he murmurs, hand steadying your waist as you nearly trip.
The touch is brief, practical, completely innocent.
Your heart races anyway.
You blink. “How did you know I like to read by windows?”
He pauses, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “You always sit by them. In the tavern, the plaza, the cathedral steps…”
He’s been noticing. Cataloging. Remembering.
“Varka,” you say quietly.
He looks up from the table he’s positioning.
“Thank you. For… all of this. The place, the help, just…” You gesture vaguely. “Everything.”
Something softens in his expression. “You don’t have to thank me.”
“I want to.”
The air between you thickens.
He’s standing in your home. Your space. Somewhere private and personal and entirely yours.
Except you invited him in, and he came, and now he’s here, in your kitchen, with dust on his shirt and warmth in his eyes, and it feels significant in a way you can’t quite name.
“The cats should go here,” Varka says finally, breaking the moment. He gestures to the corner near the hearth. “Warm. Out of the way. Safe.”
Of course he’s thought about the cats.
You help him arrange blankets, set up bowls, create a little sanctuary in the corner.
When you’re done, Pepper immediately claims the softest blanket. Whisper curls beside her. Bristle explores every inch, sniffing and investigating with her usual boldness.
“They like it,” Varka says, satisfaction clear in his voice.
“They do.”
You both watch them for a moment. This small family you’ve built, this strange little life that somehow includes him now.
“I should go,” he says, though he doesn’t move. “Let you settle in.”
“You could stay,” you hear yourself say. Then, realizing how that sounds: “For tea. I mean. If you want.”
His smile is soft and entirely too warm. “I’d like that.”
You make tea in your new kitchen while he sits at your new table, and it feels domestic and comfortable and terrifying all at once. You talk for a while. And it's nice.
“First night in a new place is always strange,” he says eventually. “If you need anything—”
“I know where to find you.”
His eyes hold yours. “Yeah. You do.”
He stands, reluctant to leave. “I’ve got to meet some of the knights at Angel’s Share—strategy discussion that’ll probably run late. But I’ll be nearby if—” He stops himself, looking almost embarrassed. “Well. You know where I am.”
“Angel’s Share is close,” you point out, smiling despite yourself. “I think I can manage.”
“And if anything—”
“Varka.” You give him a look. “Go. I’ll be fine.”
He nods, though he still doesn’t look entirely convinced.
When he finally leaves, the apartment feels bigger and emptier than it should.
— ✦ —
You spend the rest of the evening unpacking.
Arranging books. Hanging clothes. Trying to make this new space feel like home.
The cats explore cautiously. Pepper claiming the warmest corner, Whisper investigating every shadow, Bristle poking her nose into cabinets and crevices with her usual boldness.
In the end, you’re exhausted but satisfied. The apartment is still mostly bare, but it’s yours. The cats have food and water and soft places to sleep. The windows overlook the plaza where lanterns are just beginning to glow.
It’s perfect.
You settle the cats for the night—fresh water, blankets arranged just so. Bristle purrs when you scratch behind her ears, and Whisper is already curled up contentedly.
“First night in our new home,” you murmur to them. “No more cramped rooms. No more hiding.”
They seem satisfied.
You leave a window cracked for fresh air—just a few inches, secured with the latch Varka checked earlier—and finally let yourself relax.
You’d just finished changing into sleep clothes when you hear it.
A door creaking somewhere.
A gust of wind stronger than it should be.
And the bell around Bristle’s neck jingles once—
Then silence.
Your heart lurches.
“Bristle?” you call, searching the corners. “Come here!”
Nothing.
The window curtain flutters, and dread slides cold down your spine.
You rush outside barefoot, scanning the street.
“Bristle?!”
Your voice cracks.
And then, footsteps.
Heavy ones, too familiar now.
Varka rounds the corner quickly, expression alert, still carrying the faint warmth of the tavern on him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Bristle—she’s gone—the window—” You can’t form full sentences. Can’t breathe properly. “I have to find her—she could be anywhere—”
You try to move past him.
He catches your arm. Not roughly, but firm.
“Stop. Just—stop for a minute and—”
“I don’t have a minute!” You pull free, voice breaking. “She’s out there, alone, she doesn’t know this area, what if she’s scared, what if something—”
“I know.” His voice is steady but strained. “I know you’re scared, but you can’t just—”
“Can’t what?” You spin on him, panic making you sharp. “Look for her? What am I supposed to do, just wait? Just stand here while she’s—”
“You’re barefoot,” he interrupts, voice harder now. “You ran out here without shoes, without a coat, without thinking—”
“Of course I didn‘t think!” The words tear out of you. “I heard the bell and she was gone and I just—I can’t—”
Your voice cracks completely.
Varka’s jaw tightens, something flashing in his eyes. Frustration, fear, something barely controlled.
“You think I don’t understand that?” His voice is low, rough at the edges in a way you’ve never heard before. “You think I’m not terrified right now too?”
You blink at him, startled.
“She’s—” He stops, takes a breath that sounds like it costs him. “She’s my cat too. I know that’s not—I don’t have any claim, but I—”
He drags a hand through his hair, and you realize his hands are shaking slightly.
“I’m scared too,” he says, quieter now but no less intense. “But you can’t just run into the night alone. What if you’d gone outside the city walls?”
“I wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t you?” His voice sharpens again. “If you thought she’d gone that way? If someone said they saw a cat near Wolvendom, or the Whispering Woods—would you have stopped at the gates?”
The answer must show on your face because something in his expression cracks.
“Exactly,” he breathes. “You would’ve run straight into hilichurl territory, or worse, and you wouldn’t have thought twice because you were scared and—”
He stops himself, jaw working. “Do you have any idea what that does to me?”
The world goes very quiet.
“What?” you whisper.
He’s not looking at you now. His hands are clenched at his sides, and when he speaks his voice is rough with something that sounds like desperation.
“You don’t get it,” Varka says. “Every time you’re in danger, every time you run off alone, every time you refuse to let me help because you don’t want to be a ‘burden’—”
He finally looks at you, and the expression in his eyes stops your breath.
“You—this—you are important to me. And watching you throw yourself into danger—”
He cuts himself off, breathing hard.
The silence stretches between you, heavy with everything he just said and everything he didn’t.
Your heart is pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat.
“Varka,” you breathe.
He closes his eyes briefly, like he’s trying to regain control.
When he opens them again, some of the intensity has banked. Not gone, but carefully contained.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t mean to—” He shakes his head.
“I'm sorry too,” you murmur. “For worrying you.”
“Let’s just find her. Together. Please.”
This time when he offers his hand, you take it.
He’s right. You’re shaking, you’re barefoot, you can barely think straight.
And because somewhere in the last two minutes, everything changed.
His hand is warm and steady around yours, and he squeezes once before releasing it.
“Gates first,” Varka says, voice back to that calm competence. “She’s bold. She’ll move toward open space when stressed.”
You stare at him. “How do you know that?”
He glances sideways, a ghost of that crooked smile. “I pay attention. Especially to the things you love.”
The words hit you square in the chest.
You almost stumble.
Then—
A faint jingle in the distance.
Varka freezes.
“There.”
He points toward the grass beyond the outer wall—moonlight catching a tiny silhouette near a cluster of crates.
“Bristle!” you gasp, sprinting.
But she darts away, spooked by movement.
You stumble—
And Varka is instantly at your side, steadying your elbow.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Let me.”
He kneels slowly, lowering his massive frame with surprising gentleness.
“Hey, little knight,” he says softly, hand extended. “Come here.”
His warm and soothing voice works instantly.
Bristle creeps forward, sniffing his fingers, then headbutts his palm with a tiny mew.
The sound you make is half-laugh, half-sob.
Varka scoops her up with one careful hand and stands, turning to you. “Here,” he says softly, offering her.
You take Bristle, holding her against your chest like something precious. She purrs immediately, the sound vibrating through you, and your eyes sting with relief.
“Thank you,” you whisper.
“Don’t.” Varka's voice is rough. “Don’t thank me for—” He stops himself, jaw tight.
You look up at him.
He’s still too close. Close enough that you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing hasn’t quite evened out, the careful control he’s barely maintaining.
“Don’t scare me like that again,” he says quietly. “Either of you.”
Bristle purrs louder.
You can’t speak.
Can’t move.
Can’t do anything but stand there with your cat between you and Varka looking at you like—
Like he’s been holding back for weeks and his control is hanging by a thread.
His eyes drop to your mouth.
Your breath catches audibly.
He notices—of course he notices—and something in his expression shifts. Darkens. Wants.
He takes a half-step closer.
Your back hits the wall behind you, and somewhere in your brain you register that he’s backed you up without you even realizing, that he’s close enough now you can feel the heat of him, that his hand is braced on the wall beside your head and—
“Varka,” you breathe.
He stops.
Freezes completely, his eyes searching yours.
His eyes go dark. His free hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing your cheekbone with devastating gentleness.
Bristle meows between you, squirming.
The moment shatters.
Varka pulls back sharply, breathing hard, and you both stare at each other.
“We should,” he starts, voice rough. Clears his throat. “Get you home. Both of you.”
You nod, not trusting your voice.
He doesn’t touch you on the walk back.
Doesn’t need to.
The tension walks between you like a living thing, crackling and charged and waiting.
— ✦ —
Back inside, you set Bristle down carefully. She immediately darts to her blanket corner, curling up like nothing happened.
You exhale shakily, adrenaline still coursing through you.
Varka moves to the window—the one she escaped through—and checks the latch.
“It wasn’t secured properly,” he says quietly, testing it. “The wood’s warped here. I can fix it tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I want to.” He says it simply, not looking at you. “I don’t want this happening again.”
You watch him work. Those large, careful hands adjusting the mechanism, making sure it’s tight. Making sure you’re safe. Making sure the cats are safe.
Something in your chest cracks. “Varka,” you say softly.
He glances over his shoulder.
You’re closer than you meant to be. Close enough to see his pupils dilate slightly, to see his breath catch.
“Thank you,” you whisper. “For… everything. For coming when I was panicking, for knowing where to look, for—”
Your voice breaks.
His jaw tightens. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t thank me like I did something extraordinary.” He turns fully to face you now, and the intensity in his eyes stops your breath. “Like I wouldn’t drop everything the second you needed me. Like I haven’t been—”
He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair.
The space between you feels electric.
“Been what?” you whisper.
He looks at you for a long moment. “Completely gone for you. For weeks now. Maybe longer.”
The world tilts.
“Varka—”
He takes a step back, trying to create distance.
Your hand shoots out, catching his wrist.
He freezes.
You’re both staring at where you’re touching him—your fingers wrapped around his wrist, feeling his pulse thundering beneath your touch.
When you look up, his eyes are dark. Wanting. Barely controlled.
His breathing goes ragged.
Your hand slides from his wrist up his forearm, and you feel him shudder. “I’m asking you to stop being patient. Stop being chivalrous. Stop—”
You don’t finish the sentence.
Because Varka moves.
His hands find your waist and he walks you backward until your back meets the wall.
His forehead drops to yours, breath coming hard.
“Last chance,” he rasps. “Tell me to stop and I will. But if you don’t—”
You fist your hands in his shirt and pull.
“Don’t stop.”
The sound he makes is somewhere between a groan and surrender.
Then his mouth is on yours.
The kiss is everything you didn’t know you were starving for. Heat and hunger and weeks of carefully restrained wanting finally unleashed. His lips are firm, demanding, devastating in their intensity.
When you gasp against his mouth, he makes a sound low in his throat and deepens the kiss with an urgency that steals the air from your lungs.
You gasp, hands flying to his shoulders.
He groans into your mouth—a low, rough sound that vibrates through your whole body—and his hand comes up to cup your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek even as his mouth claims yours with growing hunger.
You kiss him back just as fiercely, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer like you’ve been waiting for this just as desperately.
The sound he makes is somewhere between surprise and surrender.
His grip tightens.
You arch into him and he responds immediately. His hand sliding from your waist to your hip, fingers curling into the fabric of your clothes, pulling you flush against him until there’s no space left. Until you can feel every inch of him.
Like he’s trying very hard not to lose himself completely.
Like he might anyway.
His other hand cups your jaw, thumb stroking your cheek even as his mouth claims yours with growing hunger. The contrast—that rough desperation tempered by such careful tenderness—makes you dizzy.
Heat. Everywhere. The solid wall of his chest against yours, the strength in his arms, the way he’s surrounding you completely and it should feel overwhelming but instead feels like safety, like home, like finally.
When he finally tears his mouth from yours, you’re both gasping for air.
But he doesn’t pull away.
Can’t seem to.
His forehead drops to yours, breath ragged and hot against your lips. One hand is still fisted in your shirt. The other cradles your face like you’re something precious.
“You really are like a cat,” he murmurs, voice wrecked.
Your breath hitches. “What?”
His lips brush your jaw. Barely a kiss, more like a promise. “Wary.” Another brush, just below your ear. “Careful.” His mouth finds the sensitive spot where your neck meets your shoulder. “Slow to trust.”
You shiver, fingers digging into his shoulders.
His hand slides up your spine, fingers spreading wide across your back, holding you steady.
“But once you decide to let someone in—” His voice drops, goes rougher, and his mouth is so close to your throat you can feel every word against your skin. “—you give everything.”
You can’t breathe. Can’t think. Can only feel the heat of his mouth on your throat, the careful restraint in his touch, the way he’s holding you like you’re precious and desired all at once.
“Varka,” you manage, and his name sounds like a plea.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and what you see in his eyes makes your heart stop.
Want. Yes. Need, definitely. But also something deeper. Something that looks like awe, like he can’t quite believe this is real, like he’s terrified and elated in equal measure.
“I need—” His voice cracks. “Tell me you want this. Not just tonight. Not just because we were scared and—”
You cup his face in both hands, cutting him off. “I want this,” you say firmly, clearly. “I want you. I’ve wanted you since—” You swallow. “Since the Angel‘s Share. Maybe before.”
The sound he makes is somewhere between relief and reverence.
“Thank Barbatos,” he breathes.
And then he’s kissing you again. Slower this time but no less intense. Thorough and deep and claiming, like he’s memorizing every response, cataloging every sound you make, learning exactly how to take you apart with just his mouth.
His tongue sweeps against yours and your knees actually buckle. He catches you immediately, arm banding around your waist, holding you up, holding you close.
The kiss goes molten.
Heat pools low in your belly. Your fingers find his hair, tugging, and he groans into your mouth. A deep, pleased sound that vibrates through your whole body.
He kisses like he does everything else. With complete focus, total commitment, like you’re the only thing that matters in the entire world.
When you finally break apart this time, you’re both trembling, flushed, breathing hard.
He rests his forehead against yours, eyes closed, trying to steady himself.
You can feel his heart thundering against your palm where it rests on his chest.
“I should—” His voice is wrecked. “I should probably go. Before I—”
Before he what? Loses control completely? Forgets to be careful? Stops being the gentleman he’s trying very hard to be right now?
“Don’t.” Your hands tighten on his shirt. “Stay.”
His eyes snap open, dark and searching and full of want barely held in check.
“You sure?”
“Not for—” You flush. “I mean, just—stay. Please. I don’t want you to leave yet.”
Relief and something warmer floods his expression.
“Alright,” he murmurs. He presses a kiss to your forehead, your temple, the corner of your mouth. Small, tender touches that feel like promises. “I’ll stay as long as you want.”
He doesn’t let go. Just holds you against him, one hand stroking your back in slow, soothing circles while your breathing gradually evens out.
“You know,” you murmur against his chest, “I think you’ve officially adopted the cats now.”
You feel his laugh rumble through him. “Yeah?”
“Mm. You named one. You helped move them. You ran through Mondstadt at night to find one.” You pull back enough to meet his eyes. “They’re yours too now.”
His expression does something complicated. Soft and pleased and almost shy.
“When did that happen?” he asks quietly.
“Probably the moment you found us in that alley,” you admit. “You just didn’t know it yet.”
His smile is devastating. “Best thing I ever found.”
“The cats?”
“You.” His thumb brushes your cheek. “The cats are a bonus.”
You laugh, and he kisses you again. Soft and sweet and full of promise.
When he finally, reluctantly pulls away, his hand lingers on your face.
“I should let you sleep,” he says, though he doesn’t sound like he wants to leave.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
“Try to stop me.” He presses one more kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well. All four of you.”
You watch him leave, and when the door closes behind him, you touch your lips.
They’re still tingling.
Behind you, Bristle meows softly.
You turn to find all three cats watching you from their corner—Whisper’s eyes half-closed, Pepper already asleep, Bristle looking distinctly unimpressed with the delay in her post-adventure pets.
“Don’t look at me like that,” you mutter, moving to join them.
But you’re smiling.
And when you fall asleep that night, it’s with the memory of his hands in your hair, his voice in your ear, and the absolute certainty that everything just changed.
You’ve found home.
⋆ ✦ ⋆
A/N: Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. :)
More Varka to follow soon. (My drafts for him keep piling up and at this point I’m just embracing the chaos.)
Masterlist.
A 10/10 dad with 10 days of fic...
As promised, welcome to Girl Dad Anthology, an event/celebrating I'm doing to thank you all we got to 500 followers (funny enough, it's actually now close to 1k 🥹)
EVENT TIMELINE: MARCH 5TH TO MARCH 15TH
->MAKE YOUR REQUESTS
✹ All my works are cross-posted on AO3
GENERAL RESIDENT EVIL MASTERLIST
🏷️: If you want me to tag you on any of the fics so you don't miss them, please tell me!
‼️ If not specified, fics could be with any Leon you want! Specifications are from requests I've have 💖
🍼 FIRST MORNING HOME
-> Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
You and Leon just had your first baby, and while all you want to do is cuddling with your little girl after a very bad first night at home, you end up finding out she's cuddling with Leon... who says "skin to skin" is very important during the first days of life
🍼 I'M A BIG GIRL!
-> Vendetta Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
It's your daughter's first day of school, and Leon and you are absolutely terrified and panicked about everything that could possibly go wrong
🍼 DON'T MESS WITH MY FAMILY
-> RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
Leon, you, and your two daughters were supposed to be having a nice weekend off... but, instead, you get a surprise visit from a BOW that, definitely, ruined Leon's two day vacation
🍼 WILL WE BE GOOD AT THIS?
-> RE2R Leon Kennedy x GF!Reader
Leon and you became parents about two hours ago... and, definitely, you have no idea of what to do with your baby girl (and you don't have a manual to help you either)
🍼 SHE WANTED TO WAIT FOR YOU
-> RE4R Leon Kennedy x GF!Reader
Leon's about to come home from a mission and, no matter if it's too late for her to be awake, your daughter really wants her daddy to take her to bed and read her a book
🍼 SO... I'M NOT BROKEN?
-> Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
Leon and you receive a call from your daughter's teacher about how she's having problems in class. However, even others kids might want to make her feel bad, she's nothing but a star
🍼 I'M FAILING YOU BOTH
-> Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
You can't take it anymore: you're really struggling with postpartum depression. Even when Leon tries to help you and makes you feel like you're everything, you feel quite the opposite
🍼 YOU'RE NOT MY DAD
-> RE9 Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
You started dating Leon when your daughter was 2 years old. Now, 10 years later, and after finding out Leon's not her biological dad, she has something to attack him and to make him vulnerable
🍼 JUST "DATING"... SECRETLY PREGNANT
-> RE9 Leon Kennedy x GF!Reader
No one, except your sister, knows that Leon and you are dating. However, you definitely have to tell your family since you find out, to no surprise for you or your boyfriend, you're pregnant
🍼 JUST "PREGNANT".... SECRETLY ALMOST PARENTS
-> RE9 Leon Kennedy x GF!Reader
Third trimester of your pregnancy is really driving you crazy, so Leon decides to help you out the same way you made the baby: having sex
🍼 WHY DIDN'T YOU JUST CALLED ME?!
-> Leon Kennedy x Wife!Reader
Leon's out on a mission and you start feeling contractions. Instead of calling him because you think you might overwhelm him, you decide to wait... until, definitely, Leon comes back home to find out you're definitely going to give birth in your living room
A/n: IF YOU WANT A 🍋 ( smut ) VERSION THEN LET ME KNOW!
Warnings: THIS CONTAINS HEAVY SPOILERS FOR THE ENDING OF RESIDENT EVIL REQUIEM, if you do not want to be spoiled for the end of the game then do not read, when it gets to the spoil point it will be under the cut.
The door to the apartment opened slowly, the quiet click of the lock echoing through the dim hallway.
For a long moment, Leon S. Kennedy simply stood there.
He hadn’t moved.
He hadn’t spoken.
His hand was still wrapped around the doorknob like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to come inside.
The place smelled like home. Laundry detergent. Coffee. The faint sweetness of the candle you always forgot to blow out before bed.
For years Leon had walked through countless doors with a gun in his hand.
Government facilities. War zones. Outbreak sites.
But this one?
This one scared him more than any of them.
Because tonight he wasn’t bringing danger with him.
Tonight… he was bringing hope.
Closing his eyes to steel his nerves, he took a deep breath, Leon stepped inside and quietly shut the door.
In the living room you were curled up on the couch, a blanket around your shoulders, the soft glow of the lamp lighting your face. You had fallen asleep waiting for him again, something Leon both loved and hated. Loved because you cared enough to wait.
Hated because he knew how many nights you’d done it alone.
Your eyes stirred open when you heard the door, a soft groan leaving your lips.
“Leon?”Your voice was groggy, warm, confused.
He swallowed hard, a lump forming in his throat as he felt tears pricking at the edge of his eye.God, you were still here.
Still waiting....
Still loving him.
He stepped closer into the light, his jacket half-zipped, hair damp from the rain outside. But something about his expression was different tonight.
No longer haunted.
No longer exhausted.
Just…stunned.
“You’re home,” you said softly, pushing the blanket off and sitting up. "Sherry called and." You yawned stretching though your brows furrowed when you saw the way he was looking at you.
Like he was seeing you for the first time.
“Leon?”
He opened his mouth.
Closed it again.
Then rubbed the back of his neck nervously,something he only did when he didn’t know how to say what he was feeling.
“Hey,” he said quietly.
The word sounded almost fragile.
Slipping off the couch, you stood up and walked toward him, concern already blooming in your chest.
“Did something happen?”
Leon looked at you like the answer was bigger than words.
Then he laughed.
A small, breathless sound.
“Yeah,” he said.
A pause.
“Something happened.”
Your heart started racing.“Leon—”
“I’m cured.”
The words came out rough, like they’d been trapped in his chest for years.
Silence filled the room.
You blinked, taking stunned step back.“…what?”
Leon’s blue eyes softened as he stepped closer.
“They...” He wasn't even sure where to start. "We found a cure. "he said quietly. “The infection from Raccoon City… the one they said would always be there.”
Your breathing stopped.
For years Leon had carried that virus in his body.
Dormant.
Controlled.
But never gone, and then it got worse, then it started to spread. You could still remember hearing him coughing up blood at night, him hiding it to not worry.
A ticking clock neither of you talked about out loud.
He nodded once, like he still couldn’t believe it himself.
“It was...is called Elpis,” he continued. “Antiviral agent. Grace Ashcroft found it.”
The name barely registered.
You were staring at him like the world had just tilted.
“It… eliminates infections in the host.”
Your voice trembled.“So…”
Leon stepped closer.“So I’m clean.”Another breath, as of the weight was finally lifted.“It’s gone.”
Your hands slowly came up to cover your mouth.Tears filled your eyes instantly, your lip trembled.
“No more virus,” Leon whispered.
“No more mutations.”
“No more… what ifs.”
He took another step toward you, his voice softening.
“I’m not carrying that thing anymore.”
You made a small sound that was somewhere between a sob and a laugh before launching forward and throwing your arms around him.
Leon barely had time to react before you collided into his chest.The force nearly knocked him backward.He caught you instantly.
Of course he did.
His arms wrapped around you like muscle memory.
Like home.
You buried your face into his neck and cried.
Years of fear.
Years of pretending you weren’t terrified something would happen to him.
Years of watching him leave on missions where the virus inside him might betray him.
Years of thinking that this may be the last time you will see the man you love.
Gone.
All of it.
“Hey, hey…” Leon murmured gently, one hand coming up to cradle the back of your head.
His fingers threaded through your hair as he held you tighter.“I’m okay.”
Your voice broke against his shoulder.“You’re really cured?”
He nodded against your temple. "Yeah.”A quiet laugh escaped him.“First time in a long time I don’t feel like a walking biohazard.”
You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your hands gripping the front of his jacket.
Your eyes searched his face desperately.“Are you sure?”
Leon smiled softly.That rare smile, that boyish grin you loved so much.
The one only you got.
“I’m sure.”
Your hands came up to cup his face like you needed to confirm he was real, your thumb gliding across his cheek.
Then you kissed him.
Hard.
Relieved.
Desperate.
Leon froze for half a second before immediately melting into it, his arms tightening around your waist as he kissed you back.
God, he’d missed this.
Not the kiss.
You.
Your warmth.
Your normal life.
When the kiss broke, he rested his forehead against yours, both of you breathing a little harder.
“I kept thinking about this moment,” he admitted quietly.
You brushed your thumb across his cheek again, wiping away a stray tear of his.“What moment?"
He exhaled slowly.“Coming home.”His voice softened.“And not bringing a virus with me.”
You smiled through the tears.“Well,” you whispered, letting out a small sniffle.“You still brought something.”
Leon raised a brow.“Oh yeah?”
Your arms wrapped around his neck again as you leaned in close.“You brought yourself.”
Leon huffed out a quiet laugh and pulled you close again, burying his face into your hair and for the first time since Raccoon City.
Leon S. Kennedy finally felt like he was safe to stay, the man leaning into to kiss you again as he gripped your hips.
Leon had barely finished catching his breath after the kiss when your hands slid up to his face again.
Your palms were warm against his skin, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones as you studied him with exaggerated concentration. Your eyes narrowed slightly, head tilting this way and that like you were inspecting a suspicious piece of evidence.
Leon blinked at you.“…what?”
You hummed thoughtfully, squinting harder. Hands moving his face from side to side.“Hold still.”
“I am holding still.”
You leaned closer, examining the faint lines around his eyes, the familiar scar near his lip, the tiredness that had lived in his face for years.
Except…
Something was different.
Your eyes widened.“Oh my god.”
Leon’s shoulders stiffened immediately.“What?”
You cupped his cheeks more firmly and turned his face toward the lamp to get a better view of his face. "Did it make you younger?”
Leon stared at you.“…what?”
“You look younger,” you said matter-of-factly, like you had just uncovered a scientific breakthrough.
Leon blinked again.
Then huffed a disbelieving laugh.
“You’re kidding.”
You leaned even closer, peering into his face with theatrical seriousness.“No, seriously.”
Your thumb traced the corner of his eye.“These lines are less deep.”
Leon groaned quietly.“Oh great.”
Your grin spread wider.“You look like you aged backwards five years.”
Leon rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh as he avoided your gaze.“Sherry said there might be… side effects.”
You gasped dramatically.“So it did make you younger!”
He pointed at you accusingly.“That’s not what I said.”
Your smile turned wicked.“Well now people won’t say you’re robbing the cradle when they see us walking down the street."
Leon’s mouth fell open.“Hey!”
You laughed.“Come on, Mr. Government Agent.”
Your hands slid back to his cheeks again, squishing them slightly.“You were already pushing it.”
“I am not that old,” Leon protested.
You continued holding his face like a very stubborn cat.“You were 21 in Raccoon City.”
“I was a rookie!”
“You were a rookie with floppy hair and trauma.”
Leon sighed.“You’re enjoying this way too much.”
“Absolutely.”You tilted his face again, studying him with mischievous curiosity.“…yeah, it’s official.”
“What is?"
“You’re definitely younger.”
Leon narrowed his eyes at you.“You’re impossible.”
“And you’re aging backwards,” you countered sweetly.
He muttered under his breath.“Should’ve kept the virus.”
You gasped.“Take that back!”
Leon snorted before his hands came up, sliding around your waist and pulling you closer.
Your teasing grin faltered slightly when he tugged you flush against his chest.
“Oh no,” you said slowly.
“That look means trouble.”
Leon’s blue eyes softened, though the hint of mischief in them hadn’t disappeared.“You think I look younger?”
You nodded.“Yep....very sexy."
His arms tightened around you, another snort leaving his lips.“Good.”
You blinked.“Why?”
His forehead lowered until it rested against yours again, voice quiet but playful.“Because now when people ask how I landed a wife like you…”
His thumb brushed your cheek.“…I can say it’s because I’m aging like fine wine.”
varka wrote a letter to you right before heading back to mondstadt. you respond.
part one (click the link above). part two (now reading). part three (coming soon).
Masterlist
The journey back home was supposed to be shorter. Easier. The last group of knights Varka was travelling with was smaller, not to mention a large part of the time they were on a boat, sailing from Nod-Krai to Bayda Harbour. Then the journey continued on foot across Liyue until they reached home. It was the shortest and fastest way to travel. Yet, by the time the knights finally reached Wangshu Inn, Varka felt like time was keeping him chained away from you.
He regretted being so cocky in the last letter he had sent, being more preoccupied with petty little games you often played to outsmart each other. He really did hope you were waiting at Wangshu Inn for him. He hoped with all his heart that you would appear out of the Silk Flower bushes, running into his arms. Or that your eyes were following his steps from the high terrace of the Inn, eager to welcome him in the room you had already rented.
None of that happened. He cursed himself for not begging you to come to him earlier because the days seemed to stretch one after the other and the moment he could finally see you again was still out of reach. Varka’s patience was wearing thin. Nevertheless, his troubled soul was not something others could guess. To the knights he was the same man they’ve always known. Now that the dangers of the expedition were left behind them, the grandmaster seemed more easygoing, humming songs to fill the silence, joking around, sharing plans for the future. Varka was a reassuring presence, both in battle and in ordinary life.
Every small wave of knights that returned to Mondstadt had followed the same route, making sure the people at Wangshu Inn had the rooms already prepared to accommodate Varka and his people for one night on their last stop before the end of the journey. As they were checking in, the owner handed the grandmaster a letter that had been waiting for his arrival for a couple of days. The faintly fragrant paper and your sigil on top of it was enough for Varka’s heart to skip a beat. With a gleeful command he allowed the group of knights to retreat to their rented chambers for a couple of hours of rest before meeting at dinner. On his way to his own room, Varka’s long, skillful fingers all but almost ripped the paper apart, no drop of patience left in his tired body.
Grandmaster,
Varka chuckled at the sober tone of your letter. He could almost hear the familiar strain in your voice as you tried to hide the rosy pink shade in your cheeks whenever he got you flustered. The letter he had sent before departing must have made you feel like that.
I used to consider you a reliable and responsible man, the kind of man who would protect and shelter his people from both sickness and danger. It seems the Nod-Krai expedition has used up all of these qualities you used to show.
Brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, Varka checked the envelope and seal of the letter that had been waiting for him. Unmistakably your writing, but sealed with formal red wax instead of the usual dark blue your letters used to have. Seal colors were an unspoken language, revealing much of the letter’s contents before even reading it. Love letters were usually sealed with blue wax. Varka considered that a deeper shade symbolized a deeper love and, while his love was so immense it was impossible to show through trinkets and whatnot, he always searched for the deepest shade of sealing wax when he was writing to you. He had endless examples of this since he had kept every letter you sent him during the expedition, all sealed in blue. Red was for impersonal, formal letters, the kind he would send or receive from other countries’ officials or businessmen.
Mondstadt needs you, grandmaster. I assume the tribulations you encountered in the past year, like abyssal power, 500 year old fiends and Fatui harbingers, are nothing compared to administrative, logistic, social and economic issues of state. I am also aware that you would rather fight Boreas all over again than sit at your desk and go through official papers. Yet, I must remind you that these aspects are also part of your duty, and more frequent than you hope.
Before he could reach his room Varka had to sit at a table on the terrace filled with travelers and finish this reprimanding letter. What was going on? He had written his heart out to you and this is the response he gets instead? Sure, maybe he allowed himself to complain more than usual around you, felt comfortable enough to act like a child, show his vulnerability and his most intimate thoughts and wishes. Isn’t that what you liked? Isn’t that what you missed? Having the strongest man in Mondstadt wrapped around your finger?
I do not have the heart to ask Jean to keep on going even a day more. She always wants to prove herself to you, and she did more than enough. The girl is overworked. As much as you hate administrative work she gets buried in it, as if she can fix the whole nation’s problems in a day. You chose her well, grandmaster. She is indeed a responsible, hard working and intelligent knight. The burden is too heavy for her shoulders, though she resisted this much. So, please, have some consideration for her.
Varka knew, even though he never addressed it directly. He heard people talking, both praising and pitying the young acting grandmaster for her dedication. Of course Jean would get the recognition she deserves, it’s just that he never really needed to prepare speeches like these ahead of time. When he’ll get there he’ll know what to say. After all, if Varka ever felt anxious or insecure enough not to find the right words it was way back when he first met you. He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to get rid of the guilty feeling that seemed to stick to his golden locks.
Instead, my humble suggestion would be to establish a council. Indeed, a group of people takes too much time to decide on important matters and each person has their own interests they pursue. During your long absence, leaving only one person to take on your duties was the right choice. Now that you are returning, however, having a council that could keep things running for a day or two so the grandmaster can rest from time to time sounds like a reasonable idea to me.
Varka had already been thinking about setting up a council. The thought that you still shared the same ideas helped soothe his confused mind a little. Now that he was going through the letter again, maybe your tone wasn’t as harsh as he perceived it at first.
Sending Diluc to Fontaine on the other hand… That is something even you can agree is a little too much, grandmaster. I don’t think I need to remind you what this expedition had cost Mondstadt. Supplies, manpower and most of all mora… It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say the economy was kept alive thanks to the Ragnvindr family business. To think you’re willing to pour it all into the primordial sea for free…
Varka huffed, defeated and put the letter down to rub his tired eyes. Even though he had been travelling on foot for so long this letter of yours was stirring him up so badly he felt like leaving for Mondstadt right at that moment. You had a way with words that made him do anything you asked for. Always pushing and pulling, scolding him and treating him coldly throughout the letter yet the way you kept repeating the word grandmaster, grandmaster, grandmaster felt extremely flirtatious even on paper. Was he getting delirious? Was he so deprived of your love and attention that he was imagining things? Was he so desperate to be welcomed in your arms, be showered with your love so badly that anything else felt insufficient? He only had one paragraph left to read and he picked the letter up again in both hands, placing his scarred forearms on the table like he was going to debate the toughest decision in Mondstadt’s history.
Do you remember that we have a cavalry captain, grandmaster? His name is Kaeya and he’s been asking me about the horses you took away constantly. I cannot tell him there are no horses anymore. Firstly, because I cannot witness the sadness on his face when he realizes his title now means nothing. On the other hand, as we have already discussed privately about this matter, the lack of horses is a real problem.
Of course Varka remembered your private talk. It was his birthday when the knights almost forced him to take the day off and you spent the night together in Nasha Town. That night you told him it was a real pity they didn’t have the horses anymore since he looked, to quote your own words, irresistible when riding one. In return, Varka got to see how good you looked while riding him.
You really liked messing with his poor heart. He barely had the time to relieve his needs since the journey was taking most of the day and by nightfall he was so tired he would fall asleep instantly. During his time at sea, however, Varka had had enough spare time and privacy in his small cabin to touch himself while thinking about you. It barely helped, though, so he did it over and over again like an inexperienced teen who had just discovered the concept of masturbation. He was a starved wolf in an empty cage and you kept pushing a stick through the bars, riling him up even more..
I would suggest you return with at least five horses, grandmaster. Make your entrance through the gates like a triumphant leader, give the people a reason of celebration and pride. After that, you can let the newly established council handle the horse crisis and take some time off.
I hope I have answered all your propositions.
That was it. With a simple signature of your name you ended the letter, leaving Varka blinking in confusion. He checked the other side of the paper: empty. He checked if, perhaps, there were two pieces of paper stuck together, a secret second letter waiting to be discovered. Not the case. His finger traced the curve of every word, like he was able to feel you through the ink and find the answer to his confusion.
He didn’t even hear the young boy who asked if he wanted to have some tea or a meal. The place was buzzing with people eating, talking and playing games at their tables, yet Varka rested his head on his arm on the table, holding the letter with the tips of his fingers, clear blue eyes narrowed and scanning for something, anything that could explain why you didn’t acknowledge his love. It was a pitiful sight, truly. The grandmaster’s wide shoulders slouched over the table, his large frame taking up too much space. Yet he looked so small, his fingers pressing against his scalp in an attempt to soothe his mind and the letter in his other hand, obsessively reading it over and over like he was clinging to your feet begging to receive some kind of acceptance. He could have been at the table for ten minutes or an hour, time didn’t really have any meaning, when Varka finally sighed, completely crushed, and sat up. His armored attire clinked and rattled imposingly, drawing other people's eyes to his tall figure before he retreated to his room.
Varka’s eyes were filled with so much disappointment and his mind was so clouded with questions that he probably wouldn’t have noticed the envelope carefully placed on the pillow if it weren’t for the sweet and seductive aroma that captured his senses as soon as he stepped foot inside the small chamber. The paper was practically soaked in what was without a doubt your perfume, mixed with something else he couldn’t quite name, so much that the whole room smelled like you. In a couple of large, hurried steps, Varka made his way across the room to sit on the bed and claim the second letter, sealed in deep blue.
My poor husband,
I can only imagine the pout on your lips right now. Was I too harsh in the previous letter? You’ll have to forgive me for messing with you, it is not my fault you're as adorable and as playful as a small pup waving his tail in excitement.
The frown on Varka’s face melted instantly.
I cannot welcome you in advance and that’s entirely your fault for sending the troops in waves. The first group arrived before your letter and spoiled your surprise and your plans for some peaceful moments between husband and wife. The whole city is going crazy with preparations as I’m writing this letter and, as the dutiful wife of our grandmaster, I have to contribute to the organizational effort. I ask you to forgive me for not being there as you’re reading my words. Being away from you for one more day is enough punishment already.
To have his heart beating so wildly in his chest after being together for such a long time was a feat only you were capable of. Varka bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to suppress the enormous grin on his face, even though nobody was there to witness it.
Everybody is waiting for you. I should have known when I first met you that with a face so dashing, strength unrivaled and heart so virtuous people would gravitate around you and I’ll have to patiently wait for the time I can have you all for myself. Maybe that’s why I like to mess with you now and then, so you take your eyes away from duty and look at me more.
Your letter has stirred a fire within my being that I cannot extinguish. Please have some decency, grandmaster, for when you show no restraint and pour out all your desires I have to be the responsible and sensible one and I don’t think I can do it much longer.
How I wish to lock you away in our bedroom and never allow you to see anyone but me.
How I wish to run away from this whole commotion and have you all for myself.
How I wish to tell everyone that you are mine and mine alone, that you belong to me and only me, that no one has the right to steal even one moment of your attention.
Do you know what I’m doing instead? I pick flower arrangements for the celebration, I make sure everyone has enough food and is paid well, I chatter about people’s worries and reassure them the grandmaster is coming back.
If I were to let go of my morality, restraint and dignity do you know how I would answer your letter? Yes, let Jean handle the work a little more. Yes, pour all the wine in Cider Lake if you wish. Yes, do anything you want just take me away from here and never leave me again.
Is that what you wanted to hear?
I suppose the other letter is my last attempt to preserve my honor. You turn me into a woman so selfish, so greedy, not to mention lustful. If only you knew the ways I imagine you in my mind before I go to sleep…
Please, please, please hurry.
Your ever dutiful wife
P.S. The only reason I suggested getting some horses is so you’ll travel faster. It doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that I get weak in the knees when I see you ride.
By now, Varka was laying on his back, the uncomfortable mattress and the strain in his legs completely ignored. His eyes kept tracing line after line, again and again, almost like he couldn’t believe what he was reading after being fooled before. Endless days of marching meant nothing right now, he would crawl back to you if his legs would give out. A bolt of energy surged through his body, fueled only by the thought of you yearning for him as much as he yearned for you. After bouncing his leg on the floor for a few moments, he decided he was restless. He brought the letter to his lips, inhaling deeply the scent that was so close yet so far still, like it was going to allow him to breathe for one more day. And with that, he sat up again, on his way to find a traveling merchant selling horses.
⊹ summary the holidays have always been a difficult time for jason todd, but this year--with his new family by his side--he's hoping something good can come out of it.
⊹ genre/tw fluff !! angst !! one suggestive scene at the end (you'll know it when you see it,) day in the life, dad!au, batfam bliss and chaos, kissing, jason pov !! heavy on domestic jason, new parent stress, jason being downbad for his lady, talk about breastfeeding and other mom stuff, barbara still knows best, mostly unedited!
⊹ w/c 7.8k with a few coins left over!
⊹ a/n this came out a little angstier than i planned lol but that's what the holidays give i guess lol. i love this little family and i am so glad everyone loved it enough to ask me to bring them back! I know this is after christmas but i hope everyone is still willing to put themselves back into the holiday spirit--ily guys forever thanks so much for reading!! as always my inbox is always open for requests, drabbles, musings, and conversation! don't forget to reblog xoxo!!
masterlist ⊹ pt one ⊹ requests open
The city is beautiful at Christmastime, like a dream shook out of a snow globe falling into reality. It’s almost like a movie, rainbow lights blinking from skyscrapers and snowball fights in the park; a winter wonderland in place of the frightful shadows usually covering the streets. Gotham City is not often inviting, but there was something about December that manifested magic into the city’s very bones. It was like nothing could ever hurt you, that the city was safe and sound like a warm hand cradling your heart.
You have always loved it, always yearned for snow and lights and jazz music on the radio—you can remember days out of your childhood with your brother and Barbara building snowmen and drinking hot cocoa, and every year her dad would bring you all to see the Nutcracker. As you have gotten older, it has lost a little bit of its magic—carols became grating, Christmas movies turned from cozy to corny, and snow was just cold. Yet, this year something was different, it was like a sparkle of childhood had fallen back into your lap.
This year, your baby was eleven months old: bright-eyed and eager to take in every new experience… Watching the lights reflect off her green irises was so lovely it almost made you cry, a moment that made Jason break out into rambunctious laughter as if he had not just choked up at her seeing her first snowfall. It was her first Christmas, and everything was brand new—for the both of you—and you were just so excited to be a part of it; everyone else was too, her father and her uncles, but mostly her Auntie Barbara who had torn the two of you out of the house three times a week for the past month to make sure Penny had every Christmas experience she could conjure up.
This is how you find yourself in the middle of the Sprang River Mall three days before Christmas, your baby crying in her stroller and your boyfriend’s twelve-year-old brother hanging onto your hand for dear life. Usually, this would be the young Wayne’s worst nightmare, yet the amount of people circling the building with the intensity of scavenger birds scares him enough to find some comfort in you. Barbara, however, is as free as a bird—breezing her way past every obnoxious patron with an air of arrogance that must be learnt from Richard Grayson.
“Barbara, are we almost done yet?” You ask her, using the hand not currently holding Damian’s to push Penny’s pacifier back into her mouth.
“There’s just one more thing I wanna look at!” The girl shouts back.
“Barbara,” Damian moans, “ I will not undergo another second of this torture, nor will I allow my niece and her mother to be subject to this absolutely abhorrent building a second longer!”
At his words you find yourself smiling—such an impressive vocabulary for a little boy, his young voice making the threat rather adorable instead of its intended fear, (not to mention his adamant attempt to protect your honor).
“Dami, just one more store—chill out!” Barbara tells him, her voice every bit of an older sister.
“You guys, let’s just hurry okay? The baby’s hungry and I don’t wanna have to pull my boob out in front of Wetzel’s Pretzels.” You whine.
Damian’s face—after hearing your words—becomes a picture of pure disgust, yet he still speaks up on your behalf, sneering:
“What are you looking at you half-baked urchin?!” at some guy giving you and your baby and gross look.
You really hope Barbara is being honest about only wanting to look at one more thing; the days been so long already, and you miss Jason and your perfect little apartment.
Your best friend arrived at your home at ten A.M. demanding your company to shop and wouldn’t take no for an answer even when you told her you’d agreed to watch Damian while his father and brothers went on some top-secret mission. The day started out nice, but after spending hours in this stifling crowded mall, you’re about ready to pass out… your feet hurt, your baby is tired, and you need to pump soon or there will be milk all over your favorite sweater. You love Barbara, but you’re really over her Christmas spirit.
The last store she drags you into is frilly and powder pink, covered head to toe in little girls clothes: electric blue tutus, glittery jackets, sequined ballerina slippers… it’s like all of your fourth grade dreams burst forth into one building. Damian seems incredibly curious, like he just walked into another dimension, and he can’t put his guard down. It’s populated with parents and girls of all ages, grabbing kiddy makeup kits and pretty sweaters—Penny takes it all in with her sleepy eyes, matching her little uncle’s curiosity perfectly. You feel a little uncomfortable, stifled by all the cheap tulle and the fifty dollar price tags; money wasn’t necessarily tight, but Jason didn’t like using the money he got from “work,” nor the inheritance waiting for him at Gotham National Bank.
“Barbara, seriously why are we in here?” You ask.
“For Teeny’s Christmas Dress!” Barabara exclaims, her eyes getting wide and a little crazy.
“Barbara, Penny already has everything she needs for Christmas.” You tell her, getting a little anxious. It’s not like you don’t want your daughter to have nice things, it’s just that your best friend has already done so much for you already, and Jason gets so nervous about other people’s money. It took him a long time to even let you pay for things, and still he complains when you try—you just know he’ll have a problem with Barbara spending more money on his daughter… whether or not it’s out of the pure goodness of her heart doesn’t matter, it will bother him all the same.
Damian seems to know this as well, what with the wary look on his stately face; it’s no secret that your boyfriend is irritable, especially when his family is involved, and nobody—especially his little brother—wants to be on the other side.
“She doesn’t have this sparkly Christmas dress!” The girl cries, holding up a green monster of a dress: all stiff ruffles and loose glitter, complete with the most perfect red bow.
“Oh wow,” you whisper.
“That’s disgusting,” Damian states.
“What?!” Barb cries, “It’s beautiful!”
“It’s…” You start, “It’s very nice Barbie, but it’s way too big for her, and I’m not spending sixty bucks on something she can’t even wear.”
“Who says you’re gonna buy it, huh?” Barbara whines, “I’ll get it, and she will looks so cute no one will mind that it doesn’t fit her.”
“babe, that’s really nice, but I think you’re gonna have to run this by Jason.”
“What?!” She cries, “But he’s gonna say no! don’t you wanna see your baby girl all dressed up? It will match her eyes!”
“Barbara…” Damian sighs, picking up on the rising frown on your face.
“Please?” Your best friend tries again much to your chagrin, you appreciate her really, but her ability to completely ignore the words you’re currently saying to her is getting old fast.
“I love you, B. but you have to ask her dad—because I’m not gonna be the one dealing with Jason Todd being annoyed over a princess dress.” It’s these words that seal your victory, a triumph so beautiful that Damian Wayne succumbs to childhood and gives you a very hesitant high five.
-`✮´-
Thankfully, Barbara wasn’t lying about Lullaby Luxe being the last store, yet you still couldn’t get her to go home—even after dropping Damian back at his illustrious home and stopping to get French fries from Batburger, she insisted that she wouldn’t leave your side until Jason got home.
Sure, it was nice for a little while having some company while you fed Penny and folded laundry, but you were both due for a nap and some quiet, and while you loved Barbara Gordon with your entire heart you knew not to wish for either when she was around. For hours she tattled on about all the exciting things in her life, gossiping about coworkers and sharing secrets about the boys’ patrol. It was good company, but not one that was particularly wanted after your overstimulating day.
It’s only once Jason comes home, beautiful in his layered clothing and his frizzy curls, that you begin to feel a little better. He greets you with a smile and a kiss on the head before running to the nursery to grab his baby, always so full of excitement to see her sleepy eyes blink open to match his own. You can hear them, giggling to each other—Jason’s voice hushed low and warm bringing a total comfort to settle over your bones. When they appear, Jason is in comfier clothes and Penny, freshly changed in Winnie the Pooh PJ’s, is glinting all five of her teeth.
Your boyfriend is buzzing with energy, a rambunctious excitement that must be from whatever secret-mission his father pulled him into this morning. His body is turned towards you, his chest beating in your direction and his eyes settled over your lounging form. He looks so handsome with your baby in his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter with a weary smile on his mouth. You miss him next to you, want so badly for him to settle his cold skin against your own and submerge you into his muscle, but with Barb here you know he won’t… Your shy boy, so sweet and lovely, affectionate and adoring with every word and caress, but only in private.
He doesn’t seem to care that it was Barabara that set the two of you on your course, nor that she’s witnessed plenty of nasty PDA what with his big brother as her best friend. No, he’ll wait until she’s gone, and then he’ll have his way with you—even if his way is just holding you close until he has to leave again.
Barbara doesn’t seem to want to go though, nor does she want to leave the subject of the mall alone.
“Are you absolutely sure that I can’t buy Penny that princess dress?” Barbara asks for what feels like the millionth time. “I mean it’s her first Christmas! And I’m her Auntie B!” Her voice is pained, desperate in her pleading, yet still the man in front of her doesn’t budge.
“Barbie, she doesn’t need a new dress for one day—she’s gonna grow out of it in like five minutes.”
“Jason, I hate you right now… I can’t believe I gifted you this beautiful family and you have the gall to deny me .”
“Get used it, Red—this is my town now.” Jason says, lifting his rosebud lips in a dubious grin. He’s so smiley lately, an effect that still shocks his brothers and makes their father completely unnerved, but you can’t ever get enough. Every time that boyish grin casts itself over his moonshine skin and his eyes fall into mischief you find yourself falling more and more in love. Even now, with messy curls and vomit-stained clothes he is beautiful—a fact that would be unbearably annoying if he wasn’t looking at you like you created the stars.
In a way, you supposed you did… a little star in the form of a sleepy girl: Penelope is just a couple months old, but she’s already amounted to planet status in the eyes of her family. Little Penny is everything and everywhere, a spoiled creature who is loved by everyone even though she really only likes her parents and her uncle Dami. Jason is especially enraptured, which is why his refusal to Barbara is so strange—usually all he wants is to fill her to the brim with treats and presents, but there was something about this dress that halted any begging from your best friend’s lips.
You get a front row seat to the displeasure ripping through her, the frown heavy on her pretty face and her body language hunched with tension—all but her arms, those are heavy with protection and the ever-nurturing touch that blooms in her when she holds your baby. The aforementioned girl is trying really hard to grab her Aunties glasses off her face, her small pudgy hands gripping onto Barbara’s red hair and pulling with a big grin; Barbara doesn’t even seem to notice—not when you giggle or when Jason looks down to scrunch his nose at his baby, not even when Penny accomplishes her goal and Barb’s blue specs clatter to the ground—she just continues on begging.
“Please, Please, Please Jason! I’ll never bother you ever again!”
“We both know that’s a non-starter, Barbie, come on.”
“Are you listening to this!” Barb yells, turning to you in her hour of need. “I cannot believe this! I’m like your fairy godmother and instead of thanking me, you are punishing my very position of Auntie.”
“I’m sorry, honey.” You tell her, giggling at her ever-present frown—now that you’re home, and not the one responsible for letting her down, you feel much more endeared to the conversation. “You know I have no control over this guy.”
“That’s the thing, you have ALL THE CONTROL!” She exclaims before turning to the baby on her lap and whispering: “Isn’t that right baby, Daddy is just a downbad loser for Mommy, huh.”
You find yourself laughing, but it is irrevocably true; Jason would rather die than tell you what to do, he’s much happier sitting back and letting you run the show. It’s something he’s rather proud of, especially when his brothers attempt to bully him about it; Just last week Tim and his boyfriend came over to babysit and were laughed out the door when the boys thought Jason would be embarrassed about how much of a simp he’d become in the last year. Instead of being embarrassed, however, Jason just smiled bigger than his brother had ever seen and let out a ridiculous roaring laugh… It was all so silly, he thought, that anyone could look at you and your little miracle and not want to give you anything and everything you could ever ask for.
You can feel his eyes on you, laughing in time with your giggles… his stare is as distracting as always, less molten these days but still so warm, like a bath at perfect temperature or a sip of tea that doesn’t burn your tongue.
“Barbara, what’s so important about this dress anyway?” You ask before turning to meet Jason’s stare: he looks goofy and young, and so happy… he raises his eyebrows at you, a little blush on his cheekbones, and gives you a secret wink before turning back to your guest.
“Just my goddaughter’s joy and happiness.” Barbara huffs. “but whatever, deny your daughter a beautiful dress for her first Christmas ever, see if I care.”
“You’re such a drama queen, Barbie.” Jason sneers, though the grin still firmly seated on his face contradicts the tone.
“Oh, Eat me, Todd.” She shoots back, making her way towards you to pass off the little girl in her arms. It takes her a minute, what with the squealing baby reaching for her hand, but she manages to hand her off and hug you goodbye in one practiced move. “I love you,” she tells you, bending down to kiss the baby in your arms before whispering: “And I love you, Penelope Jean, but your dad sucks!”
“Yeah, yeah, Barbie—I’ll remember that the next time Timmy hacks your laptop.” Your boyfriend replies, his own makeshift affection disguised as a threat. His words bring a smile to rest over Barbara’s frown; your best friend all-knowing and omniscient knows this is his ‘I love you,’ and the way she looks at the three of you as she moves to the door proves it. She always looks so proud of herself, lovesick and wistful when her eyes say goodbye to the little family she cooked up.
“Love you, my babies!” She yells as she makes her way down the hall, the sound of her wheelchair following her into the elevator; you miss her as soon as she leaves.
The apartment is immediately a little colder than before, but no less comfortable; living with Jason is a big adjustment after two years with your dutiful best friend, but the life the two of you have created is surely a good trade. It’s been a tremendous change, going from beaded curtains and silly reality shows to highchairs and Bluey marathons, but you needed more room (for Penny and Jason). He’d tried to fit himself into Barbara’s and your little Chinatown apartment, but once Penny came it became harder and harder not to take over, and it just didn’t seem fair to your friend.
At one point, Bruce offered for the three of you to come stay at the Manor, but that was a non-starter—Jason would allow his father to be in his baby’s life, but only on his terms. Instead, he ventured into the city with his friend Roy and found a decently large apartment to cradle his little family in, and while you were sad to leave Barbara, you would never give up the reality Jason built for you.
The apartment is messy now, lived in and covered in baby paraphernalia, but still perfect. It’s a fixer-upper for sure, full of bursting pipes and cranky neighbors who hate the orange car resting on the curb and shoot dirty looks at you when you put your Penny in her car seat. Yet, you can’t help but feel like it’s home—even with the cracks in the ceiling and the broken A/C—it’s everything you’ve ever needed… especially with Jason making his way to you, smiling in that soft way he only really gets when it’s just you and him. He’s swathed himself in a sweater and pajama pants, soft materials that Penny loves, and though he looks messy and unshapen, you’ve can’t help but want to ravage him.
“Thank god she’s gone,” He whispers, his eyes wide in mock-fright staring right down at his daughter’s matching ones. She’s wiggly in your arms, hands pushing against your arm around her middle, reaching out, out, out for her father. His cold hands grab hers, little fingers surrounding his pinkie and waving it around. Looking at their hands you can’t help but remark on how similar their nailbeds are: square and flat, and annoyingly perfect. It’s so odd, you think, how much she looks like him—as if she really was made from him, like his love for her overcame anything from before and rewrote her DNA to match his own.
It's only gotten worse as she’s gotten bigger, her wispy baby hair coiling into perfect black curls and her cheeks dimpling just like his own. She looks so much like him that when Bruce met her, he got a little choked up before telling his son “it’s like I’m seeing what you would have looked like at this age.”
Their likeness might make you jealous if you didn’t love him so much… sure, sometimes it felt a little treacherous that you did all the work and there’s not much evidence of it, but one look at them together and it all washes away. Jason’s eyes are so beautiful they demand to be recreated, even if it means you’re the one doing the sculpting.
“Are you sleepy?” Jason asks you, his heavy form collapsing onto the sofa next to you and bringing both of his girls into his arms. His hands sweep against your side, palm resting on your hip and his fingers grazing against Penny’s back. “Barbara was here forever…” He moans, pulling out the last word.
“A little,” You tell him. “but I still have tons of presents to wrap, and it’s only seven-thirty.”
“I can do it, sweetheart. My two girls gotta get to bed.”
“Jay, if I let you do that all the presents will be ugly and Damian will make fun of us forever.”
“Hey! I could have secret wrapping skills, you don’t know!” Jason laughs, poking his fingers out to tickle you, making you jolt, and Penny lets out sleepy giggles.
“I do know, honey… you can barely fold towels.”
“Sorry I was too busy beatin’ up gangsters and saving kittens from trees.” He grumbles. The reminder to the other part of his life makes you a little anxious even now, but his voice—soft and sultry—is so soothing. It’s only seven-thirty but you feel as though you could go to bed right now; he’s right, Barbara was over for a long time: arriving for lunch and staying past dinner, and while you love spending time with her you really wished you could have had a little more alone time with Jason before he goes on patrol.
“Did you really save kittens?” You whisper, your eyes just open enough to see your little girl’s eyelids blink once, twice, three times before falling shut with sleep. Penny’s hands are little fists, and her heart shaped lips make the same pout as Jason’s when he naps on the couch—your lucky Penny, gone away to dreamland.
“I did,” he says, his voice soft like the wind. “I got two right here.”
He’s so ridiculous, you think, how he’s always so cheesy and in love with you… sometimes you think he might become that first version of him again, leather clad and bruised with a cigarette behind his ear. You were drawn to him then, of course, curious and in need of whatever he was willing to give to you, but you can’t lie… you much prefer this new one. The real version, the one that lies next to you on the couch and tries to pick you up even though he's got a baby off you.
“You’re so dumb, Jay.” You say, the words full of sleep, but still, you nuzzle further into his chest. Jason’s hand travels up your arm, taking over holding Penny to your skin and making sure she doesn’t fall over in her sleep. He squeezes you a little tighter before telling you,
“Dumb and in love, baby.”
“You’re a moron.” You laugh, “but I love you I guess.” “You guess?!” He exclaims, softly as to not wake the baby. “I gotta get you to bed before you keep talkin’ crazy.” Yet, he remains sitting with you for a little longer, breathing in the scent of baby lotion and your shampoo—he told you once that it was his favorite smell, the one surrounding your skin when you were sleepy and your hair was just messy enough to fall into his face from whichever angle he had you in. He sits with you until his legs fall asleep and he knows he has no more time to spend before going back out into the streets. It's been colder lately, ice-bitten and foggy throughout alley’s and apartment complexes, and Dick’s been insistent that they all go out more than usual.
For months after the baby was born Jason stayed home with you, keeping just his family safe from the monsters of Gotham City while his brothers saved everyone else, but that could only last so long. As Winter came and the city descended into snow, he knew he had to put on the helmet again, but that didn’t mean he felt any safer about leaving you alone.
Through your sleepy haze you feel him breathe you in again—one long breathe—before he raises up with both of you still in his arms (a feat that would bring a warmth to your tummy if you were more awake) and starts waddling you to your bedroom.
It’s not a long journey, just a few feet down the hall but you’re still shocked when his arms unravel from your form; its warmer without his skin on yours, but you miss the cold as soon as it leaves.
From the doorway Jason gently takes the baby from you, shushing her as she wakes a little, before putting her down into her travel crib. Penny’s old enough now to sleep in her own room, but on nights when Jason patrols he likes to know that both his loves are safely tucked away in one place. Sometimes, when he’s really anxious he takes the baby monitor—leaving the camera pointed at his two girls so he could check on them all night.
You watch him put the baby down, a lovestruck sleepy smile rising on your lips as you wait for it to be your turn. Your grin widens when he kisses Penny’s head, a gooey feeling swirling in your tummy when you hear him tell her: “Sweet dreams, little bird. Mama and Daddy love you.”
When he turns back to you, his white curls are falling into his soft eyes, and he lets out a silly little laugh at the sight of you waiting for him. “Oh, are you my baby too?” He smiles, “Need my help gettin’ to bed?” You feel yourself nodding, smiling bigger and bigger as he makes his way over to you all while shaking his head.
He helps you get your pajamas on—pulling one of his shirts over your head and helping you out of your sweatpants and into some sleep shorts, kissing your hipbone before the fabric settles over it. Jason is always so sweet to you, has been since the first night you met him, but since you had Penny it’s been turned up to ten. He can’t bear the thought of you having to do more than you’re already doing; can’t seem to fathom that you don’t need his help with everything, even the little things.
He gets you into bed, pulling the airy comforter over your form before tucking you in like you’re going to bed in a sarcophagus, and kissing your head just like he did with your baby. “My sleepy little hero,” He whispers, “I love you very much.”
“I love you too, Jay… you’ll be careful tonight right?” No matter how many times he goes out you can’t help but ask him; the thought of him, out there alone pleading for trouble to find him, while you’re here all alone, fills you with such terrible anxiety that sometimes you can barely speak.
“Don’t worry my perfect girl, I always am—especially now that I don’t have to take a break from saving the city to walk you home.”
“Just come back to us, baby.” You hum, nuzzling into your pillow. He grabs onto your hand, squeezing it through the blanket before leaning down to kiss your head again. He smells like gasoline and his cheeks are a little scratchy, but it’s still the best lullaby you could ever ask for: his lips on your skin and his voice in your ear.
You open your eyes just enough to see his smile, a sliver of a moon turning up on his pretty face, before he answers:
“Always.”
-`✮´-
Patrolling Gotham is uncharacteristically lifeless—usually, the city is brimming with vibrant malice and inhumane horrors, yet tonight the snow bitten town is still and unbreathing. It seems as though everyone is tucked inside safe and sound; Christmas curing even the worst of Gotham’s illnesses. Jason struggles to think about criminals and drug dealers caroling with their families, though he supposes they must… he remembers something his older brother said to him once about how everyone has someone that loves them, yet the memory is slight and incongruous in the frosty air.
All he wants is to get home, bundle up beside you and try his best to keep you warm—he’s always so cold, his veins never completely heating back up after his accident, and he’s so worried his evergreen chill will give you or his Penny a cold.
It’s Christmas Eve and all he wants is to get back home to you, a feeling he’s had since the night he finally gathered enough courage to tie your heart to his, a devastating desire that makes him numb to even the most annoying traits of his three brothers. Said boys are alternating between berating each other and bullying Jason through the comms, yelling expletives until Barbie tells them to stop. It’s well loved and familiar, the closest form of affection he allows himself with his family, and though he misses you, it’s a welcomed annoyance to his patrol.
“Ugh, Nightwing, enough with the dramatics—Jesus Christ!” Tim moans , his voice a little gravelly through the comms. The line is flooded with agreement, yet all their older brother seems to do is continue on moaning about his new girlfriend Kori. Jason notes that Barbara is quieter than usual: her normal kitschy voice mum and silent against Dick’s girlfriend troubles.
“It’s not my fault you don’t know what it’s like to have an alien girlfriend, little bird.” Dick replies.
“My boyfriend literally is an alien, what are you talking about?”
“HALF!” three other voices yell, the cacophony of noise making Jason flinch. It’s so much that he finds himself tuning them out again, the sound is to similar to a crack—loud and achingly similar to the soundtrack of his innermost nightmares. He really misses you; if he had it his way you’d never leave his side… he’d sew your skin into his own and live the rest of his life sharing your heat, and he’d never be scared again.
Jason continues on ignoring his family and their rancorous commentary, continues on his merry way through the freezing streets of Gotham until he hears his name echoing off the speakers.
“Well, at least you’re not living in sin like Hood.” Barbara says, the words clamoring with a bitterness he’s not sure is truly meant for him.
“Living in sin ‘s the only place to be, missy.” He says, forcing arrogance to stave off the worried lectures his big brother would surely give him if he allowed himself to show how tired he really was. And he really is so tired; he never wants to worry you or make you do more work than you’re already doing, but with the baby and patrol and his day job at the garage, he’s really splitting himself too thin. If Dick got wind of this, this downtrodden tired version of his brother, he would surely break out the retired intervention banner and harass Jason until he took a nap—which can absolutely not happen.
At his words each of his brothers let out a string of “eww’s” that could rival a fourth grade class, and—If the littlest of them weren’t here—he might be tempted to remind both Dick and Tim of the secrets they have shared with him.
“I just don’t get you—I give you the perfect woman, a baby—that you didn’t even have to do ANY work for, might I add—and still, she doesn’t have a ring on her finger.” The girl huffs.
“Hey, I’ve done work, thanks.” Jason snarks, more irritable with her than he usually is at her teasing. There was just something in her voice that bothered him, or maybe it was some leftover agitation from the way she needled him yesterday… either way, all his patience is dried up, the only bit left saved up for you.
“I’m just saying, if you really love her you’d let her know—in a real way.” Barbara says, seemingly pointing to some other point that he was too tired to read into.
“I’m pretty sure she knows her loves her,” Dick jumps in, “Last time I saw them they were both so moony eyed it was disgusting.”
“They’re always disgusting, it makes me want to gouge my eyes out.” Damian adds.
Jason is glad for his brother’s back up, but the impatient aggression already bubbling under the surface, and Barbara’s notion that you might not know how much he loves you burns harsher than he’d usually let it. All he does is for you, day in and day out and he can’t believe your best friend believes he’s lacking—can’t believe she has the gall to say this to him in front of his brothers of all people.
“Shut up, Oracle.” Jason sighs, the aggression fighting its way back down his throat. Barbara tries her best to argue, but he is an old veteran at conflict… he knows it better than kindness, expects it first before a smile or a comforting hand; it lives in his heart right along side you, bundling beside your soft skin and keeping him alive. It’s the most familiar friend he has, so when the girl tries to speak up again, it’s not even a question for Jason to interrupt. “Barbara, I’m not joking—don’t speak to me about my family. Figure your own shit out first.”
The comms go silent, so hushed that he’s sure the rest of the boys can hear the whispered “shit!” that comes from behind Jason’s mask. He’s so tired, and he misses you and now he’s sure he’s going to have to deal with the fallout from fighting with your best friend. He can almost envision it, you—beautiful and soft and so angry—hands on your hips and eyes squinty as you ask him what happened. It’s so worrisome that it overcomes the vision he usually has under his eyes: you, beautiful and soft and so sleepy, smiling at him as you feed his baby. God, when will he ever stop fucking up, he asks himself.
You’re the one good thing he has, and still the universe won’t stop throwing things in his way trying to mess it up—whether it be his father criticizing him or Barbara questioning how serious he is, it never ends. He listens to the breathing of his brothers and begs for answers, waiting and waiting for Barbara to speak up and apologize. Though he knows she won’t, just as she knows not to wait for one from him—they’re both stubborn, prideful creatures, and they both love you too much to apologize for attempting to protect your honor.
The rest of patrol is silent, each and every one of them silently agreeing to keeping the barely held together peace. It’s better that its just the ‘children’, and that their father is away on some league business—much better for their ability to ignore an issue rather than have Bruce shove it back down their throats all night.
As they separate into different districts, Jason can’t keep himself from getting closer and closer to home. His boots seem to lead him across the Burnside bridge, moving closer and closer to the obnoxiously trendy building Roy made him rent. He’s supposed to be out for another hour, but his dad isn’t here and you’re so close, and if he listens real hard he thinks he can hear Penny waking up alone in her crib. Really, it’s a crime he’s not there already…It’s Christmas now, five minutes past midnight and the only wish he has is to warm up in your arms, breathe you in and listen to the sound of his baby dreaming.
Jason travels through the shadows, climbing over rooftops and fire escapes, counting down the seconds until he can see you again. It’s only when your window comes into view that Jason feels like he can breathe again, the oxygen getting clearer and clearer as he climbs up the storm pipe. The glass is a little rickety as he slides it up, wobbling with the force it takes him to get it all the way open—the apartment is warm, cozy and quiet with the night. He makes his way through the hallway, stopping for just a minute to calm his racing heart before he opens the door to his bedroom.
Sure enough little Penny is wide awake, her little arms in the air the second she sees her father. She’s quiet, somehow knowing to stay still as not to wake you, and you—beautiful and soft and so sleepy, are knocked out cold. Jason allows himself a second to watch both his girls, taking in the sight he missed all night, before getting into softer clothes. Penelope is impatient, letting out little whines until he’s ready to pick her up and snuggle her to him. Still you don’t wake… you must be so tired, he thinks, to sleep through rustling clothes and your babies small cries. You don’t even wake when he sits next to you, your baby sipping from her bottle in his lap, and his hand hovering through your hair—you stay resting peacefully, pretty eyes closed and humming miscellaneous words in your sleep.
For the first time tonight he finally feels free, unchained from all the other fears he’ll have to examine again tomorrow. For so long all he knew was the freezing coldness of death and violence, but here with you, he finally knows what it means to be warm.
-`✮´-
“Merry Christmas,” You whisper, your smile hovering just a hair above his own.
Rays of light are shifting into the room, spotlighting strips of sun over your lovers sleeping form; his skin is liquid fire—luminous and bright in the morning, and if you squint you can see tiny sliver scars decorating his sunlit torso. There are bigger ones—fiery shots of scarlet licking up his hip and scaly patches of skin that never grew back quite as healthy as before… new bruises covering him in a rainbow of pain and hurt. Looking at Jason Todd is like putting your eye to a kaleidoscope, he’s a dreamscape of color and shapes; a mosaic of the human experience.
Two years ago, you would hardly be able to fathom what looking at him like this may be like, how his skin keeps you from never getting too hot underneath the covers and his killing hands cradle your spine. The last year of loving him and being loved in return had been a benign insanity, a snapshot of life and change. It all seemed so fast, how one day you were fantasizing about a life well lived and the next you were given the truest love you’d ever had. Jason is so beautiful, alive and starbright, and you wish he’d wake—you miss those veridian eyes and the melody of his voice, it always sounds younger than he is, and a little husky as if he spent all night screaming.
You kiss the corner of his lips, your hand settling over his heart to feel the slow beat pick up just a bit. He startles just a bit, yet his eyes still remain closed—you kiss his lips again, then his forehead and his cherubic cheeks… it’s only when your hands close over his white curls that he begins to escape the sandman’s clutches. Those beautiful eyes blink open, hazy at first and a little slow; the sunlight turning them into sea glass. He’s radiant, like a young god being born from a sunray, or Adonis—death and rebirth wrapped up in a perfect man.
“Jason,” you whisper, scared to speak up any louder. You can hear your daughter babbling away through the baby monitor (your love must’ve put her in her own room once he returned last night). “wake up.”
He’s still fighting sleep, that much is obvious, but his eyes are becoming clearer by the moment, and your baby is getting a little fussier in her crib. You’ll just have a moment with him alone today, before all the family traditions you’re fitting yourself into and the new ones to create.
You’re starting to get impatient now, and the clock is ticking farther and farther away from having any time with your boyfriend before its time to get up. You tug his hair again, curling the fluffy coils around your fingers and pulling.
“Ah! I’m up, I’m up!” Jason moans, arching his neck further into the bed in order to get away from you. “I’m awake, honey” he says again, slurring the words a little bit. His eyes—fully alive now—turn to you, a little frustrated but so soft it fills your belly with whole-hearted affection. You think you love him the most in the morning—when it’s just you and him and the sun shining down upon you, yet you could never discount how much you love him at golden hour, or how he breaks your heart at midnight. Theres a softness to him now, 100% cotton coating his smile, he’s laughing—that big booming laugh that made you fall in love, and your hand (the one on his heart) feels that steady beat erupt underneath your palm.
“Are you really awake though?” You ask him, squinting your eyes in suspicion. Instead of an answer he gives you that familiar quicksilver grin before dipping his head down to kiss you. It’s a sweet kiss, close-mouthed and a little sticky with sleep, but perfect. Jason pulls back for just a second, shooting another smile at your puffy face before leaning back down to kiss you again. It’s deeper this time, cold hands rising to hold your face; his mouth opening just enough for his tongue to glide across the seam of your lips. He’s opening you up like a zipper, kissing you deeper and deeper until it’s all teeth clashing and heavy breathing; Jason’s kiss is a little sour and uncomfortably hot, and it’s so hard to breathe when he’s pressing his weight into you. The boy’s scratchy hands move from your face and trail down, down, down—gliding across deserts of skin until he’s just seconds away from where you need him most, stopping right at the tie of your gauzy sleep shorts.
“Doesn’t this look like I’m awake, sweetheart?” He mumbles, fingers pulling at the elastic.
“I don’t know, we might need to wake you up some more…” You sigh, arching farther into his chest and shivering just a little when his thigh catches against you. Jason moves in to kiss you again, his lips just a breath away from yours and his hands—his cold, comforting hands—are just one touch away from where you need him when your baby—your beautiful blessing of a baby—squalls out a painful cry.
“Looks like Penny is awake too,” Jason sighs, settling his forehead against yours with a big huff.
“This is the worst day of my life.” You whine, pulling out from underneath him with a big laugh that harmonizes with his own. You clatter to your side of the bed with a big breath, rolling your eyes with a giggle as Jason mumbles:
“Don’t say that, baby… it’s Christmas.”
When you turn to look at him, his smile is almost as wide as his face. Beautiful, your boy is—an eclipse of ravenous beauty.
“Go get our baby, Jay.” You whisper before rolling onto your tummy.
You hear him laughing through the hallway, and when he arrives at the nursery you can hear the exact moment he puts on the sweet voice he only uses with Penelope.
“Merry Christmas, Penny!” He exclaims, and you grin when she squeals. You listen the whole time, smiling all along as he speaks with her in hushed tones and makes silly animal sounds to make her laugh. All you can do is smile, grinning on and on as you listen to the two people you love most in the world laugh through their morning routine. You start getting up, a little slower than you might have a year ago, knowing that Jason will be a little put out that you got all the way out of bed without him.
When you get to the living room, all dark except for the blinking tree in the corner, you stop for just a minute to listen to all the creaky sounds of your old apartment. It’ll be a nice day you think, as magical as all those childhood days with Barbara, you almost can’t wait for Jason to be done getting the baby ready—you’re just so excited.
When they do finally appear, Jason sets Penny in her highchair and brings present after present for her to hold in her hand. She doesn’t quite understand what’s going on, but her squalling laughter brings shiny tears to your eyes all the same. Your boy laughs at you, but you swear you can see him tearing up too—and his tears only get worse when he hands you your gift: a little diamond ring that fits snug against your ring finger.
He doesn’t say anything when he gives it to you, just slips it onto your finger with a little nod, smiling through all his happy tears.
“For me?” You cry, looking at him with a weepy little smile. He laughs, a little mucusy chuckle that burns your insides.
“Are you kidding?” He asks you, grinning through the salt water. “It’s all for you.”
-`✮´-
BONUS
When you see the dress Jason puts your baby in, you don’t know whether you should laugh or scream—its gauzy and green and covered in glitter, wrapped up in a brilliant red bow. It’s the most obnoxious thing in the world, but you’d bottle the laugh he lets out if you could. When Barbara see’s it she laughs and flips Jason off with the most irritated look she could muster.
“When did you even get that?” She laughs, rolling her eyes so far into her head you’re afraid she might get stuck like that.
“What did you think our top-secret mission was about?” Dick laughs, bouncing Penny in his arms. You can never get him away from her, even though she’s fussier than when she’s with you or Jason (or her Uncle Damian.)
It’s the perfect Christmas, full of too-expensive presents and too much champagne. Bruce dances with you around the Christmas tree, twirling you and Penny around and around as Jason watches on. Barbara and Tim help Alfred make dinner and while it’s nightmare of clashing pans and pounding knives—it still tastes wonderful… Alfred gives Penny the first bite, cutting everything up into tiny bites, and everyone oohs and awes.
It's perfect, different than your usual dinner with your brother and Barbara, and Jim, but terrific. It only gets better once Barbara notices the shiny little diamond on your finger, and her smile—bright and illuminous—almost brings you to tears.
“You’re welcome.” She tells you, whispering the words into your ear as she kisses you goodbye, and as you turn to see your beautiful girl and her devastating father, you can’t help but think that you’ll never stop thanking her.
Summary: Y/n is currently on tour when they're forced to postpone a concert in Gotham after threats against their life.
Pairing: Jason Todd x gn pop star reader
Tags: comfort, mention of anxiety, suggestive, please don’t take this seriously, so not canon it hurts
Word Count: ~3.1k
Breaking News: Concert in Gotham Cancelled after Bomb Threats
Threats of explosive devices planted at Gotham Stadium force the up-incoming star, Y/n L/n, to postpone performance. Reports say-
Bruce promptly turns off the television. “Gordon says they don’t have any leads on the threats.”
“Do you think they’re credible? I mean what if it’s just a prank?” Dick asks, leaning against the wall of the Batcave with one leg propped up.
“In Gotham? Don’t be gullible. This isn’t the first time L/n has received threats not only against their life but for concerts too. It could be a stalker situation,” Tim says as he pulls up other reports of similar incidents.
“That’s not uncommon for celebrities, so why the big deal,” Jason brushes off with his arms crossed. “I mean why not amp up security. Aren’t there more important cases?” He begins to walk down the large staircase descending into the cave.
The hideout is massive with gadgets lining the walls and a massive screen with a console against the north wall. There’s a long table in the center with plenty of chairs to seat the Wayne’s family long nights of working cases. Tim is sitting at his habitat, a nearby desk covered with marked papers and coffee rings.
Bruce walks over to the center console. “Because this time seems more personal,” Bruce plays a recording from a phone call.
Try to sing your melody songbird. I’ll clip your wings if you try to leave your cage. Your trills are only meant for my ears. My songbird.
A faint music box can be heard in the background of the call with a ticking sound growing louder. The caller’s song-like threat turns into a distant chuckle.
“Tim’s stalker theory is the most likely. The caller is obsessed and possessive. It seems they’ve adopted the ‘If I can’t have you no one can’ mentality. It would then be safe to assume the stalker has Y/n’s location as well,” Bruce says before grabbing his phone.
“How’d you even find this recording?” Dick asks.
Bruce doesn’t answer. The three exchange glances and shrugs as they watch Bruce make a phone call.
“I’ll start trying to break apart the recording to see if there’s anything that can pinpoint the caller or their location,” Tim walks over to a computer and begins to type away.
“Even if the GPD are surveilling their location, they’re still compromised. Who’s to say the stalker isn’t already there, watching too?” Jason questions to Dick.
“I thought you said there were more important cases?” Dick prods. His question, laced with sarcasm and teasing.
“I think this case just got more interesting. That’s all,” Jason replied casually.
“He means he just realized how hot Y/n is,” Tim jokes.
“Don’t you have something to decipher or whatever,” Jason says annoyed rolling his
eyes.
Bruce rejoins the conversation. “Y/n is being relocated to somewhere safe.”
“Where?” Dick asks.
“Here.”
—
You were anxiously pacing your hotel room. It was a large suite with your things scattered about every surface.
“The police have been informed about the call. I’m sure they’re handling the situation,” Your manager, Pam, tries to reassure you as she tries to clean up and organize your bags.
“I can’t believe we had to cancel. This is ridiculous. I don’t want to stay in this hotel room forever,” You say while picking at your nails. Your voice is slightly weak from touring and pure frustration.
“You heard the call. It sounded serious. You can be in real danger. I don’t want to take any chances even if it means losing ticket sales,” She replies with one hand on your shoulder. “The label and I want to make sure you're safe above everything.
You sigh, closing your eyes with another deep breath. You walk over to your bed, letting your body sink into the sheets. You hear Pam say “Relax, let me handle everything.” Your head on autopilot only nodding her direction.
Pam pulls on the room divider while she’s on the phone leaving you to your thoughts. Your mind is blank as you try to make sense of the situation. You grab your journal that you had tossed onto your bed earlier that day. The journal is in your favorite color, personalized. It’s always been there for you to rationalize your feelings and a place for you to vent. The words you try to write morph into scribbles as your knuckle tighten around the pen. You press harder into the paper with each stroke leaving indents until you rip the paper. You take another breath not processing how much air you had been holding in. Your vision blurries with tears as you tear the page from your notebook. Between tears and deep inhales, you start writing again:
I suffocate myself with hands that aren’t mine
Hold onto me
Poked and prodded, I remain confined
I tear apart what I build with every word
Please steady me
Plucked and preversed, a songbird dies
Barely reading over what you wrote, you place your pen into your notebook, marking the page before you place it back on the bed.
Pam reenters the room seemingly more cheerful than before. “Pack your things, Y/n! We’re leaving.”
“What?! What about the postponed concert? We can’t just leave Gotham. And the stalker?” You rise from your seat panicked and confused.
“Don’t worry we’re not leaving. It’s just a slight change of plans while they investigate the case,” Pam eases you. “And I think you’ll like these living arrangements more.”
—
Jason watched from his window a limousine drive up to the Manor. He scoffed at the notion of Bruce Wayne opening his arms to another victim. His generosity sometimes feeling like a sick joke. Jason grabbed his phone, pulling up his tab on Y/n. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t curious about you. Tim was half right about his interest in the case being tied to you but he’d never say to Tim’s face. Any information he found out about was solely for the betterment of the investigation and purely professional, even the songs of yours he listened to.
The men debriefed the case before your arrival. Bruce’s hospitality was just a way to protect your whereabouts and keep an eye on you. This made Bruce’s actions seem so selfless as a Gotham citizen lowering the drawbridge. The mansion was already covered in cameras, so they didn’t have to worry about your safety in that regard.
Jason left the window to leave for patrol with Nightwing. While you’d be getting comfortable in the mansion. The two were going to follow the leads Tim and Barbara found. Babs was called in to help by Tim, considering she had a better sense for those kinds of things.
Alfred and Bruce greeted you and your manager, Alfred promptly grabbing your bags.
“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Master Y/n and Miss Pam,” Alfred said with a small smile.
“This is Alfred. He takes care of the estate and can help you with any questions or concerns. I’m sure this wasn’t how you imagined your time in Gotham, but we hope you can make yourselves comfortable with this difficult time,” Bruce said sincerely.
“Thank you Mr. Wayne for opening your home for us,” Pam replied with exhaustion.
“Yes, thank you so much,” You repeated softly.
“Of course. Alfred will lead you to your rooms. I have some business to attend to,” Just as quickly as he spoke, Bruce left the manor towards what Alfred later mentioned was the garage.
Alfred guided you two throughout the manor’s main common areas. Finally reaching your bedrooms. Compared to the rest of the mansion, it was just as extravagant as you expected. The room was a deep shade of red with cream accents and bookshelves that adorned the walls. The bed looked relatively untouched as if no guest had ever slept in it. Your hotel suite was a shoebox, look at your room now. There were chairs and a coffee table by the window that overlooked the neighboring forest. Every decoration seemingly meticulously curated, reminding you of a Victorian library. Even the smell with a mixture of sunlight and an antique store, inviting you in.
“We’ll be serving dinner in ten minutes, Master Y/n,” Alfred said while leaving your bags by the door.
“Thank you Alfred. But before you leave I was wondering if there was a gym space I could use to rehearse.”
“Of course, I can show you tomorrow morning after breakfast.”
“Great, thank you again!” You smiled with your response before starting to unpack your bags.
Alfred nodded and closed the door gently as he left. You didn’t unpack much, except for your toiletries and your journal. You spent the remaining minutes before dinner to explore your room more, examining the fixtures. You knew if you were younger you’d be imagining if there were any secret corridors or closets as if it were Narnia.
When enough time passed you went downstairs to join everyone for dinner. By everyone it was only you, Pam, and one of Bruce’s children. The kid seemed to be a teenager with short dark brown hair that reached his eyebrows. You knew of the Wayne family and their philanthropy. You also had heard of Bruce’s affinity for adoption and knew of his sons.
“It’s nice to officially meet you, Y/n. I’m Tim Drake,” He stuck his hand to shake yours. You smiled politely and shook his hand.
“Thanks for having us!”
Dinner itself was enjoyable. You and Pam shared stories from touring and the funny signs fans wrote for you, while Tim spoke about silly shenanigans with his brothers, Dick and Jason. Alfred joined you towards the end of dinner, chiming in with laughter and correcting any exaggerations of Tim’s stories. Time wasn’t a priority as you enjoyed each others’ company.
“So where’s the rest of the family?” Pam asked.
“Oh you know, Bruce is always busy with the family business and charity work. Dick and Jason are always coming in and out. They moved out some time ago, but they’ll stick around for a few days before leaving.” Tim smiled to himself before sipping his water.
“That must be nice being able to see them every now and then,” You couldn’t help but feel a little bad for Tim being in a large house by himself so often.
“Yeah, but there’s always something to do around here, so I keep myself busy,” Tim added when in a few rooms over you could hear a door slamming and closing then heavy footsteps getting louder.
“Alfred, please tell me Tim left some food for the rest of us,” A man loudly says before entering the kitchen. His voice is slightly raspy and deep, different from Bruce’s.
“Master Jason, we are eating in the dining room along with our guests.”
You can hear the fridge door close and a muffled “Oh” as Jason enters the room. You immediately notice the white streak in his hair and scar on his face. He looked similar to Bruce with strong eyebrows and an intense gaze. He walks over to the table, leaning onto an empty chair in front of him, wearing black sweat pants and a white t-shirt.
“Hi, I’m Jason. You must be Y/n and Pam.”
“Hi, nice to meet you!”
“Yes, nice to meet you.”
“Will you be joining us, Master Jason?” Alfred got up from the table and began setting a plate for Jason in the kitchen.
“Not for long. I just want something to eat. I can take it up to my room. It’s been a long night,” Jason says following Alfred.
“You know you shouldn’t be taking food into your room.”
“Bruce doesn’t need to know.”
“That’s my rule, not Master Bruce’s.”
You could hear a groan before Jason entered the dining room again, but he was now holding a plate of food with a slight frown on his face. He didn’t say much as he sat and stuffed his face with a quickness that made you wonder how he didn’t choke.
“Jason, can you not be a pig for two seconds?” Tim asked sarcastically with a disgusted look on his face.
You laughed softly through your nose, watching the two exchange playful glares.
Jason started chewing loudly smacking his teeth.
“Gross. You’re only embarrassing yourself. I’m sorry about him.”
“Don’t worry. It’s all a little funny.” You said between stifled chuckles.
“See, they think I’m funny,” Jason replied with a smirk and raising his brows at Tim as if it were a challenge.
“You need to learn the difference between laughing at someone and laughing with,” Tim retorted while rolling his eyes.
“And you should learn how to not be such a smartass,” Jason replied.
Alfred stuck his head out the kitchen, “Are you boys being polite in front of our guests?”
With one question, the two quieted. You took this as a sign to wash up and get ready for bed.
“Thank you for an eventful first day, but I think I should go rest up,” You said while getting up from your seat.
“I think Y/n’s right. Thank you for dinner, good night everyone,” Pam added.
“Yes, good night everyone!” You said before leaving the room.
The men wished you both a good night.
You quickly showered, washing off the day, barely letting the water fully overtake you. You weren’t in the mood for a long relaxing shower, rather it was more like it was something you wanted to get over with. The same went with your other nighttime routines: brushing your teeth, washing your face, and moisturizing. It all passed as if your body wasn’t in control until you collapsed on your bed. You weren’t even under the covers for more than ten minutes before you were fast asleep.
Deep in slumber, you saw yourself outside of your body in a dark endless room. A sound grew louder, the phone call repeating from your stalker. There was nowhere to run. Each word stinging your skin and the shadows closing in. Your throat tightening with every breath until you were gasping for air clawing your hands at an intangible void as you watched yourself flail trying to regain control of your body.
Suddenly, you force yourself awake. Your eyes scan the room, remembering you’re not in your bed–you haven’t been in your own bed for some time. This wasn’t the first nightmare you had on tour and you doubted it would be your last.
You tried to stabilize yourself with deep inhales, but that wasn’t enough. You weren’t going to be able to sleep now. To clear your head, you throw on a robe, grab your journal, and head to the kitchen for water. You quietly made your way downstairs to find that you weren’t the only one who couldn’t sleep.
“Oh–hey,” Jason looks up at you as you enter the kitchen. You smiled to yourself as you noted that he was at the counter drinking milk and cookies.
“...Hey,” You replied awkwardly as you tried to quickly get your water.
You were about to leave the kitchen with your drink when Jason said, “Alfred’s gonna be pissed if he finds out you took something from his kitchen to your room.”
“Right. I forgot about that,” You felt even more awkward than before.
“I would say that I wouldn’t snitch, but Alfred always finds out,” Jason joked. “I can leave the kitchen if you want to be alone. There’s a lot of quiet places around here.”
“No, no, don't leave. It's okay,” You assured him. “I just needed some water.”
“Then what’s with the journal?” He motioned with his head towards your notebook.
“Ahh well when I can’t sleep, sometimes writing helps.”
“You an insomniac too?”
“Not really, just had a nightmare. But I’m guessing you are, considering the milk and cookies. All you’re missing is a bedtime story and a lullaby,” You taunted.
“You know that doesn’t sound too bad. You offering to sing me to sleep?” He cocked his head to the side as he asked his question.
You chuckled, “Not without a price.”
“How about some cookies and milk?” He pushed the plate towards you.
“Sounds like a deal,” You said, grabbing a cookie.
“Take a seat. I’ll get you some milk,” He directed, then got up from his seat to get your drink.
You promptly finished your water, then sat on the stool one seat over from where Jason sat. You were conscious of your every word and action, but you weren’t anxious in the same way when you awoke from your nightmare.
“So do you usually get nightmares?”
“Not often, but when I’m on tour they can happen more frequently.”
Jason gently placed the cup next to you before sitting down. His body was completely turned to face you as you spoke.
“Considering recent events, I’m not surprised I got a nightmare, but it’s like I’ll never be used to it.”
“Yeah, that feeling of your heart pounding against your ribcage while the rest of your body tries to catch up. It’s hard to adjust to. At this point, I think I got insomnia to avoid the nightmares.”
“That’s reassuring,” You joked, dipping your cookie into the milk before taking a bite. “I can’t afford not sleeping, especially while I’m on tour. That’s why I have the journal. It helps me rationalize what I’m feeling and sometimes I get some inspiration for songs too. Maybe it’ll help you.”
“I’ve tried a lot of stuff, but nothing really calms me down like warm milk and cookies.”
“I guess that’s fair.” You two sat in silence for a beat, eating from the pile of cookies until it was finished. “I assume I owe you a song now.”
“Nah I think I’ll hold onto that and cash it in later,” Jason said with a smile.
“Don’t make me nervous, now.”
He laughed to himself then stood up. It wasn’t until now that you realized how he towered over you. His entire body engulfed you. His shoulders. His torso. All left you in a shadow as you looked up at him. “Don’t worry. Talking to you was enough to put me at ease.”
You looked slightly offended at his comment, which he registered immediately.
“What I mean was it was nice talking to you. Sorry that came out wrong,” He corrected while rubbing the back of his neck in slight embarrassment.
You smiled, “That’s a relief.” You stood up facing him. The distance between you only a stool wide, but Jason slightly leaning over the edge of the imaginary line drawn by the stool’s presence. “It was nice talking to you. Thanks for the company.” You stare into his eyes, admiring every stray hair and eyelash, how his hair grazed his eyebrows.
He maintained eye contact, noticing how your eyes reflected the soft light coming from outside and how it warmed your reflection. “Well I’ll be here for all your late night troubles. Just say the word.”
Summary: After figuring out that your boyfriend is Red Hood, you struggle to figure out a way to tell him you are aware of his “nightly activities.” When Jason finally introduces you to his family a week before Christmas, you are presented with the perfect opportunity to tell him
AKA: You give Jason Red Hood merch for a Secret Santa exchange, it goes about as well as you expect.
Word Count: 10.5k
Warnings/Tags: Pre-established relationship, Reader wears makeup and has a purse but I don’t go into much detail, Nosy reader lol, Crack fic treated seriously, Scenes jump around a lot, Fluff, Don’t think about canon when reading this, Probably ooc, Do not take this fic seriously, Convenient plot stuff had to occur for this story to work okay
A/N: Happy holidays guys! I actually can’t believe I finished this before Christmas (at least for me) enjoy this little fic. This will probably be my last fic before New Years :)
DC Masterlist
—
Something was off about the Wayne family, and not in the way you might’ve expected from people as rich as they are.
What’s funny is that you had come to that conclusion in the most unconventional way. You didn’t mean to start investigating the Wayne family, but somehow you did. One might think that with a public imagine as widespread as their own, somebody would eventually slip up.
That was not the case here.
About half a year ago you had begun dating your boyfriend, Jason Todd. In your defense, you didn’t even think about that Jason Todd. While you knew some details about the Waynes, you didn't follow everything they did, and especially not back then. You were worlds apart. After all, who would assume that their boyfriend was the dead son of Bruce Wayne?
The idea had crossed your mind, but you didn’t give it any credibility. Many people have shared names and aren't related. In fact you had silently laughed at the coincidence. Oooh, what if your boyfriend was secretly hiding from the public because he was previously declared dead and can’t come back without making a fuss. Yeah, likely story.
Needless to say, it became a lot less funny when you started to actually figure out what was afoot.
—
You stared at Jason’s phone, the caller was just labeled “B” with no other explanation. Jason had been looking for his phone after misplacing it, and you had found it on top of your shared dresser.
“Uhh, somebody is calling you.” You carefully grabbed the device, careful not to answer it.
Jason’s footsteps grew louder as he approached the bedroom, the hollow floorboards echoing beneath his feet. “Who is it?” He asked casually, holding his hand out.
You shrugged, “I dunno, you just have then labeled ‘B.’” You placed the phone in his hand, and he froze. Immediately, he looked from the phone up to you.
“Did they say anything else? Texts?” He attempted to shield the phone from your view. A surge of curiosity washed over you, interested to know who he was talking to.
“Not that I saw? All I saw was the call.” You paused as the phone stopped ringing… before picking up again mere seconds later. “Anybody important? Boss or something?”
In hindsight, that was the funniest response you could’ve given. At the time you didn’t actually know what Jason did for work. When you asked, he’d just shrug, offhandedly respond “Security,” then quickly change the subject. Eventually, you let it go, realizing he was never going to go in depth about it with you. Which was understandable. Perhaps he wanted to separate his home life and work life.
However as time went on, you began to have more questions. His schedule was just too inconsistent.
There were days where he would just brush off his job, “I’m not the only one who works there, they can handle a night without me.” He would tell you. There were even times where he’d leave in the morning with no warning, just a couple messages on your phone telling you that "work called."
So you came to the conclusion: he must’ve been his own boss.
It made sense, he seems to get paid relatively well. His work schedule is evidently flexible. It’s a logical conclusion for a person to reach. After devising your theory, you didn’t think much of it, despite the nagging feeling in the back of your mind.
Well, you didn't think much of it… until a week later.
“Please, just cover for me this once. I’ll make it up to you.” You pause at the doorframe, breath hitching as you lean against the wall. You had woken up and noticed that Jason was not with you in bed. It’s not uncommon for him to leave in the middle of the night, but usually he left a note, message, just something to let you know that he would return. This time he didn’t, so you went to go look for him.
“I know…” Jason continued, a long moment of silence in between his answers. “Yes, I know, but please? I promised her that she’d have me this entire weekend.”
Your finger tapped absentmindedly against the wooden doorframe, and your other hand rubbed your eye, attempting to expel the sleepiness from your body. Okay, so he’s talking to somebody— definitely work related— about taking time off for you. Were you wrong about him being his own boss?
“I don’t care what Bruce thinks of it.” He scoffed, and you could imagine him rolling his eyes too. At his words, you lean closer to the living room entrance, all whilst ensuring you stayed hidden from his view. “He can think whatever he wants.” He paused before continuing, his tone more unsure than the fiery scorn he spoke with seconds ago. “You haven’t told the others, right?” His words were soft, hesitant. He sounded winded, as if merely speaking the words left him drained.
There was a long pause, and you held your breath in anticipation.
Jason sighed, and it’s somehow quieter than his previous words. “Thank you…” You could hear the cushions of the couch squeak slightly as Jason sat down. His words sounded dry, but you could hear the sincerity backing them. “Yeah, I know… I’ll…” He paused, a soft huff escaping him, “I’ll bring her to one of the dinners before the New Year.”
You sharply inhaled, immediately scurrying back to bed and throwing the blankets over yourself haphazardly. You compelled your breathing to slow, attempting to feign unconsciousness. It doesn’t work, but Jason wasn’t finished with his phone call; you can distantly hear his voice still on the phone if you strain your ears. You know you have at least a minute to get your act together before he returns. You force your eyes shut, and attempt to sleep.
Except, obviously, that does not work. All you could think about was the implications of what you just heard.
Everything you thought was wrong.
At first you were merely cataloging any important information he might’ve revealed: names, locations, anything that could clue you into what was going on. However, as you started listening, you came to a realization.
This isn’t him talking about his shifts.
“You haven’t told the others, right?”
This isn’t about work at all.
“I’ll bring her to one of the dinners before Christmas.”
This was about his family.
Now, you may have just woken up at two in the morning and eavesdropped on a conversation that you had no context of, but the message was abundantly clear. He’s planning to introduce you to his family. If the distress he displayed at the notion told you anything, it must be something he’s thought about for a while.
You didn’t know much about his family, he was always super vague about them. However he did tell you about his numerous siblings, and that he— along with the majority of them— are adopted.
At the time, your relationship was still new, and you didn’t want to pry into territory he was clearly uncomfortable with. You had expressed interest in meeting them, but assured him that if that’s something that makes him uncomfortable, then it can wait.
Now, usually you wouldn’t think too much about him being adopted, but there was one other thing that set off an immediate alarm in your head. The one name he mentioned, Bruce.
Now there’s probably millions of Bruce’s in America alone, but everybody in Gotham will immediately think of one man.
Bruce Wayne.
With literally any other person you know, you’d assume that they would be talking about a different Bruce. However, this was Jason. Jason took a while to share his last name with you, and you didn’t blame him. After all, when you found out his full name you had gone to search it up on your own soon after. You wanted to see if he has any social media posts, determine what kind of person he is online. Only, you didn’t find social media accounts.
You found articles.
Articles and articles filled talking about the death of “Jason Todd.” How he had died during a terrorist attack in Ethiopia in search of his mother. That Jason Todd had been adopted by— you guessed it— none other than Bruce Wayne.
Now, you were willing to chalk it up to an odd coincidence, after all that Jason Todd was dead. There was no way you were dating a dead guy when there are full on autopsies published detailing the horrific death of this child. It was an unfortunate coincidence. It makes sense why Jason wouldn’t want to share his last name if everyone immediately thought of a dead kid.
Now? You aren’t sure anymore. What are the chances that this “Bruce” is actually Bruce Wayne and Jason, your Jason, is actually the (previously?) dead Jason Todd.
With all that being said, you’ll be the first to say that you are no detective. Batman certainly won’t be finding competition with you…
However, this might be worth investigating.
At the time, you didn’t even think to truly consider the consequences if Jason found out about your snooping. However, in your defense, it was less of an “investigation” and more “attempting to notice details that may or may not prove that your insane theory is correct.”
You didn’t actively search the house for evidence that your Jason Todd was the Jason Todd (but really how many Jason Todd’s exist in Gotham, and are adopted, and know a Bruce?). However, to your surprise, you didn’t need to.
—
Narrowing your eyes, you widen your stride to evade the puddle of a mysterious viscous liquid on the ground, almost oil-like in nature. Your nose scrunches up at the smell, and you avoid making eye contact with anybody. Walking with purpose, you speed up your pace to avoid any confrontations.
You didn’t want to go through Crime Alley.
Jason had told you stories. He had made it clear that if you ever had reason to go there, you’d tell him, and he’d handle it. You weren’t about to argue since you never had a desire to go there.
You straighten your posture, walking with a confidence that you feel you currently lack. God, you absolutely hate the taxis in this city. All you asked was that he’d turn on the heater and close his window— it’s winter!
The driver absolutely lost it.
You had asked that he just stop right where you were, in the Upper East Side, but he didn’t. Instead, he drove north. It was only once you passed the Monarch Theater when you realized how screwed you were. The driver had yelled at you, threatening your life if you didn’t get out of the car.
So you got out of the car. Clutching your jacket and purse close to your chest as it speeds off, leaving you stranded in Crime Alley.
Stranded and terrified, you tried retracing the path the car had taken, attempting to leave. However, every alley, street, and crevice looked sketchy. While you had lived in Gotham for a long time, you’ve always avoided this part of town. So like it or not— the territory was unfamiliar, something that isn’t working in your favor.
Eventually, you find a small abandoned alleyway. While it was dirty and practically screaming “DANGER!” you noticed that it was completely abandoned. Ducking into the alleyway, you pull out your phone. Dead. What are the chances? Groaning, you lean against the graffitied wall, rubbing your temples.
Then you hear it. Footsteps. Slow, unhurried, sounds like heavy footwear.
Tensing up, you find an empty dumpster, using it as cover from the new figure. Fuck. You should’ve just kept moving. Now you’re just a sitting duck.
“You know I can still see you, right?” A heavily modulated male voice calls out, his voice echoes across the narrow backstreet. You press yourself further against the wall, knowing that it’s futile, but still desperately trying to stay hidden. You clutch your purse close to your chest. If you get out of here unscathed, Jason is going to kill you.
The newcomer is definitely not small. You aren’t able to see him, but just based off of his footsteps, you reckon that definitely somebody who could beat the shit out of you.
The footsteps get closer and closer, your heart pounds in your chest. Then, the sun vanishes. You look up to the looming figure above you. Red Hood.
It seems you both startle each other because both of you immediately jump back once you meet each other's eyes.
“What—” He calls out.
You hold your hands up in surrender. This guy only kills criminals, right? “I didn’t steal anything, I swear.”
It seems Red Hood is just as stunned by your presence as you are. He remains frozen, continuing to look down at you on the ground. You get up very slowly, making no sudden movements. The last thing you want is for him to think you have a gun.
“I…” His voice is quieter… Something about it is familiar. The tone. “I never said you did.”
You nod, slowly adjusting your clothes, “I didn’t kill anybody either…”
He nods slowly, “I would never assume you did.” He speaks slowly.
You blink taken aback. “Killers come in all shapes and sizes. Not saying I would— I would not. I’m just clearing my name.”
He releases a small huff of laughter, “…Fair enough.”
The two of you stare at each other for a long moment before you avert your gaze. You swallow, shifting uncomfortably. He is still looking at you.
“Do you—”
“How did—”
You both pause. Clearing your throat, you gesture at him, “You first.”
He shakes his head, “No, go ahead.” He mirrors your gesture, and you have to hold back a laugh at how ridiculous the situation is.
You pause before continuing, “Do you know how to get out of here? My phone's dead,” you hold up the device to show him, “I can’t really look up directions.”
Red Hood stares at you for a long moment, you’re curious what he’s thinking. “Of course.” He responds a lot softer than you thought he would. “I’ll guide you.”
You open your mouth to decline, but your brain tells you to accept the offer. Normally, you wouldn’t accept strange offers from men in Crime Alley.
However, it’s Red Hood.
While he’s technically a strange man from Crime Alley, Gotham’s vigilantes typically don’t harm innocents. So, against everything you’ve been taught since you were a child, you accept his offer. It seems that he is relieved at your acceptance, nodding before moving to your left. You blink at him as he holds his hand out expectantly.
“What?” You ask, looking from his hand, up to his mask, and back down to his gloved palm.
“I’ll hold your purse for you.” He says stoically.
You should get an Oscar for the poker face you gave him. Red Hood— feared vigilante— carrier of purses.
“Uh, it’s fine… I can carry it.” You purse your lips in order to refrain from laughing in his face. You don’t want to laugh at him for being kind. You’re reminded of the times where you asked Jason to hold your purse for you. Red Hood offers his services in a way that makes you wonder if he does this often.
The eyes of his helmet stare into your soul, “That’s your bad shoulder.”
Your smile falls, slowly turning to face him. “What?”
“You’re going to injure your shoulder.” He corrects.
You pause, feeling suspicion rise in your chest. That is not what he said the first time. He was telling you that your shoulder was injured. You had slept on it strangely all week, and you had complained to Jason about it. How could Red Hood know that?
A rush of adrenaline shoots through your system as you connect the dots of the situation. The tone of his voice. The casualness of how he offered his help to you. The shoulder comment. The odd work shifts…
You smile politely at Jason, “I suppose you make a good point.” You give him your purse.
—
Figuring it out hadn’t been the difficult part. Jason had been practically begging you to put the evidence together. Just by knowing his identity, you were able to piece the rest of the puzzle together.
His family? His work? The Bats? The Waynes? All of them were one in the same.
Now, while you figured it out, you still wanted him to tell you on his own. Perhaps you’d act a little surprised, and tease him about finding each other in Crime Alley. Then in a few years you’d tell him you figured him way before he told you.
Then one day, a week before Christmas, he asked you a question.
“Do you want to meet my family?”
You blink, looking away from the ads playing on the TV, “What?”
He shifts, tugging slightly at your shared penguin blanket. “They’re hosting dinner tonight.” He looks at you, “They’ve been wanting to meet you for a while.”
You nod in acknowledgment, “Do you want me to meet them?” It’s happening. This is what he was talking about on the phone.
Jason is silent for a moment, “I can’t hide you forever.”
You snort, “That’s not what I asked.” You reach for his hand, it’s warm.
He looks from your hand up to you, “Yeah,” he exhales, like it takes effort to admit.
You smile, “Then we’ll be there tonight.” You raise your hand to rub his shoulder. Normally, you’d be panicking over what to wear, especially to meet the Waynes, but you had already planned for this two weeks ago.
Jason’s anxiousness is evident throughout the day. You reassure him that you won’t be scared off. He laughs like he doesn’t believe you. Each time he brushes your reassurances off, you find yourself smiling. He doesn’t know that you know.
Tonight comes sooner than expected. You do your makeup nicely, taking your time with the familiar routine. Satisfied with your appearance, you meet Jason out in the living room. He’s glaring down at his phone.
“What’d it do to you?” You smirk, eying the object.
He turns it off, “Everything, and not enough.” He sighs, avoiding eye contact with you. “Hey, I should tell you about them…”
You blink, “You already gave me the rundown?”
“Yes— Well,” he releases a breathy chuckle, “a different rundown.” Sensing the seriousness of the situation, you drop your smile, nodding.
“Remember how I waited a long time to tell you my name— my full name?” He swallows, gauging your reaction. “You know the kid who has the same name as me?”
You nod slowly, “The one Bruce Wayne took in.” You feel your heart speed up, he’s really telling you.
“Yeah,” he huffs, “I know… I know it sounds crazy, and there are like dozens of articles saying that kid died…” He inhales, “But those rumors were exaggerated, and I don’t think it’s fair to drag you into this without telling you— Why… are you smiling?”
You chuckle softly, grabbing his hand. Before you even think about the consequences of revealing part of your knowledge, you begin speaking, “Jay, I’ve known that for a while.”
His hand stiffens in yours, “What?”
“I mean… You told me your name was Jason Todd.”
He furrows his eyebrows, “Both are common names.”
“Give me more credit than that.” You roll your eyes, the smile on your face growing. “It was hard not to notice after a certain point.”
Jason gapes at you, and you laugh at his shocked expression. Then he laughs softly, “This was supposed to be a big moment.” He sighs, “You aren’t… mad?”
“It is. I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me.” You lean to kiss him on his cheek, he relaxes under your touch. His shoulders droop as your hands reach to fix a few stray strands of hair. “I could never be mad. I understand that this is a big deal, and that trust isn't easy to come by.”
He returns the kiss, light, smiling through it. “God, I don’t deserve you. I was planning that speech for weeks, you know.”
You laugh at him, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of his face. “It was a very good speech.”
“Yeah?” He smirks at you.
“Yeah.” You reaffirm, grinning at him.
—
“Thank God you are here.” A young man— Duke, you recognize— throws the doors to the manor open before the doorbell is even rung. You don’t mask your surprise as he gestures for you two to get inside. “They’ve started making bets.”
Jason raises an eyebrow, “And you’re thankful for us being here why?”
“‘Cause I bet you’d show up with her!” He gestures between you two, before politely smiling at you. “Nice to meet you by the way, Duke Thomas.”
You shake his hand, introducing yourself as you remove your jacket. “Jason told me quite a bit about you guys.”
Duke laughs awkwardly before eying Jason, “Hopefully not too much.” He smiles.
You smirk, pretending you don’t understand the underlying message, “He said you were particularly tolerable.”
Duke shakes his head, a smile on his face, “The greatest of compliments.” He leads the two of you into the massive living room, probably one of many seeing as this manor is huge.
At your entrance, the room goes silent.
You scan the room, attempting to put names to the faces. Sitting on the maroon velvet couch you see Dick Grayson and Barbara Gordon. Standing behind them is Stephanie Brown with Damian Wayne and Cassandra Cain on her sides. Tim Drake is settled casually on the armrest of the couch.
The table in front of them is littered with pieces of paper, empty energy drinks, a couple Batman mugs filled hot cocoa, and a black top hat. You turn your attention to Bruce Wayne, seated in a singular armchair with a poised elegance only somebody raised with wealth could have. At his right, is an older gentleman— Alfred, Jason told you.
Each person in the room is staring directly at you with varying degrees of surprise. Stephanie and Dick look thrilled at your appearance. The former looks ready to hug you, and you have a feeling that they bet money that you’d show up. Tim looks at you incredulously, staring at you as if you’ll disappear at any moment. Damian looks you up and down with a touch of distaste, as if assessing your value. You feel yourself straighten your stance under his examination. Cassandra Cain similarly appraises you, but you feel as if her judgment is less harsh. Barbara looks amused at your arrival, casually sipping one of the mugs on the table.
What truly unsettles you is Bruce Wayne.
You’ve heard stories of Brucie Wayne, how could you not? Those stories portray him as a ditzy billionaire playboy. Well-meaning, but frivolous. The eyes that stare into you aren’t the eyes of such a character. His gaze pierces into your own, and you find yourself faltering as you attempt to match the intensity. This isn’t some foolish playboy.
This is Batman.
Who knows what he’d do if he figures out you know about their secret? Jason, as if sensing your distress, situates himself at your side. He clears his throat, “This is my girlfriend,” he introduces you, offering your name to them.
The silence is palpable, an uneasy fog that rests in the atmosphere of the room. In spite of that, you offer them your best smile. “I know who you all are.” You nod to each person in the room. “Jason has told me about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you all.” Jason places a hand onto your shoulder, squeezing lightly.
For a moment, nobody says anything. Your eyes flicker between everyone, gauging their reactions. You take a gamble with your next comment, “I’m sorry for any cash lost at my appearance.” You smile softly, turning towards Tim and Damian. The two are staring at you as if you've personally wronged them.
Dick follows your lead, standing up from the couch to greet you. He mirrors your smile back at you as you shake hands, “I’m definitely not sorry. They could stand to get humbled every now and then.” He gestures his thumb back towards the couch.
You smirk, “Well, I’m glad to be of service then.” You release his hand, turning to Stephanie who approached you as you were greeting Dick.
“I’ve never been so happy to prove them wrong. Thank you for existing.” She shakes your hand gravely.
You can’t help the snort that escapes your mouth, “Of course, I will make sure I continue to do so.” She smiles at you, pulling you over to the couch to meet everyone. The tension dissipates as you begin to meet everyone. She brings you to meet Bruce first, after all it is his house.
You give his hand a firm shake, a small smile on your face masking your inner trepidation. He doesn’t offer much more than a polite smile and obligatory nicety, but Steph— she insisted you call her that name instead— reassures you that he’s just like that. She also introduces you to Alfred, who you match the politeness of. It seems that he approves of you. Soon after, she drags you over to the couch where the rest of the group resided.
“Does she know?”
Jason stares at you, laughing at something Cass says. Animatedly, you gesture as you speak, telling some story to the small group gathered near you. Steph laughs in response, grabbing Cass’ arm for support.
“Know what?” He asks. He doesn’t tear his gaze from you as you explain your story. For a brief moment the two of you make eye contact, and your eyes glint mischievously. You lean closer to his siblings positioned near you, whispering something to them. Jason can’t hear what you say, but whatever it is causes Tim to immediately perk up curiously. Steph matches your smirk, and even Cass and Damian lean closer to hear your words. Faintly, Jason can hear your soft whispers to them. In the middle of your storytelling, you look up at him. Your smile grows as you wink at him, he can’t help mirroring your expression.
Dick snorts, “So that’s a no.”
The smile falls from his face, Jason eyes Dick from the corner of his eye, “It’s harder than you think.” He swallows, watching as Steph covers her mouth at something you say. “Too much will change if I tell her.” He responds quietly.
Dick hums, crossing his arms, “Are you serious about her?”
Jason, affronted, spins to face Dick. “Yes.” He exhales slowly, nodding somberly.
Dick smiles gently, “Then tell her.”
Jason scoffs, “It’s not that easy.” His eyes veer to Bruce, who is pretending he is not listening to you from his chair.
Dick follows his gaze, “Since when did you care what he thinks?” He grins at Jason, glancing between him and Bruce.
Jason narrows his eyes at Dick, “I don’t. I just…” He huffs, his mouth set in a straight line. “I don’t want her getting involved.”
Dick’s gaze softens, a forlorn frown on his face. “It’s inevitable given what we do.”
Jason grunts, “I’m aware.”
Dick tentatively raises a hand, placing it on his shoulder. “I don’t say this to pressure you—”
“—Sure feels like it.” Jason interrupts, glaring down at Dick.
“But,” Dick continues as if interrupted, “I think you’ll find it to be a lot easier for you both if you do tell her.” They both look over to you. Jason watches as you raptly listen to something Tim explains. Jason sighs, shrugging Dick’s hand off his shoulder.
“Hm,” Jason hums, acknowledging his words, but not saying anything more.
“Okay, now that we’re all here.” Steph raises the top hat from the table, catching everybody’s attention. “It is time.”
Steph holds the top hat reverently, as if the object is sacred. “Secret Santa this year. Twenty dollar minimum. We will write our names down on these sheets of paper and draw them out from the hat. If you don’t like who you get, too bad. You can only redraw if you get yourself. Now, everybody fill these out, place your slip of paper into the hat, and we will begin to draw.”
“She seems really serious about this.” You whisper to Duke. He thanks Steph as she passes around a pack of purple sticky notes for everybody to take.
“You get used to it.” Duke takes a slip, handing you the pack. Slowly you take the purple note before passing it over to Cassandra on your right. Grabbing a pen, you scrawl your name down on the piece of paper. You feel your chest constrict with an uneasy weight.
Jason may have told you about his family, but you barely know anything about them. Favorite color? Food? Animal? He didn’t exactly divulge the details. You’ll probably have to ask his help on what to get, cause you’re essentially going in blind. He didn't warn you about Secret Santa.
You fold the sticky note, slipping it into the hat. You watch as the pen makes its way around the table, your foot bouncing as it finally approaches Bruce and Alfred. You watch as they silently write their name down, resigned. You have a feeling that they’ve been forced to do this for years.
As they place their names into the top hat, you consider the options of who you could get. A silent smile grows on your face as you think about it. Wouldn’t it be funny if you got Jason?
“Alright, I think that’s everybody.” Steph looks around the room. “Now to begin the drawing…” She lightly tosses the hat, jumbling the papers in it before turning to face you, smiling. “As the newest person here, you should go first.” She holds out the hat to you, and you are immediately aware of the eyes on you.
“Oh,” you look down at the folded papers, then back up at her, “sure…” You attempt to match her smile, slowly reaching in the hat without looking. You pick up one of the slips, taking it out. Everybody watches in anticipation as you unfold the sticky note, you attempt to school your face as you read the painfully familiar handwriting.
Jason
Holy shit.
You’ve used up all of your luck for the next five years. What are the chances you’d pull your boyfriend in a group this large? You were already planning on getting him gifts separately, but this was too perfect.
A stupid idea ran through your head. A really stupid, idiotic, foolish idea. Was it worth risking everything you’ve done not to incriminate yourself for this scheme?
You don’t even register the other people in the room drawing out names. You don’t even wonder who got you because all you can think of is the possibilities of what you could get Jason.
“Who’d you get?” The soft warmth of Jason’s breath brushes past your ear, sending shivers down your spine. He is resting his body against the back of the couch, leaning over it to invade your personal space. You attempt to hide your jolt by casually folding your paper, holding it out of his view.
“It hasn’t even been five minutes.” You smirk at him, pocketing the slip for later. You lower your voice, leaning closer to him. “Does this mean we’re returning for Christmas?” You can’t keep the excitement out of your voice.
He sighs, “I suppose.” He smiles at the way your eyes brighten up. If only he knew what fire he was fueling. “Now, who’d you get?” He asks, leaning to look over your shoulder. You shift so that your back is never facing him, placing a hand over your pockets to make sure he can’t grab the sticky note.
“I can’t tell you, it’s Secret Santa.” You furrow your eyebrows, frowning.
His eyes widen slightly, “Wait… You’re actually not gonna tell me? C’mon,” He huffs, leaning even closer, the two of you are practically face to face now. “I can keep a secret if it matters that much to you.”
You turn away from him, the smugness in your eyes never fading. “You’ll find out when we give the gifts.” You shrug, and you can feel eyes watching you both. Damian looks mildly disgusted by you two, and Duke is noticeably trying to avoid looking at you both. You clear your throat, looking up at Jason.
“Guess you’re gonna have to find out like everyone else.” You look away from him, propping your arm onto the armrest of the couch and leaning your face onto it.
Jason stares at you— you can feel it piercing the back of your skull. “You’ll need my help.”
You tilt your head to face him, “I actually have an idea what I’ll get my person.”
He narrows his eyes at you skeptically, “You… do?”
You smirk, “The perfect idea.”
“You know it’s not just joke gifts, it’s stuff they actually like, right?” He straightens up, crossing his arms as he looks down at you on the couch.
“Oh,” you bite your tongue to keep from smiling too wide, “they’ll like the gift.”
You both stare at each other for a long moment, he sighs. “Alright, if you say so.” He taps his arm thoughtfully. “If you need any help though…” He trails off.
“You’ll be the first person I call.” You nod, smiling. “You’ll always be the first person I call.”
His eyes soften, “I know.”
—
red hood merch
red hood keychain
red hood figure
You idly tap your finger on the keyboard of your laptop as you open up different tabs for each search. Surprisingly, there were actually quite a few results for Red Hood merch. You know he isn’t as popular as Batman or even Nightwing, but you are nothing if not determined.
You cycle through different websites, eventually landing onto Etsy. You snort as you see holographic stickers of Red Hood. You even find replicas of his helmet for sale. You smile, adding the latter to the cart. Continuing to scroll, you barely even notice the door to your apartment open. You chuckle as you see a cute Red Hood keychain. He’d hate this.
You add it to the cart.
“You’re still up?”
Freezing, you slowly shift your gaze from the screen to Jason. His hair is tousled, his skin has the sheen of sweat to it that tells you he was "exercising" (that's the excuse he always tells you, you know he's out patrolling). He tosses his jacket over a chair, running a hand through his hair. You subtly switch tabs, “Wanted to wait for you.” You half-lid the laptop.
He smiles, before moving to face plant onto your shared bed. You look down at him, frowning. “Have you taken a shower?”
“Nah,” his voice is muffled by the blankets.
You subtly nudge him with your knee, “I love you, but you’re sweaty. The bed is clean.” He groans, not budging at your gesture.
“Mmph,” he grunts, moving closer to you, crawling up the bed to where you’re seated underneath the covers. You yelp, moving away from him, slamming the laptop shut. Damn it, you wanted to order it before he came home. “I can’t spend time with my girlfriend?”
You snort, “You can spend time with me after you take a shower.” You lightly push his forehead, your hand brushing against his loose strands of hair. He leans into your touch, “Rough day?”
“Somethin’ like that.” He mumbles, slowly pulling away to stand up again.
You exhale, smiling softly. “I’m sure you’ll feel better after a shower.”
He snorts, “You’re just telling me I stink.”
You smirk, “Your words, not mine.”
He sighs, dragging himself to the bathroom. You can’t help the smile on your face. Once he is out of view, you slowly open your laptop again, navigating your browser back to your shopping cart. You go to the checkout, quickly paying. It’ll arrive a few days before Christmas.
You thought you'd stop there, but you end up going down a rabbit hole. Scrolling and scrolling endlessly.
Then you find it. It’s a collection of bootleg Red Hood merch— a package. You start cackling to yourself as you view the picture of the product. It’s a hoodie, blanket, water bottle, mug, wallet, and journal. The hoodie, water bottle, wallet, and journal have the red bat logo plastered on them. The blanket and mug have an actual photo of Red Hood on them. The quality of the image isn’t terrible, but it looks ridiculous nonetheless. Now, this would be a really stupid purchase. You’d be spending more money than you already have on merch.
You hum to yourself in contemplation, distantly noting that you can hear the water running from the bathroom. You tap your foot softly against the mattress of the bed, squinting at it. For a bundle with that many items, twenty dollars is not a bad deal, even if the images are laughable. You raise your hand up to your lip, rubbing your face.
Well, even if Jason hates it… You can still find some use out of the items. The blanket maybe? You doubt it’ll be a great blanket, but it could be a good backup. The mug and water bottle might also be usable. One of you can definitely use the journal… After all, twenty dollars is twenty dollars.
You buy it.
“You’re still working?” Jason emerges from the bathroom, changed into clean clothes, lightly rubbing a towel over his head.
Your eyes fall onto the receipt screen reading: “Order confirmed!” You nod, “Something like that.”
He gives you a puzzled expression, before plopping onto his side of the bed. The mattress cushioning his fall. “Are you almost done?” He lays down flat, tilting his head to look at you.
You smile, shutting the laptop. Mission accomplished. “Just finished actually.”
—
Neither of you mentioned Secret Santa. Honestly, you started to worry if he’d actually get a gift for his person. However, you didn’t bring it up out of fear of him asking about the gifts for your person. The remainder of the week progressed, the excitement of Christmas becoming more and more real each day. Either way, things are going smoothly. Each day you have to withhold yourself from telling Jason what you bought because you are dying to see his reaction. You hold yourself back, though. It’ll be so much better in front of his family.
It’s a few days before Christmas where panic struck your heart.
“Did you order something?” Jason asks, you hold your phone up to your ear as you walk to your car. You just got off of work, and were finally off for the holidays.
You swallow, “Perhaps, why?”
Jason hums, “Well, it’s here.” You feel your heart skip a beat for all the wrong reasons, “Do you want me to open—”
“No!” You cut him off, causing him to pause. You purse your lips, wincing, “Uh, no. It’s fine. It’s… personal.”
There’s a long pause of silence, “Personal…” He repeats, unconvinced.
“Yeah,” you nod, smacking your lips, “reallyyyy personal. I wouldn’t open it.”
He releases a huff of amusement, “Alright… You’re coming home right?”
“Yep, yep, on my way.” You walk faster down the sidewalk.
“Alright, don’t take too long.” He responds casually.
“Or what?” You smirk, using your shoulder to hold your phone up to your ear as you fish for your keys in your purse.
“Or I’ll open it.” He responds, matching the mirth in your tone.
You never drove home so fast.
Upon entering, you don’t even call out a greeting. Keys jingling, you frantically unlock the door. You twist the doorknob, pushing the door open with more force than necessary, causing you to stumble through the doorway.
You rip your shoes off your feet, throwing them haphazardly to the side as you toss your purse onto the couch. “Jason!” You call out. He’s likely in your bedroom. “Where is the package?” You speed over to your bedroom, yanking the door open.
Jason is laying down on his side, facing the door. His phone is held languidly in one of his hands. At your arrival, he doesn’t even flinch. “Hm?” He hums, still looking at the phone.
Your eyes narrow, “The package, Jay. Where is it?” You check behind the door as you begin your search— even checking under the bed.
“Oh, it’s over there.” He gestures absentmindedly to the top of your dresser. You blink, seeing the giant box there. How did you miss that?
“Oh,” you slowly reach from the box, checking to see if it was opened. “You didn’t open it right?” You turn back to face him; he still hasn’t moved.
Finally, he tilts his head to face you. “No?” He pauses, mischief crawling into his tone. “Should I have?” He sits up, putting the phone down and turning his entire body to face you.
“No.” You hold the box closer to you, glaring at him. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re not peeking.”
He smirks, “Oh…” In a much softer tone he continues “… Is it for me?”
You grin, “Perhaps.”
He smiles at you, tension leaving his body. His eyes crinkle in fondness as he stares at you, not moving from his spot in the bed. He chuckles quietly, grinning even wider.
You blink, his genuine joy is contagious, “What?” You chuckle.
“Nothing.” He is still smiling as he turns around in bed. You can tell he is still smiling even if he isn’t facing you.
You snort, “Alright, sure.” You nod at his head, exiting the room, his eyes trailing on the box as your arms as you leave.
It’s your first Christmas together with him, so you can imagine that he is curious to know what you’ve got for him. You almost feel bad for what you’re doing. He looked so happy to be receiving a gift from you.
Could this potentially backfire on you? Absolutely. You’d be a fool not to consider the consequences of essentially telling your vigilante boyfriend in front of his vigilante family that you’re aware of their identities. However, you can’t imagine that it’ll be that bad. It’s not like you disapprove of them, you just… want to have a little fun with it.
You had waited for a months for Jason to say something. After all, you wanted him to tell you out of his own accord— you still do. However, you've gotten antsy waiting around. Not that it's an excuse, but the added anxiety into your life hasn't exactly been a joy. Does he not trust you enough? Either way, you can’t bring yourself to be mad; it’s not exactly a tiny secret. Every time he pulled you aside, you wondered if this was it. It never was.
Perhaps he was too scared to tell you?
It was a perspective you hadn’t really thought of. You’d been so focused on the excitement of getting the gifts and just waiting for him to say something, that you didn’t even consider that it could be equally as anxiety inducing for him.
You open a drawer in the kitchen, grabbing the box cutter. You make sure Jason hasn’t decided to follow you out before you start to open it. The sounds of the tape being ripped apart echo across your otherwise silent apartment.
Grinning, you reach into the box, gently pulling out the Red Hood helmet replica that laid inside. Despite your worries, you can’t help the thrill of excitement that runs through your body.
—
“Jesus, did you get enough gifts for your person?” Jason furrows his eyebrows at you as you carry two large wrapped gifts in your arms. He watches as you wiggle your way into the passenger seat of his car. “You know it was only required to get one, right?” He stares at the gifts, specifically the wrapping paper. You had deliberately made sure he never saw them until absolutely necessary.
A couple days after you bought the gifts, you had stumbled onto a shop that was selling Batman themed wrapping paper.
So, like any good vigilante girlfriend would do, you picked up a few rolls.
You practically locked yourself into another room in your apartment to wrap them in fear that Jason would see, but it was worth it. The way he is staring at the gifts as if they slapped him in the face? Priceless.
You click your tongue, “Give me a break, I wanted to be nice. It’s my first time celebrating Christmas with your family anyway.” You reach over the center console, placing the gifts gently in the backseat.
He huffs, “It’s a bit excessive.”
You dramatically raise a hand to your chest, affronted. “You’re just jealous I didn’t get you.” You blatantly lie with such a confidence that even you begin to question if you got Jason (you’ve checked that paper dozens of times).
He raises an eyebrow, “If that’s what you want to believe.” He shrugs.
You purse your lips into a thin line, shaking your head at him. “I know it. Now, let’s go, we’re gonna be late.” You buckle in, shutting the door. Jason rolls his eyes, and you nudge him with your elbow. He starts the car, and you pull down the sun visor mirror. As he starts the car, you double check your makeup.
“You still aren’t gonna tell me who you got?” Jason asks.
You turn to face him, “You’ve lasted this long, you’ll find out in like an hour anyway.” Flipping the sun visor back up, you relax against the back of the seat. A smile grows on your face, he even turned on the seat heating for you. “For someone so eager for me to share, you haven’t said anything.”
“I asked you first.” He furrows his eyebrows, frowning.
“That’s fine,” you recline the seat slightly, your Christmas sweater absorbing the warmth of the seat. “Just don’t get upset at me if I don’t tell you who I got.”
He scoffs, “I’m not upset.” He slows to a stop as you reach an intersection, “Just curious.”
“Mhm,” you hum contently, turning to face Jason with a gleeful smile on your face.
He spares you a quick glance before turning his focus back to the road, “What’s with that face?”
You raise an eyebrow, “That’s just my face? Am I not allowed to smile at my boyfriend?”
An small amused smile manifests onto his face, he gives you a fondly exasperated look. “I suppose you may.”
“You suppose?” You chuckle, leaning your head against the cool glass of your window. You tilt your head so that you can look at him, “What? Do I need your permission?”
He chuckles, “Is that not what you were asking?”
“Obviously not.” You lightly tap him with your hand.
His lips twitch in amusement, “My mistake.”
You laugh softly, turning your attention back to the road. Despite the teasing atmosphere, you can’t help but worry how this will go down. Did you get ahead of yourself? Was this a mistake? Perhaps you should’ve bought a backup gift just in case you chickened out.
Each second the car approaches the Manor causes your heart to speed up. By the time you’ve reached it, you’re fanning yourself with your hands to keep from sweating too much. Jason had noticed your distress halfway through the ride, silently turning off the seat warmer, but (thankfully) not saying anything. You presume that he believes that you’re afraid Christmas won’t go well. He's not exactly wrong.
As you carry your gifts up the stairs to the entrance, you shake the doubts away. Rolling your shoulders back, you exhale slowly. This will go well. You can’t imagine anything bad will happen over you giving Jason some bootleg merch of himself. You're stressing over nothing. This will be funny.
“There you are! We were about to call you.” Dick greets you both, moving aside to let you in. Just as you step through he lets out a muffled snicker, conspicuously looking at the wrapping paper you chose. Smiling, he turns to Jason who gives him a pointed look as if saying “Don’t even.”
“Sorry, we were running a bit late.” You smile at Dick, and he waves you off.
“No worries, they can wait five more minutes.” He gestures for you two to follow. Both of you follow him into the same room you were in last time. Everybody is dressed festively— though some look more merry than others. “Alright, you all ready to get started?”
There is a cacophony of mixed responses, but everybody settles into the same positions they were in last time. You have to wonder if this is normal. Did you somehow choose your permanent spot in this living room without even knowing? Nonetheless, you don’t mind.
Thankfully you aren’t first again.
Contrary to your doubts earlier, you feel the anticipation plaster a smile on your face, something you attempt to keep hidden from the others. You had practiced this day. You may not be an actor, but you had already anticipated the reaction of his family. Your worry wasn’t that they’d find you suspicious. It's that they'd laugh.
You knew that the moment somebody started laughing, you’d be a goner. There’s no way you’d be able to look at Jason with a straight face if you heard somebody giggling in the corner of the room. If you were doing this, you were going to commit to the act. You’ll likely tell him after, but you couldn’t breakdown into laughter halfway through the bit.
You had to be strong.
When Damian calls your name, you feel yourself sit up in shock. Everybody watches in anticipation as he walks over to you, placing a small bag and a wrapped flat rectangular gift onto your lap. You thank him, a grin stretching onto your face. He nods resolutely, before moving back to his spot.
Deciding to open the small bag first, you pull out a small package of your favorite goodies— he was no doubt assisted by Jason, but they’re filled with every possible candy and chip you enjoy. You grin at Damian, offering your gratitude with a heartfelt thank you.
Then you open the wrapped gift, and immediately gasp.
It’s a canvas. You delicately rip off the last piece of wrapping paper obscuring the artwork, unveiling the piece. It’s a gorgeous realistic painting of your favorite animal in its natural environment. You’d think that the piece was made by a professional who's been in the field for decades, not a teenager. Not a single mistake is found. All the colors work harmoniously to create a gorgeous setting with your favorite animal being the focal point.
“Damian…” You cover your mouth, turning to him. “I— This is phenomenal. You’re incredibly skilled, I can’t believe you made this for me.” You withhold tears as you speak. You didn’t think Damian liked you when you met him. He was quiet, and didn’t shy away from bluntness. After you met him, you told Jason about your worries. Jason reassured you that for Damian, that was normal, and not to worry about what he thinks.
Damian’s face is unreadable, but he stands up straighter. “I’m glad you find it satisfactory.”
“Satisfactory? This is exceptional. I’m speechless.” You look back down at the painting, gently holding the canvas. “Thank you, Damian.” You give him the most grateful smile you can muster. You would go and hug him, but based on what you’ve observed, you doubt he’d appreciate the action. His nods, decidedly pleased at your reaction, but not saying anything else.
Then the weight of the situation finally hits you. It is time.
You stand up, feeling the irresistible urge to smile, and you allow yourself the pleasure of doing so. “The person I got…” you spin around the room, before landing on your boyfriend, “is Jason.” You grin at him, and his mouth parts in surprise.
You delicately place the presents onto his lap, “Open this one first.” You point at the gift containing the package deal you bought.
He narrows his eyes at you, instantly suspicious, “Alright,” He waits until you’ve returned to your seat before slowly ripping the paper off, revealing an inconspicuous white box.
Slowly, as if afraid something would jump out at him, he pulls the top off and freezes. You see both his and Dick’s eyes widen as they look down at its contents. You can see Dick shut his eyes in order to steel his reaction.
“You gotta show us what you got, it’s part of the rules.” Steph adds curiously. At the moment, the only people who can see the gift are Dick and Jason himself.
Staring through the box desolately, he slowly turns it around for you all to see. There’s a beat of silence before Steph starts cackling. From her left, Tim smacks her, but he uses his free hand to cover his face. You think you can actually see him turn red from masking his reaction.
“I noticed that you seemed to be a Red Hood fan.” You calmly comment. Your words seemingly spur the others to start laughing cause now Duke’s shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.
“Oh, he’s a Red Hood fan alright!” Steph gives you a thumbs up with a blinding grin as if saying “You’ve done good!”
“Wh- Where did you even get it from?” Duke struggles to get the words out, smiling at you as he asks his question.
“Etsy,” you shrug, “they have a surprising amount of merch there for Red Hood. It made my job easy.” You smile at them before turning to Jason to gauge his reaction. He is still staring at the box blankly.
Slowly his eyes meet yours, “Is… Is this what all those deliveries were?” It is rare that you catch him off guard, and you can’t help but savor the moment, filing the image of his stunned expression into your brain.
“I wanted it to be a surprise.” You smile at him.
He laughs, the sound less out of amusement and more out of distress. “That’s… Yeah, I mean…” he swallows, “It’s a surprise.”
“You should open the other one.” You lean back into the couch.
Jason looks at the second gift with absolute horror in his expression. “Wait— Are all of the gifts Red Hood themed?”
You grin at him, not offering an answer.
He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he warily tears off the Batman wrapping paper. It’s another white box, and you can see the defeat in his eyes. You smile innocently at him, biting your lip so as to not laugh. You really hope somebody is recording his reaction.
He glares at Dick, who is curiously looking over his shoulder, before raising the box to his face to peek inside of it. Jason must immediately know what it is because he silently settles it to his side, covering his face with his hands. You almost feel bad.
Dick, eager to see what it is, takes the abandoned box and lifts the lid. He instantly breaks out into laughter as he looks down at the Red Hood helmet replica inside of it. He actually leans into the couch for support as he attempts to control his breathing.
The action garners even Damian’s curiosity. He silently leans over to the box, ignoring Jason’s crisis and Dick nearly hyperventilating on the couch. He raises the lid, and his eyes widen seeing the item inside. He looks up to you, and you smile at him. He narrows his eyes and the two of you silently stare at each other both coming to the same conclusion.
Yeah, you know.
Hesitantly, as if afraid of the uproar your gift would cause, Damian holds the helmet up. He holds it away from his face, almost as if it’s a bomb about to explode.
Everybody.
Loses.
Their.
Mind.
Steph and Tim are both immediately gone. They aren’t even attempting to mask their laughter. Duke is, similar to Dick, leaning against the couch’s armrest for support. Cass is covering her mouth, her eyes betraying her amusement. Barbara has fully taken off her glasses, covering her face with her hand as she quietly laughs into it.
Then you turn to Bruce.
The two of you make eye contact, and for a long moment you forget about the laughter that racks nearly every person in the room. You swallow, but don’t break eye contact. You knew it was a gamble, revealing that you are aware of Red Hood’s identity to Batman himself.
Neither of you blink as you pray that he concludes you have no ill intentions— after all you don’t.
A long pause ensues. You don’t shift your gaze from him— not even to look at Jason. You know that if you get Bruce on your side, then everything will be okay. Then, slowly, he nods at you. The action is minuscule, something you wouldn’t even see if you weren’t looking. His face does not even change, but you understand the weight the action carries. He understands, and he knows you aren’t a threat.
You smile at him, feeling the biggest wave of relief imaginable wash over you. You turn back to everybody else, feeling a renewed sense of joy.
“This… This is surprisingly accura- high quality!” Tim cuts himself off, clearing his throat as he corrects himself. Tim, Duke, Steph, Damian, and Dick are all gathered around the helmet, scrutinizing it. Cass has moved next to Barbara, and they are both whispering to one another. You can’t hear their words, but you are curious.
You get up, slowly making your way to Jason who looks absolutely distraught. You decide it’s your time to intervene. “…Don’t like the gift?”
Jason— as if your voice snaps him out of a trance— shifts his gaze to you blearily. At the disappointment in your tone, he frantically shakes his head, “No! It’s not that I don’t like them— I just—” He opens his mouth before closing it, struggling to find the words. “How… How’d you know I like Red Hood?”
You settle your hand onto his, gently rubbing your thumb over it. “Jay,” you begin softly, “I know.”
He sputters, looking down at the ground. His frustration is evident, as if the last piece of a puzzle doesn’t fit. “I’m aware you know I like him. I’m just confused how you figured it out. I don’t think I ever mentioned—”
“Jason,” you cut him off, and his eyes dart to your hands clasped in his, “I know.”
His hand tenses under your grip, and he sharply inhales, chest shuddering. “What?” He looks at your reassuring smile, the first gift he opened, then to the helmet. You can see him slowly piece it together.
You know he is Red Hood.
“You… You know.” He repeats, blinking at you as if you’ll suddenly vanish in between blinks.
You nod, “I know.” You repeat.
He opens his mouth, exhaling as he attempts to form sentences. “How?” He asks softly, “How long?”
“Since you saved me in the alley.” You smile sheepishly at him.
His eyes widen, “Are you serious? That long?” He openly gapes at you, and you scoot closer to him. “Are you not mad at me or anything? Why haven’t you said something?”
You frown, “Why would I be mad at you?” You shake your head at him, as if the idea is absurd.
He looks at you like you’ve lost it, “I lied to you, for months.”
You nod, “True, but I understand why. If I was a crime fighting vigilante I wouldn’t go around telling every single person I know my identity.”
Jason shakes his head, “You’re not ‘every single person,’ though. You’re my girlfriend.”
Your shoulders relax, fondness melting your heart. “Jason, you don’t have to justify yourself. I am not mad at you for not telling me. It hasn’t even been a full year since we met. If anything, I’m just mad that you’ve probably been hiding injuries from me since the start.”
You must’ve hit the mark with that comment because Jason winces, muttering a soft apology. “I didn’t do this to make you think I’m mad at you. I did this because I thought you’d feel better knowing I’m not mad at you.” You look at his eyes. “This doesn’t change anything.”
Jason stares at you, mouth agape before pulling you closer. He gently cradles your face as his lips meet your own. Instinctively, you begin to kiss him back, placing a hand onto his shoulder as you close your eyes, savoring the moment. Slowly, he breaks the kiss, slowly pulling away. “You bought all of this,” he grabs the Red Hood PNG mug from behind him, holding it up to your chest, “just to show me you know?”
You smirk, your arms still rested around his shoulders, “Okay… Maybe I thought it was funny. You should’ve seen me laughing as I ordered everything.”
He huffs, but smiles at you nonetheless, “I’m sure you did, didn’t you?”
You laugh as you slowly pull away from him, “I think I found our new favorite mug.” You reach to grab it out of his hand.
He laughs sharply, “‘Our?’”
You grin, “Are you kidding? I paid good money for this. You gotta use it.”
He shakes his head, “The helmet too?”
You snap your fingers, “Especially the helmet.”
“Jason, you gotta add this to your collection.” Dick moves around the couch to place the helmet onto Jason’s lap.
“No need for that. She knows.” Jason deadpans, and Dick, Tim, Steph, and Duke turn to you wide-eyed.
“I also know that the rest of you are vigilantes.” You chime in helpfully, Jason nods unsurprised.
The four of them stare at you, but everybody else in the room is unsurprised. It seems that Cass and Barbara figured it out soon after Bruce and Damian did.
“Wait, so you did all of this knowing we’d all panic?” Duke asks, pressing his palms together and pointing his hands at you.
You nod, “Yeah, pretty much. For the record, I won’t tell anybody your identities,” you nod to Bruce, “and your guys’ reaction was probably the second best gift I received all year.” You nod to Damian, after all, his gift deserved the top spot.
“Damn,” Dick whistles, “you didn’t know about this either?” He looks down at Jason on the couch.
“Nope.” Jason deadpans. Dick and Steph immediately start cackling, Tim and Duke quickly following suit. Both you and Jason watch with varying degrees of glee on your face. “I do not want to see this ever again.” Jason whispers to you, grabbing a small scrap of the Batman wrapping paper.
You chuckle, “Aw, I thought you’d like it? Is it not on theme?” You take the scrap from him, running your fingers over it.
He snorts, “No, I’m serious.” The amusement drops from his face, “Please get rid of it.”
Chuckling, you delicately place a kiss on Jason’s cheek, “Anything for you.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, a smile on your face. “Love you.”
He huffs, but you can see the hint of a smile peek through his face, “Love you too.”
ㅤ
A/N: I'd like to imagine you give the wrapping paper to Dick or something, and it’s used by EVERYBODY in the manor for the next 3 years (basically until it runs out). Jason is not happy when you all return for Christmas next year and EVERY SINGLE GIFT is covered in that Batman wrapping paper lmao.
Also guys, I’ve actually NEVER gotten second hand embarrassment from WRITING before (surprising, I know). During the scene where reader gives him the gift I had to cover my mouth with one hand as I continued to type.
Jokes aside, merry Christmas/Christmas Eve to you all! I hope you enjoyed this silly fic :). As always feel free to let me know about any mistakes! Have a wonderful day <3!
Requests are still open (rules here) ! Feel free to send them in :)!
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Warning and tags: English is not my first language, nsfw, injury, angst, a lot of anxious thoughts
Shanks - feeling each other's touch
- oh
- your soulmate is a slut
- you shiver every time when you feel someone's hands stroke through your soulmate's hair, around his shoulders, bites on his chest, hands go lower and lower and lo...
- you hide yourself under the covers to get distracted a bit. Sad to say it out loud, but you kinda used to it. Somehow you got used to feel your soulmate being intimate with so many people. You're sure that's different people, they act differently, they worship your man differently...
- they change every couple of weeks
- you somehow learned his favourite spots, even never meeting him
- you feel envy. You feel somehow betrayed. Because you weren't chosen and weren't cherished. Yes, you haven't met yet, but it looks like he doesn't put in any effort, just enjoys the moment.
- can you really blame him for this?
Zoro - feeling each other's wounds
- there is a moment you thought he died
- this sticking, deep pain in your chest that made you bend in half in the middle of the street
- you could barely breathe at this moment, gasping for air and drowning in stressing out thoughts "was he killed? Did he die?"
- a literal panic attack
- the moment you felt your muscles sore for training was like a second birthday - he's alive
- your life is not so complicated and dangerous, the maximum trauma you are familiar with is minor abrasions and bruises from awkward falls, so you made your soulmate an easy life
- Unlike him
- you never broke your bones, but you know what it is. You never trained till your tendons cracked from tension or muscles cramped, but you wake up and go to bed with those feelings
- he's dedicated, that's a really inspiring thing. But as years pass you feel more and more tired from constant pain, continuing day by day. That's not a blessing, it's a torture - being connected to the man you never met, but feeling each wound he gets
- sometimes you wish you didn't have a soulmate at all.
Law - changes on each other's skin
- your family was terrified because of pale spots spreading across your body. Visited a dozen of doctors only to be met with a disconcerted look and a shake of the head. Smelly body ointments, medicines and wraps never helped
- that was a miracle as they disappeared completely in one day
- only later you realized what it was as a big, line decorated heart spread on your chest
- "this is interesting"
- it became only more and more interesting as words " D E A T H" appeared on your hands
- oh
- since that day you never leave home without colorful knitted mittens
- cuz this doesn't feel right. Death? Really? Why would anyone, one would your soulmate held death in his hands? Is this really a kind of person created for you?
- that doesn't suit you either, so you never show your hand to anyone anymore. To avoid questions and stares.
- Death is not something suitable for a small flower town and you start to feel like you're out of place too
- if he's like that and he's your soulmate does that mean that... You're something like that too..?
- you look at your inked body and it doesn't feel right. This person is a mirror for you. The perfect couple. Your other half. You designed for someone who considered himself as Death himself
- no matter how many times you try to wash those tatts away it never works.
Please, please, PLEASE MAKE A FOLLOW-UP ON LAW ON THE DARE CHALLENGE
😭😭😭😭😭
A/N: Did someone order Law x reader with an extra slow burn??? Oh my sweet sweet anon I love you and everyone else who requested this. This was such a pleasure to write. I truly hope I did it justice and made up for not having a section for him earlier. For those who are new here, this is part two for an earlier headcanon list I did. Check that out first for more context.
Characters: GN! reader x Law
Cw: NSFW. MINORS - DNI. I promise I’ll have so much other content for you to consume, please respect me and my work and keep scrolling. If I catch a minor on my NSFW posts, I will block you (and then you don't get to see any of my writing! So just skip this one.)
“Y/N-ya, what the hell was that?” You could hear the frustration in his voice follow after you as you dashed out of the room and retreated down the hallway. The game was finally over. The moment Shachi released you from your place on Law’s lap you had made a beeline for your room.
“N-Nothing!” You keep moving, feeling heat rise to your face at the thought of your earlier flirtation attempt. Shachi may have been the one to force you to do it, but it would have been a lot better if you hadn’t fumbled it so badly.
Law quickly caught up to you and grabbed your wrist, pulling you back from your escape. He spins you around to face him, and he towers over you. His face was contorted with such anger that you instinctively shrank away from him.
“Did Shachi put you up to that?” His face had softened some and you could tell he was attempting to control his voice, but his anger was apparent. You hesitated, which was enough of an answer for him. You could feel his grip tighten on your wrist, and you resist the urge not to squirm away from him again. You want to be far away from him and his rage, which now appeared to be centered on your crew mates. You could hear their laughs echoing from the common room, and Law glared in their direction.
“I’m sorry you had to do that,” he says, still facing the common area. You start to respond, wanting to let Law know that it wasn’t a big deal, but he’s already dropped your wrist and is striding back to the common room. A dark aura is rolling off him as he heads towards the crew, and you turn on your heels and bolt to your room, thankful for an escape.
--
You make yourself scarce over the next few days, and the captain seems to be doing the same. You stay locked in your room, and he stays locked in his office. The only time you interact with Law is over meals, and you catch yourself glancing over at him several times throughout those moments. A few times you glance over to catch his golden eyes staring back at you, and you both quickly look away, praying nobody else caught you all.
You and your captain have been doing this strange dance of avoiding each other and catching stolen looks for three days before the crew decided to step in.
--
At lunch on the third day, Ikkaku hunts you down to pull you into your room. “You should wear something super nice tonight!” She’s already sifting through the clothes in your drawer.
“What? Why?” You start picking up the clothes that Ikakku has tossed on the floor, but she’s oblivious to your efforts, which irritates you. “Do you mind not making such a mess?”
She ignores your request, still shifting through your belongings and mumbling to herself. “Not a lot to work with here but I’m sure we can find something.”
“Hey-stop that! Ikakku, what is this all about anyway?” You’re throwing your clothes back into the dresser as fast as she’s throwing them out, frustration growing with every shirt you have to refold.
Ikkaku doesn’t offer much explanation. “It’s for the captain.”
You stand there staring at her, dumbfounded, until a stray shirt is thrown at your face. “What’s for the captain?” You finally ask.
Ikakku moves onto the next drawer and keeps digging through your clothes, unfazed by your question. “You gotta dress to impress, sweetheart!”
“Why would I do that?” Your voice comes out choked, and you know your secret has been found out. You still can’t find the will to move, even though your friend is continuing to demolish your room.
Finally, your words catch up to Ikakku, and she turns to face you. She stares at you a long while, as if she’s trying to decide if you’re even worth explaining her motives to. After a few long seconds, Ikakku laughs. “Don’t try to deny it, dear. I know you’re head over heels for him.”
Your mouth falls open in shock. She says it with such confidence that you know there’s no point in denying it. Ikakku always had a sixth sense for these things. “How long have you known?”
“I’ve had my suspicions for a little while, but you made it pretty obvious during game night. At this point everyone must know.” There’s something extra in her voice that sends you over the edge. She said her words so condescendingly, as if she pitied you and your circumstances.
“Get out! Get out now!” You shoved Ikakku out the door and slammed it behind her, refusing to come out until the dinner call. You feel so humiliated, though you’re not sure why. Your cheeks still turn pink at the thought of that night, which was the last time you had talked to your captain in three days. It felt like Shachi and Ikakku had ruined your entire relationship with the captain because of that stupid dare, and now they were trying to meddle in your life even more.
--
You were late to dinner because of Penguin. He was trying to get you to put a nicer outfit on, which led to a big fight and left you in a sour mood. By the time the two of you got there, only two seats remained. One next to Shachi, which was obviously meant for Penguin, and one next to the captain, which was obviously meant for you.
Everyone’s eyes followed you as you took your place next to Law, but nobody said anything. You could see Ikakku and Shachi silently questioning Penguin over your outfit choice, but he simply rolled his eyes and waved it off. A few members exchanged glances, and you could feel that someone was waiting for something to happen.
“Sorry for being late to dinner, everyone.” You finally say, trying to sound genuine.
“Shall we eat, then?” Law spoke to the crew, ignoring you and your apology, and you felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment.
You didn’t have much of an appetite, and you weren’t in the mood to talk to the man who you had spent the past few days avoiding, so you occupied your time by pushing your food around on your plate. You tried to take a few bites every now and then, but you weren’t making much of a dent on your food.
“Y/N-ya.” The voice made you freeze. It was the first time your captain had spoken to you since game night. Your eyes shifted over to your captain, but when you made eye contact with him, they darted back to the peas on your plate.
“Are you feeling okay?” There was a calculated levelness in his voice. You go the sense he was asking as a doctor, not as a captain or a friend.
“I’m fine.”
You could see his eye twitch in irritation, but his voice remained calm. “If you would like something else to eat-”
“I don’t.” You interrupt, not giving him the chance to finish his sentence. The other conversations at the table start to die down, and you’ve become painfully aware of everyone’s eyes on you now.
“Captainnnn,” Shachi called to the man next to you. “How about you give Y/N some of your food?”
You’re not sure why, but something snaps inside of you. He’s using that same condescending tone that Ikakku used with you earlier, and the anger that has built inside you over the past three days finally explodes.
“How about you go straight to hell, Shachi?” You say, slamming your fork down onto the table. You see everyone’s mouths fall open in shock, including your captain’s, but you don’t care anymore. You storm out of the room and back to your cabin, furious with the position you’ve allowed yourself to be put into because you have feelings for some guy. You lock your door to avoid unwanted visitors, but nobody tries to come talk to you anyway.
--
“It’s not my fault that they want to rip off each other’s clothes!” You freeze as you hear Shachi’s voice call out in frustration from the kitchen down the hall. You hadn’t seen them-or anyone- since dinner last night, and you were hoping to avoid everyone while you ventured to the kitchen for lunch today. You had even waited until far after the normal lunchtime to lower your chances of running into someone, but it seems you had waiting too long and now you had stumbled upon the people who were cooking dinner tonight.
“Hush!” A feminine voice scolds at the man in a low hiss. Ikkaku. “Someone is going to hear you.”
“I don’t care if they do hear me!” Shachi shoots back. “Everyone on this damn ship can see it except them! It’s been painfully obvious since game night! The way they avoid each other now, the glances over dinner, and now all this hostility!?! I knew the captain would be pissed at us, but now…”
He trails off, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks when you realize it is you they are talking about. You stay frozen in the hallway, praying that nobody comes around the corner and catches you eavesdropping.
“Listen,” Shachi continues, now in a full-blown rant. “Captain told me that he liked Y/N! And Y/N told you the same thing, right? What were they expecting us to do? Of course we’re going to meddle in that! We’re the most meddlesome people on the ship! They wanted us to intervene! And we did and now they’re avoiding each other like they have some kind of plague and I’m so tired of it!” He pauses for a beat. “We should just tell them.”
Your hand flies up to your mouth to stifle a horrified gasp and Ikkaku speaks in a deadly serious tone. “We are not doing that, Shachi. Neither of them would ever forgive us.”
“I know, I know.” Shachi seems to have calmed down a bit. “It’s just frustrating to watch. And now they’re both upset with us. I just want them to be happy.”
“As do I. Come on, let’s make dinner,” Ikkaku suggests, trying to change the subject. “We’ll figure out a way to make them forgive us and each other. Until then, we’ll just count their awkward glances.”
“The record is eleven, you know. Eleven times they made eye contact and then quickly glanced away from each other. Just at one dinner!”
So they had noticed the looks you and Law had been sharing. In fact, the more they talk, it sounds like they had been actively watching the two of you. It seems like it was a sort of game to them. They were able to recall most of the ones that had happened over the previous nights, chatting quietly and laughing at the exceptionally embarrassing ones.
There was no way you could face them after learning this. There was no way you could face anyone on the ship. You wanted to go hide in your room forever. You retreat back down the hallway the way you came and quickly rounded the corner to return to your room.
You crashed into someone as you turned the corner, too in a hurry to notice them until it was too late. You’re about to let out a small squeal of surprise when a hand covers your mouth tightly. Panic sets in for a moment, thinking someone may have stowed away on the ship, but when you see equally wide golden eyes staring down at you, you feel a twinge of relief.
A different kind of panic sets in, and your heartbeat starts to pick up. Suddenly, you’re painfully aware of how close you are to your captain; how his tattooed fingers are still gripping around your face, holding your mouth shut.
He must realize it too, because his face begins to tint with pink, and he releases you from his grasp. He holds a finger up to his lips and looks around the corner to see if anyone is watching, but Shachi and Ikkaku are still chatting in the kitchen, and nobody else is in the hallway. He takes your wrist and silently leads you away from the kitchen in the direction of his office.
You can feel your heart rate accelerating in your chest with every step closer to the captain’s quarters. Based on his reaction, you weren’t the only one who had heard Shachi’s and Ikkaku’s conversation in the kitchen. A part of you wanted to run, to find a way to put as much distance between you and your captain as you could on this small ship. But you let him lead you down the halls, too afraid to say or do anything else but follow him.
He didn’t look back at you the entire time you walked through the halls. His pace was fast, and at times you struggled to keep up. He quickly opened the door to his office and yanked you inside, looking back in the hallway once more to make sure you weren’t followed before closing it and locking the deadbolt firmly.
“What are you-” You had begun to question him, but quickly lost your voice when he started towards you with such intensity.
“Shachi and Ikakku, were they telling the truth?” His voice is harsh and rough when he speaks to you. You could hear the disbelief in his words, and you knew for a fact that he had heard them in the kitchen. He was towering over you with an intense gaze, and you were doing your best not to cower away from him like before.
“What-”
“A yes or no will do.” He takes a step towards you, and you instinctively step backwards, pressing your back against a random bookcase behind you. He had you cornered now, and your stomach ties into a knot as you look up at him. You feel so small, trapped here in his office with him. There’s a hungry look in his eyes, like a predator when they’ve found their next meal. He’s a little terrifying, yet you can’t bring yourself to look away from him.
“Y/N.” He prompts again. He didn’t add the normal nickname to it, which was a solidified sign that he was pissed. You didn’t normally find your captain intimidating, but since game night he made your hair stand on edge. You’re too embarrassed to admit your feelings for him, not while staring straight in the eyes like this. You finally break away from his gaze and stare at the floor, too ashamed to answer.
But your captain wants your full attention, and Law’s index finger tucks under your chin and guides your face back up to meet him, beckoning you to look him in the eyes again. You resist at first, but eventually give in, locking back into his honey irises.
He leans down, only centimeters from your face. He’s so close that you can feel his breath on your lips as he exhales. His breath is hitched and shallow, warm as it brushes against your skin.
Your knees feel weak with him so close to you, and think they might give out any second. The electricity between the two of you is palpable, and you wonder if this is what it means to be alive. You are suspended in this moment only with him, completely isolated from the outside world and everyone in it.
“Was it the truth?” He whispers the question softly this time, and now you can sense a trace of hope laced into his words. You open your mouth to respond, but your words fail you. He looks down at your lips, waiting, and you do the only thing you can. You nod.
That’s all he needs. His lips crash into yours with such force that you have to take a step back to steady yourself, but you stumble against the bookcase. Law’s free hand wraps tightly around you to help you stay balanced, and he pushes you back against the bookcase for more support. Inked fingers trace your jawline and cup your cheek, pulling you closer to him while he leans further into you. There’s been far too much distance between the two of you recently, and he needs to make up for lost time.
You wrap your arms around his body, digging your fingernails into the back of his shirt as you pull him against you, showing him how much you want this-how much you need this. His tongue flicked across your lips and a soft moan escaped your mouth as your lips parted, granting him access to you. He dives in without hesitation, eager for his first taste of you.
His hands trailed down your back, sending shivers throughout your entire body. He reached your waist, and you could feel him hesitate for a moment, unsure how much further to proceed. You press against him harder, encouraging him further, and your hands move upwards, wrapping around his neck to pull him into you more. Your fingers twisted around his midnight locks, tugging at them gently.
His lips finally release from your mouth, and you gasp for air while you have a second to breathe. Both of his hands slip under your ass and he lifts you up, your back still against the shelf for assistance. Your legs wrap around his body, pulling him into you.
He kissed your jawline, and then slowly made his way down to your neck. The sensation of his tongue swirling and his lips sucking on your sensitive skin made you pull at his hair harder, shoving his mouth further into your nape. You had to bite your lips to stifle a moan, and he gave a dark chuckle against your skin.
“Come on now,” he teased, nipping at your neck a few times. “Moan for me, y/n-ya”
You didn’t immediately oblige, and he was quickly growing impatient. His lips continued to suck at your skin with such ferocity that you were sure his marks of passion would be displayed there later. He gripped your ass tighter and pushed his groin into the opening between your legs. You could feel his hardened cock through his jeans grinding against you, and you couldn’t hold your words in any longer.
“Fuck, Captain!” You had tried to keep quiet, but the moan rang out loudly against the silent room. Either Law didn’t care about the level of your voice, or he liked it. Judging by the way he thrust into you again, you would guess the latter. Your fingers dug deeper into his locks, pure ecstasy running through your veins now. You wanted to ride this high all the way to the end with your captain, and you continued to call out his name every time his bulge rubbed against you in the perfect way.
Law abandoned your neck to return back to your lips again, muffling your moans with his mouth. He continued to grip your ass tightly and push into you, and you could hear books falling to the ground behind you as his pace began to pick up.
“Errr, Captain?” The voice came from the other side of the door, distorted and concerned. In shock, Law pulled away from you and your hand flew to your mouth in horror, both of you frozen in place.
The door jiggled, and your eyes widened at its movement. Thankfully it stayed shut, locked earlier by the captain.
Law’s eyes stayed connected with yours. He kept you against him, refusing to put you down. “What is it, Bepo?”
“Is everything okay, Captain? I was coming to tell you dinner is ready, and I heard some commotion as I-“
Law cut him off before he let Bepo’s rambling go on too long. “Everything is fine, Bepo. Thank you. We will be at dinner soon.”
Your eyes widen at him, and he realizes his mistake too late.
“We?”
Law curses under his breath and you smile at his uncharacteristic slip up. You can only thank the stars that it’s Bepo summoning him and not anyone else on the crew.
“I’ll see you at dinner, Bepo.” Law corrects, and you can hear Bepo’s feet padding away down the hall without further commentary.
You start to unwrap your legs from around his waist, but he grips you tighter, refusing to release you just yet.
You giggle at him and place a quick kiss on his nose, and in shock, his arms loosen from around you. He releases you, and you hop down happily. All the tension between you two has finally broken, and the air feels lighter now
You do a quick check in the mirror nearby, and attempt to fix the things you can control. You use your fingers to comb through your hair quickly and smooth your shirt, trying your best to make yourself look presentable. Unfortunately, there’s nothing you can do about the welts that are already forming on your neck other than pull up your shirt collar and hope for the best.
“Go ahead, I’m going to clean up and then I’ll be there.” Law bends down to pick up his hat and places it back on his head. It must’ve fallen off at some point, though you’re not sure when. He waves you on, bending back down to begin collecting the books you’ve scattered across the floor.
You start to think that you’ve done something wrong or he’s ashamed to be seen with you, and you feel that familiar pit forming in your stomach.
“Save me a seat,” he calls to you as you exit the room, and your fear instantly melts away.
You walk into the kitchen to find that most people have already congregated around the table. A few people look over to see you come in, and your eyes find Shachi. You smile at him politely, trying to start the process of making up for your outburst yesterday. His eyes glance down to your neck, and you watch as his eyes grow wide. He mutters something to Ikakku and Penguin, and you look away before you become more embarrassed.
You take a seat, and a few minutes later Law walks in and sits next to you. He’s sitting extremely close to you, his leg pressed against yours. You try to avoid the looks Shachi is sharing with the rest of the crew.
Dinner starts out casual, everyone attempting to ignore the elephant in the room. You were chatty with your crew mates, and everyone began to relax more. It finally felt like the crew dynamic was returning to normal again.
Halfway through dinner, you feel a hand rest on the top of your thigh, and you resist the urge to look over at your captain. You can feel his thumb lazily rubbing in circles, and electricity starts through your veins again.
After a few moments his fingers reach down, gripping your inner thigh and giving it a squeeze. You have to bite down on your lip to avoid showing any outward signs of his advancements. You snap your legs shut and attempt to continue your conversation with Clione, ignoring the hint of a smirk dancing across Law’s face.
He pushed further into your inner thigh, massaging it slowly. Continuing his taunt, he spreads his fingers closer to your core and flexes his fingers against you. You shift away from him, and he gripped your thigh harder to prevent you from completely leaving his grasp.
He leans close to you, whispering so only you can hear him. His voice is low and thick with desire. “Do you want to finish what we started?”
Your cheeks burn as he releases your thigh and gets up from the table, not waiting for your response. You wait a few moments before deciding to follow him.
“Thank you, Shachi.” You look at him and pause, and you can feel a sense of understanding pass between you two. “For the meal.” You add in, for sake of appearance.
You get up and walk out of the room, and Law is waiting for you outside. He grabs your hand and leads you back towards his office once again. You’re uncertain of what lies ahead, but it’s better than where you’ve been.
“Thank FUCK!” You hear Shachi scream from the kitchen, and the crew joins in with a chorus of laughter. You found yourself agreeing with them, grinning to yourself as the captain pulls you along, hand laced in yours.
see all chapters here
tags: fem! reader, reader is a performer in a speakeasy, jealousy, possessiveness, alastor does not know how to interpret love, or maybe he does, in his own twisted way, roadkill used as a symbolism, gorey descriptions of love, murder
the song she sings is 'roxie' from chicago
˚୨୧₊♱
"Hey!" Charlie's voice rang out as she spotted Mimzy making her way towards the hotel entrance. The blonde froze, casting a nervous glance behind her to see the demon princess rapidly approaching with a worried look that she mistook for anger.
With practiced ease, the blonde put on a fake frown, pressing her hand over her chest. "Oh, Charlie! I'm so sorry for the trouble last night, sugar! I'll pay—"
"No, no! I'm not here for that," Charlie waved her hands with a smile, seemingly oblivious to the slump of relief on Mimzy's shoulders. "Are you leaving so soon? The hotel wouldn't mind taking you in!"
Caught off guard by Charlie's unexpected offer, Mimzy grimaced. She hesitated, opening her mouth before shutting it as she struggled to find the right words. "Oh! Well…you see…"
A laughing track, sounding like it was filtered through a radio, echoed through the air, and Mimzy turned to the source to find Alastor towering over her with his signature grin.
"I don't think redemption is quite her style," Alastor's chipper voice rang out. His clawed hand reached for Mimzy’s hair, plucking a feather from her headpiece. In his hands, the pink ornament erupted into flames. "Frankly, I have my doubts she could even be redeemed at all!"
Horrified, Mimzy watched as her feather fell to the floor in ashes, her hand instinctively reaching for the charred remnants.
"Alastor," Charlie glared at him before turning her attention back to Mimzy. "We believe in redemption for everyone. It's not about what you were; it's about what you choose to be now. We'll be here to support you every step of the way."
"Thanks, sugar," Mimzy forced a smile, waving her hand around daintily. She glanced at the entrance with a subtle wish for escape, playing up the nice act while Alastor continued to watch the scene unfold with a cryptic smile. "But radio here is right. I don't really think it's my style. Different strokes for different folks. Plus, I've got a business to run!"
Alastor hummed, twirling his microphone cane around in his hand. The crimson glow of his eyes narrowed at her as he chuckled. "You couldn't possibly mean that wooden box of debauchery you call a club, right?"
"My 'wooden box of debauchery' has more character than any joint in that city," Mimzy grit her teeth together in a smile, barely concealing her frustration.
As another argument began to form, a throat clearing interrupted the flow, capturing Mimzy's attention. A pink glove slowly rose from the couch and Angel Dust pushed himself off the furniture, sitting up with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"If I may~" Angel Dust chimed in. "You saying you, ah, got a bar? I'm always up for checking out new places. Mind if I swing by sometime, tits?"
Mimzy beamed and sent Alastor a smug look, making her way toward Angel Dust. She reached into her chest, pulling out a card with a flourish. "Of course, kitten! Here's all our information. You'll find us in the Vee district. Feel free to swing by anytime. And don't forget to bring a friend!"
Angel Dust took the offered card, a grin forming on his face. "Bring a friend, huh? You got it, toots."
˚୨୧₊♱
The Vee district, designated as the entertainment hub of Pride, was dazzled with bright neon lights and tall towering buildings adorned with blazing billboards. The streets pulsed with life, where every ten steps brought you face-to-face with street performers desperately vying for attention, hoping to catch the eyes of industry scouts. The message was clear – fame was the ticket to success. Performers were everywhere, found in rundown bars, neon nightclubs, and costly theaters catering to the insatiable appetites of the elite.
Mimzy's Lounge, nestled down east on one of the city's worse-off streets was no fancy stage. The building, weathered and worn, seemed to barely hold itself together. The exterior bore the scars of years gone by, with cracked windows, peeling paint, and near-rotting wooden walls. While it may not have been on the standards of the elite, to the poor and downtrodden, it was the best piece of entertainment they could afford.
Inside, the dim lighting of the bar did little to conceal the stains and cracks that adorned the floor and ceiling. Tables and chairs, mismatched, were arranged haphazardly. The air hung heavy with the smell of cheap perfume, wrapping around the audience—a motley crew of lost souls. On the stage, a couple of scantily clad showgirls were performing a dance routine, or at least their movements vaguely resembled one. The quality of the performance didn't seem to matter to the audience, who, hungry for any form of entertainment, welcomed the spectacle with open arms.
Seated discreetly in the back booths, Angel and Cherri had drawn their curtains tight, creating a cocoon of privacy amid the bustling buzz and thumping music in the club.
"…And check this out – Alastor is hitched," Angel Dust spat out the last word as if it were poison. His face caught the warm, bright lights spilling into their booth, slipping through the small gap in the middle of the curtains. He sipped from his drink, a glint in his eyes. "And the owner here's got some serious dirt on his missus or somethin' like that."
"That why you dragged me to this hellhole? Knew it," Cherri snorted, taking a sip of her cocktail, the sweet and tangy flavors doing little to mask the less-than-pleasant ambiance. "Couldn't believe you'd even want to step into a place like this."
"You know I can't resist a bit of gossip, and where else can you find more gossip than in a joint run by a gal who's got the goods on Alastor himself?" Angel grinned, his golden tooth flashing as he reclined in his torn red chair. "Hell. I bet anyone else would do what I'm doin'. I mean, who wouldn't be tearin' these walls down just to catch a glimpse of the Radio Demon's wife?"
Cherri Bomb let out a throaty chuckle. "Well, you're bloody right there."
A sudden blast of music echoed through the air, prompting Angel Dust to scramble out of his seat and poke his head out from behind the curtain. The previous performers stepped off the stage, making way for the upcoming act. He caught sight of a familiar pudgy figure sauntering onto the stage and hastily turned his head back to the booth, meeting Cherri's amused face. "It's startin'!"
“Welcome, all you devils and darlings, to the Dollhouse Lounge!” Mimzy's voice boomed, and the lights gracefully dimmed to focus on her. The hum of conversation dwindled, the audience's attention now on the stage. “It's the moment you've all been waiting for! The last act of the night… Dolly, the living doll!"
With Mimzy's spirited introduction, the claps and cheers crackled in the air. In an instant, the lights plunged into darkness, leaving Angel to flit his gaze across the smoke-hazed stage, hungry for a glimpse of what was to come. Suddenly, a surge of stage lights sliced through the lingering smoke, akin to a celestial burst, revealing your silhouette with a large signage that spelled out your name in bold, red letters.
Wearing a lovely smile, you spread your arms wide, catching everyone's attention as you sang the first note, voice sultry and dripping sweet like honey. "The name on everybody's lips is gonna be Dolly."
"That's his wife?" Cherri gawked behind Angel, her jaw dropping in disbelief. "Are you sure we got the right girl?"
"Hell, I'm just as surprised as you are," Angel shot back, an equally dumfounded look on his face.
"The lady raking in the chips Is gonna be Dolly," your voice echoed, the melody carrying through the lounge as you strolled towards the stage's platform. The rhythmic beat of the music vibrated against the soles of your heels while the spotlight dutifully trailed after you, its gentle glow caressing the curves of your glittery dress, casting glimmers of silver and gold that danced across the dimly lit bar.
"I'm gonna be a celebrity. That means somebody everyone knows," you continued, sauntering around the stage. As you swirled and twirled, your silhouette became a blur of sequins and shimmer. The spotlight then intensified its focus on you, highlighting the glint in your eyes. "They're gonna recognize my eyes. My hair, my teeth, my boobs, my nose."
"Fuck," Angel muttered under his breath. As you moved closer to the end of the platform, he could finally get a good look at you.
Shimmery blue eyeshadow graced your lids, while a dark blush adorned the apples of your cheeks, complementing the red lipstick you had on. Your dress, a dazzling ensemble of sequins, was not only radiant but also provocatively low-cut, teasingly revealing a glimpse of your chest before gracefully dropping to your knees. Dark silk stockings, sensually tracing the contours of your legs, were held by garters. At your feet, bedazzled red Mary Janes sparkled like jewels, catching the light with every step you took.
As Angel thought back to his conversation with Mimzy, he found himself agreeing with her earlier comments. You really were a living, breathing doll.
"From just some dumb canni-bal’s wife. I'm gonna be Dolly," you continued, seamlessly weaving your magic, each lyric a spell that bound the audience. "Who says that murder's not an art?"
With a spin, you twirled around the stage, a ditzy grin on your face, the sequins on your gown catching the light like stars. "And who, in case she doesn't hang, can say she started with a bang! Dolly Heart!"
As the final notes of the song echoed through the venue, the room erupted in applause and cheers. But, the curtain wasn't falling yet. Standing backstage, Mimzy let the moment linger, reveling in the prolonged applause. After all, happy customers always tipped generously.
On cue, bills and coins descended like a storm, hitting the floor with a crisp sound that mixed beautifully with the cheers of the delighted audience. There was so much that the shower of currency formed a makeshift carpet beneath your feet.
Angel Dust, still peeking from behind the curtain, wore a smirk of approval. "Not bad, not bad at all," he whispered to Cherri, who nodded in agreement.
Standing on the stage, bathed in the lingering glow of the spotlight, you held your pose, chest heaving up and down. A demure smile graced your lips as soft, appreciative nods and fluttering eyelashes accompanied each gaze you cast toward the audience. Tonight's turnout was impressive, though not unexpected given your agreement to perform one of your most famous songs after a prolonged hiatus.
"Dolly" was a beloved crowd-pleaser and the one song you hated with a passion.
The spotlight continued to shine relentlessly in your eyes, causing a painful burn in your irises. The deafening applause felt like a relentless assault on your senses as each clap echoed loudly in your ears. From the speakers, the music blasted in waves, the volume rattling your bones. Showbusiness, a constant companion in both your living and afterlife, had become an achingly familiar yet tormenting cycle.
In the corner of your eye, you saw Mimzy step up onto the stage to address the crowd. "Thank you, my lovely devils and darlings! Wasn't Dolly simply darling tonight?" she squealed through the mic.
The crowd erupted in cheers and applause once more, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. Mimzy basked in the adoration, her grin widening as she soaked in the success and the money. Oh, the money.
"I know you loved that!" she laughed. She leaned into the microphone, her voice turning into a whisper "Of course, you all do. I wrote it."
"Now, let's give our star her rest. Dolly, my dear, take a bow!" Mimzy's voice rang out, signaling the end of the performance. Relieved, you bowed before making your way towards the curtains as the heavy fabrics began to descend. After blowing a few more kisses to the audience, you slipped backstage, letting the smile fade from your face. As you vanished from view behind the curtain, Angel caught the look on your face.
It was a look he knew all too well.
"She looks perfectly happy without him," Cherri remarked with a casual shrug. "I mean, look at 'er. She's the star of the show. You think she left on purpose?"
Angel furrowed his brows, deep in thought. It didn't make no sense to him.
Why would you willingly perform under Mimzy's control when Alastor, with his power, could easily get you out of here? Contract or no contract, that radio freak could tear Mimzy apart like a hot knife through butter.
The spider's attention shifted towards the audience, and his gaze locked onto Mimzy, who was engrossed in conversation with some VIPs. The sight of her triggered a scowl to etch itself onto his features.
"I don't think so. There's more to it," Angel's eyes narrowed, the wheels in his head turning, "I've seen that look before."
"What look?" Cherri raised an eyebrow.
"That trapped look," Angel said, his gaze following Mimzy as she continued her animated conversation, oblivious to the scrutiny. "Before the curtains dropped, I saw it on her."
"Shit, Angie," Cherri's gaze followed Angel's, and she pursed her lips. "You think she's playing the part or really stuck?"
Angel Dust stood up straight, now opening the curtains wide as his eyes never left Mimzy. "I don't know, but I'm gonna find out."
Both of them took their time, patiently waiting until Mimzy stepped away. Once the blonde demon finally made her way backstage, they discreetly followed her lead, slipping behind the curtains with her.
The busy backstage corridor welcomed them with an assortment of items – costumes, props, and stage decor – scattered in chaotic disarray. Angel's eyes wandered around, and he spotted Mimzy in a far corner, sitting atop worn cardboard boxes. Nudging Cherri, he gestured for both of them to move closer.
"Hey~ How's it going, blondie?" Angel purred, leaning against a nearby prop, his tone dripping with a sickly sweet tone. Mimzy looked up, confused before she recognized him and flashed a wide grin.
"Hey, you! You're that spider fella from the hotel!" She tapped her chin in thought narrowing her eyes at him. "Uhm, Angle Dust was it?"
"It's Angel Dust," he corrected, a twitch of annoyance in his eye.
"Uh-hah, that's nice," Mimzy seemed unfazed, continuing to count her money, her legs swinging back and forth absentmindedly. "You like the show? Oh, who am I kidding, of course, you did!"
Angel Dust crossed his arms with a chuckle. "Yeah, about that. That girl, Dolly. She's quite a number, ain't she?"
"Oh, yeah. She's my little masterpiece," Mimzy smirked. "Met her before she had any of this."
"Let's cut the fuckin' crap," Cherri rolled her eyes, tired of dancing around the conversation. The cyclops leaned down to Mimzy's height, scowling into her face and driving her finger into the blonde's chest. "I'll say it straight. What's the deal with her? You got some strings attached?"
Mimzy paused and glanced up at Cherri with an arched eyebrow before turning to Angel and laughing tensely. "Your friend here sure is forward, Ankle! Oh, sweethearts, Dolly's here because she wants to be."
Angel Dust shot Cherri a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. "Yeah?"
"The girl signed a contract willingly," Mimzy explained with a casual shrug. "She gets what she wants, and I get what I want. It's a fair exchange."
Angel's eyes narrowed, his skepticism evident. "Contract? What's in it for her, then? Why willingly perform in this dump when she could easily be the star anywhere else?"
The blonde sent Angel a glare for his dig at her lounge but still answered him. "Dolly owes me something. A little debt she's paying off with her charming performances. A contract might sound sinister, but it's just showbusiness, furs." Mimzy leaned back, folding her arms, her expression daring the two of them challenge her further.
"Bull. She sold you her soul to dance and sing?" Cherri scoffed, taking the challenge.
"No, no, there was no soul exchange involved," Mimzy rolled her eyes. "Just a contract. But still binding, magical, and all of that stuff."
"Now, can you two get out of my hair?" Mimzy huffed, shooing them away with a dismissive wave. "I've got a lot of things to run here!" She returned to counting her money, clearly eager to be rid of the unwanted attention.
"Let's go, Cherri," Angel said with a look of defeat, pushing himself off the prop he had been leaning on.
Once the two of them finally stepped out of the establishment, the spider groaned to himself, now finding himself with more questions than answers.
˚୨୧₊♱
You strolled behind the weighty curtains, the backstage area buzzing with the rush of staff, the shouts of managers, and the lingering presence of performers idly awaiting their cues. Navigating through the organized chaos, you directed your steps towards your private dressing room—a sanctuary away from the glaring spotlight.
You threw the door open, entering quickly and slamming it shut behind you, the sudden silence a stark contrast to the clamor and racket outside. Flicking a light switch, the dim glow of a single, flickering bulb hanging from the ceiling revealed the room's worn-out glamour. A vanity cluttered with makeup, costumes haphazardly thrown on a worn-out sofa, and a cracked mirror that had seen better days—all were familiar sights.
"I would kill for a glass of whiskey," you murmured to yourself, the weariness of the performance settling in. Rolling your head and groaning as you heard a satisfying crack, you added, "or maybe a whole bottle of it."
Kicking off your heels, you let the cool floor cradle your skin, leaving the discarded shoes in a dusty corner to rest. Seated at the vanity, the chaotic world beyond the backstage curtains ceased to exist. The gentle glow of the vanity lights exposed the weariness in your eyes as you wiped away your mascara and dusted off the remnants of glitter from your skin. While removing your earrings, the shimmer of your wedding ring caught your eye.
A frown tugged at your lips, the subtle ache of longing surfacing.
You missed your husband.
With a sigh, you continued removing your earrings before tossing them onto your vanity. Seeking to ease the edge, you reached for a whiskey bottle on a nearby dresser, grabbing a glass and pouring yourself a drink. The golden liquid glimmered in the subdued light as you took a sip, the warmth of the alcohol coursing through you.
"C̵h̶e̸r̷?̷"̸
A static rumble of a radio, like thunder, jolted you mid-drink, causing the liquid to catch in your throat. Coughing and sputtering for a while, you scrambled to collect yourself before turning behind you. Your gaze landed on the desk table where your radio sat. The crackling static continued, accompanied by a familiar voice and distorted sounds.
Alastor.
Grabbing a cloth to wipe yourself, you rushed to the desk and grabbed the old radio in your hands. The radio was a faded, worn red with yellowed dials, and its antennas were visibly broken, held up together with scraps of tape. Your contract with Mimzy did not allow you to meet with Alastor or his shadows for as long as you were under her, but that didn't mean you couldn't communicate with Alastor in other ways.
With trembling hands, you carefully adjusted the dials, aligning them to the familiar frequency that bridged the gap between you two. Your heart thrummed in your chest, head almost dizzy from anticipation. The distorted voices began to clear, and Alastor's distinctive voice cut through the static, a lifeline in the abyss.
"Cher, my dear, are you there?" Back in his room at the hotel, Alastor spoke through his mic, awaiting your response. He was sitting by the large windows, bathed in the dim glow of the Ring of Pride's lights. The hues painted a lovely ambiance against his skin, highlighting the contours of his sharp features as he reclined against a plush couch.
Heavy silence lingered for a while as you felt your throat closing up. Without realizing it, you began crying, your sobs echoing through Alastor's microphone.
"Yes, Al," you choked out between sobs, your hands gripping the surface of the radio tightly, nails scratching against the peeling paint. "I'm here. I missed you."
Alastor listened to your tearful voice through the crackling static, his shoulders tense as his claws clenched against his microphone handle. Your vulnerable confession hung heavily in the air, and he felt a storm stirring within him. Unsure of what to do with these emotions, he could only sit there and listen to you weep.
From the busiest street in Pentagram City to the darkest alleyways, Alastor's reputation as a bloodthirsty killer was infamous, and he reveled in it. The idea that an overlord like him could entertain genuine care for someone sounded preposterous. Throughout his human days and beyond, Alastor never felt such sentiments.
Decades ago, he only needed himself. However, ever since you entered his life, he became a man possessed.
The moment he first laid eyes on you, you were a vision of beauty with bright eyes, flushed cheeks, and he couldn't deny that he felt an inkling of fondness for you right from the start. But that was all it ever was—nothing more, nothing less.
Then, seemingly out of nowhere, he couldn't help but notice that the glow in your smile was brighter, lovelier. And despite his usual tendency to dismiss such details, Alastor couldn't look away. Not anymore.
You held him captive, like a deer frozen in the blinding glare of oncoming headlights. He was aware the collision was imminent, yet it still caught him off guard; A torrent of emotions crashing into him like a speeding truck, leaving him with twisted limbs and cracking bones, antlers torn from his head, fur matted and bloodied, with his heart exposed, beating vulnerably before you.
In the months that followed, Alastor remembered how foreign the feeling to him was. He didn't want to understand it, refused to, but each attempt to rip those festering emotions out of his chest only left him bleeding.
Looking back, Alastor finds himself incapable of fathoming how life was bearable before you entered it. The mere thought of returning to a time when you weren't present is something he refuses to entertain. The person he used to be, before he stepped into that speakeasy, now feels like a distant stranger, a mere shadow of the man he has become with you in his life.
The static in his thoughts subsided, in tandem with your crying and sobbing dying down. A prolonged pause lingered before Alastor interrupted the silence. "Cher, you know I'd bring you out of that wretched place if you just said the word."
A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you wiped away tears with your trembling fingers. "You tell me that every time we have these calls. Do you not get tired of it?"
"Never," Alastor hummed. The sound of your laughter, even tinged with bitterness, momentarily lifted the heavy burden that his heart carried. "The offer will always be up, darling!"
"You know I can't, Al. Me and her have history together," your voice paused, cracking with emotion. "And I still feel guilty."
Alastor sighed heavily, frustration dancing in his eyes. He always struggled to understand why you felt indebted to Mimzy, why guilt still clung to your decisions like a persistent shadow.
To him, Mimzy deserved the consequences. Despite his constant offers to free you from her grasp, you remained steadfast in your decision to complete your contract
"Very well, dear," Alastor's smooth voice crackled through the radio, weaving a comforting presence into the air as you moved back toward your vanity, taking a seat. "Now, enough of these melancholic talks. Tell me, how was the show tonight?"
"Mimzy had me perform 'Dolly' again," you remarked, a crooked smile playing on your lips. "She's well aware that I despise that song. I mean, really? Have you ever taken a look at the lyrics? It's a bit on the nose, don't you think?"
As your frustrations spilled out, Alastor stood from his seat, staff in hand. Placing it beside his closet, he attentively listened to your words, occasionally responding with chuckles and interjections. He slipped off his monocle, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and then his vest, revealing a well-tailored red undershirt that clung to his lean frame.
"I find the cannibal's wife line rather charming," Alastor smirked, and though he couldn't see it, you rolled your eyes in response.
"Of course you'd enjoy that part," you scoffed, mirroring Alastor's movements on the other side. Shedding the bedazzled dress, you opted for more comfortable attire, draping yourself in a robe.
"What's not to like? It shows the audience that you're my darling wife," Alastor quipped with a smug tone.
"Bushwa. They don't even know it's you. And I don't think anyone thinks highly of some poor fool shackled to a gaudy singer," you snorted. With the radio in tow, you began to pack your belongings into your purse.
"Don't be ridiculous," Alastor's laugh rumbled against the speakers. "My dear, being 'shackled' to you is the most delightful form of imprisonment."
"Such a sap," you scoffed, unable to suppress the smile that spread across your face. Shouldering your purse, you made your way towards the door, ready to leave. However, a sudden memory of a conversation with Mimzy surfaced.
"By the way, did you know Mimzy was planning to have me perform on some talk show?" you shared with Alastor while locking the door to your dressing room. A furrow appeared on your brow as the backstage lights played with shadows, casting a pensive expression on your face. "What was it again… Oh! Yes! Box-2-Nite."
A sudden screech from the radio erupted, its harsh sound reverberating in the hallway. Luckily, no one was around at this hour, and you cringed at the unexpected disturbance. Glaring at the box, you raised your brow. "You scared the living daylights outta me."
Alastor stayed silent for a while, claws digging into the cloth of his coat, ripping the fabric. With a snap of his head to the side, he dropped it to the floor and moved toward his staff, his shadows playing on the intricate patterns of the carpet beneath his feet.
"Do you perhaps mean… Vox-2-Nite?" His voice, usually smooth, carried an edge.
"Is that the name? I thought you hated telev—Oh. Ohhh..." As you ascended to the higher floors of the building, a realization swept over you.
Alastor's relationship with Vox was complicated. It didn't take a genius to see that. If the ceaseless back-and-forths on broadcasts, the turf wars that had casualties matching mass-extinction events, and the hushed gossip circulating among the other performers were anything to go by.
“Small world,” you chuckled, strolling down the hallway that led to the performers' rooms, the echo of your footsteps blending with the distant murmur of conversation. “I’m guessing I shouldn't take her up on the offer?”
"Absolutely not," Alastor practically snarled out, venom dripping from his tongue. The radio in your hand crackled and buffered, a faint golden glow emanating from the dials. "That pompous piece of shit television is nothing but a clout-chasing, mediocre host flitting between this fad and another on his little picture show podcasts."
“I know, love.” With a swift turn of a doorknob, you opened the door to your flat. "I wasn’t… planning… to…”
Your words trailed off, lingering in the air, as you entered the room. Your eyes widened in awe, captivated by the sight of a bouquet of white roses gracefully adorning your bed.
"Alastor," you spoke into the radio, your voice filled with genuine warmth. "Did you send me roses?"
Back in the hotel, Alastor, settled back into his plush couch. The fiery embers of his anger melting away like a fleeting shadow, replaced by the realization that you had discovered his gift.
A soft chuckle came from the radio, "Guilty as charged, cher. "
Your heart fluttered, and you sank onto the bed, dropping the radio on your mattress and taking the bouquet into your hands. The delicate petals felt soft against your fingers as you admired their beauty. White roses, unlike red ones, were so scarce it was difficult to get a hold of.
"Alastor, this is… wonderful," you spoke into the radio, smile so wide your cheeks almost hurt. "Why—How did you even—How did you even manage to find these?"
"Oh, I pulled a few strings," your husband grinned before chuckling, "and a few limbs too."
Your laughter intertwined with his and Alastor listened fondly, finding solace in the melody of your delight.
The day you inked that deal with Mimzy marked the onset of an agonizing pain he had never experienced before. The thought of leaving your sorrowful self under the wretched contract of that avaricious woman had incited a frenzied rage within him, leading to weeks of unbridled slaughters on the streets of hell.
The blood he spilled onto the sidewalks left a stain on the concrete that lasted months.
Fortunately for you and him, the ordeal was nearing its end. Just one more year remained until Alastor could finally reunite with you. After enduring decades of this agony, an additional year seemed like mercy.
"You like it, cher?" Alastor's voice dropped an octave lower, the satisfaction evident in his tone, pleased to bring happiness to your moment.
"Yes," you laugh, cradling the bouquet in your hands. "I like it very much."
Warnings: Spoilers for Artem’s SR card “In Sickness or in Health”, always consult a professional if you believe you are seriously ill
Summary: Harmony’s day starts out rough, and as the hours go by, it only gets worse. Unsure of what’s going on Artem takes her to the hospital for treatment. Perhaps it’s because she’s unwell, but the old habits Harmony’s worked so hard to squash start to slip back in.
The heels of my wedges clicked against the floor tiles as I made my way towards the teacher’s lounge. The children wouldn’t be arriving for another hour but I always made it a habit to show up early to prepare the classroom for the day. Getting the lesson plan and activities ready was much easier without small children running around.
Because of the silence, each step made my shoes louder, sending a small shock to my temples with each click. My body felt heavier then usual, the lights were bothering my eyes and an iced coffee, which I usually had with me by now, was making my stomach turn just thinking about it.
Pushing the door to the lounge open, I found Principal Hadley, or Dale as many of us called him by, and our secretary, Wendy Voss. They had both been working for the school for over a decade now and the day they retired would be a sad day for all.
“Good morning.” I greeted, trying to fight off the bright lights as I threw my purse into one of the lockers.
“No coffee today, Harmony? That’s not a good sign.” Dale said, sipping from his mug.
“You look a little pale, dear. Is everything alright?” Wendy asked, visibly concerned.
Forcing a smile, I nodded and clicked the locker shut. “I just have a little headache. I took some medicine already, I’m sure it will go away soon.”
Easily brushing their worries off, I left the lounge and headed towards classroom K-1. The walls in this room were painted like a safari, animal decals of lions, elephants, monkeys and other Savannah animals spread out around the room. Four small, round tables were placed not too far from my desk, a total of fourteen short chairs accompanying them. Two tables had three chairs while the remaining two had four. Each chair had a little chalk board attached to the back with a student’s name written on it.
Like I did every Monday morning, I erased the names and assigned new seat placements. Not only did the kids seem to enjoy a scavenger hunt for their new seats, but it encouraged them to make friends with everyone.
Logan, Abigail, Mackenzie, Issac… My brain felt a shock each time the chalk scribbled across the board. The next tasks that followed weren’t much easier. I didn’t realize how long everything was taking until the bell rang obnoxiously above my head. I groaned and rubbed my temples, trying to soothe the ache as I headed towards the door to welcome the children.
“Good morning.” I greeted the little ones with a high five as they charged excitedly into the classroom one by one.
Once every student was accounted for, I closed the door and started the morning activities. Each Monday started with a game of ‘I did’ where the students and myself got to share one exciting thing we did this weekend. After that, I handed out single sided sheet of paper that had five words with missing letters. Spelling practice for their spelling test on Thursday. Usually the spelling tests were scheduled for Friday, but with our field trip to the local museum that day, I moved it to Thursday.
“Excuse me, Miss. Castel!” A high-pitched, girly voice called out to me, volume a little too loud for indoors.
I squeezed my eyes shut briefly to combat the pain before turning around. “Let’s use our indoor voices please, Laura. What would you like?”
She pointed to the boy sitting across from her. “Ethan picked his nose!”
“I did not! I scratched it!”
A sigh slipped past my lips. The first two hours of my day dragged by, and when the playground supervisor came to collect the kids for recess I sat at my desk and put my head down, basking in the silence. The wood felt nice and cool against my forehead.
A soft knock let me know someone was there. “Just checking in. How are you feeling?”
Hearing Principal Hadley’s voice, I automatically straightened up. “I’m alright-”
A dizzy spell made me waver as I stood. I collapsed back into the chair and gripped the edge of the desk as to not topple over. The small effort that took had me out of breath.
“Goodness, Harmony, you look even worse. Go home for the day. I’ll keep the children entertained until Wendy can find a substitute teacher.” Dale said.
“But to find one after school hours have already begun-”
He held up a hand to stop me. “We’ll make do. Besides, you really shouldn’t be around the little ones if you’re feeling unwell.”
He was right. My symptoms were going beyond a headache at this point and children don’t have the same strength in their immune system as an adult does.
“I’m so sorry.” I said, standing up again but much slower this time.
Dale smiled kindly. “Don’t be. Go get some rest, and have Wendy call a cab for you. You shouldn’t drive in this state.”
Nodding, I thanked him and left to retrieve my purse from my locker.
~~~~~~~~~~
The ride home was brutal. There was a surprising amount of traffic for the middle of the day, cars were honking impatiently and the cab driver made too many sharp turns to count. My stomach was in my throat by the time I got out and I was left impressed that I didn’t vomit in the backseat.
The elevator ride was too far too long, the hallways of the apartment building seemed to have doubled in size and just as I stepped through the front door, just when I thought I could collapse and sleep, my phone rang. If it wasn’t the tune I set for my boyfriend, I wouldn’t have answered.
“Hey, Artem.” I said, trying to sound cheerful as I tossed my purse on the kitchen counter and stumbled towards the couch. “How’s work going? Everything okay?”
“Yes, everything’s fine.” The sound of his voice made me feel a little better. “I’m sorry to call while you’re at work, but I didn’t see you this morning and my messages have been going unanswered. I just wanted to make you were alright.”
Confused, I pulled the phone from my ear and went to my messages. Just as he said, there were several unread messages from Artem. The first was his usual good morning, followed by a request to see me later. The rest were all questions about my well being. Upon further investigation, I realized I forgot to turn the ‘do not disturb’ setting off.
“Harmony?” Artem’s voice came from the speaker.
“Sorry, I’m here.” Laying across the couch, I winced as another sharp pain ran through my head. “I forgot my phone was on silent. I’d love to go out later if you still want to.”
“Is something wrong? You don’t sound like yourself.”
Sighing, I decided to come clean. “I feel a little off, that’s all. I think it’s just a migraine but Principal Hayden sent me home early. I just got in.”
“Would you like me to bring you anything?”
I smiled a little, arranging one of the throw pillows comfortably under my head. “I’m okay. I took something already, I’m just gonna sleep it off.”
“Alright. Let me know if there’s anything you need me to bring home.”
“I will.” I remembered something then. “So where are you taking me later?”
His voice was so kind I could hear his gentle smile. “We’ll discuss that once you are feeling better. Get some rest.”
“Okay. I love you, Artem.”
“And I love you.”
Ending the call, I placed my phone on the coffee table and turned onto my side so my face was against the back cushions and closed my eyes. The silence in the apartment covered me like a blanket, and before long, I fell into a deep, uninterrupted sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~
The feeling of something touching my hair coaxed my eyes open. Fearing the worst, I whined and tried to swat his arm away, whimpering at the sharp shock of pain that ran through my head as I turned it.
The hand immediately retreated, settling on my arm instead and rubbing gentle circles onto my skin. “Harmony?”
That’s not Dustin’s voice.
Cracking my eyes open, I was met with an apartment I didn’t immediately recognize. The kitchen wasn’t supposed to be there, the furniture in the living room didn’t belong here, the couch I was laying on was far too soft to be the one I was used to. A face entered my line of sight, one with smooth skin, stunning blue eyes and a head of neat brown hair. His expression was one full of concern.
“Are you alright?” The man asked. “I apologize for touching your head without permission, but you weren’t responding to my attempts to wake you.”
Artem.
The name that came to mind brought with it recollection of the man’s identity. Artem’s my boyfriend now and we live together, though we each had our own bedrooms. He was still dressed in the suit he usually wore to work.
“How are you feeling?” He asked, glancing me over. “You look really pale. Have you been asleep this entire time?”
“I think so.” I mumbled, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes shut in attempt to fight off the pain. “The medicine didn’t work. Do we have anything stronger?”
Something rolled off the couch and onto the floor as I shifted. Artem, who was leaning over me, crouched to retrieve it. Another shock of pain almost made me miss the way his eyes widened.
“Harmony, how many of these have you had?” He asked in a calm but worried voice.
Not understanding what he was talking about, I glanced at the small bottle in his hand. The red label wrapped around the white bottle was the signature branding of a Pax Pharmaceutical’s painkillers.
Too sore to hold my head up any longer, I let it fall back onto the pillow. “I don’t know. I don’t even remember taking them.” I pushed the palms of my head against my temples. “My head hurts so bad, Artem.”
I heard him shuffling next to me. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
“No, I just want to sleep.”
“A headache this bad isn’t normal, and we don’t know how many painkillers you’ve had. You might be on the verge of an overdose. Where’s your ID?”
Despite how crappy I was feeling, the logical part of my brain still seemed to be working. He was completely right, and the fact I didn’t remember waking up to take the pills is a huge red flag that something serious is going on.
Artem gathered whatever he needed to before helping me up off the couch. My head throbbed with each step I took but luckily I didn’t have to walk very far. The second we stepped into the hallway and locked the front door, Artem draped his coat over my shoulders and, being slow and gentle, lifted me off the ground. I clung to him as he carried me outside to where his car was parked, face buried in the side of his neck. The scent of pine clinging to his skin was comforting, easing my migraine the littlest bit.
Reaching the car, Artem set me down and guided my head to his chest, blocking out the chill of nighttime air as he unlocked and opened the door to the passenger side. I grunted uncomfortably as I eased into the seat, fumbling pathetically with the seatbelt.
“I got it.”
I sighed in response and dropped my hand into my lap, letting him buckle me in. “Thank you.”
Once the buckle clicked into place, he closed the door and walked around the front of the car to get to the driver’s seat. I closed my eyes and let my head rest against the cool window, trying to go back to sleep but it wouldn’t last long.
“Don’t fall asleep yet.” Artem said, placing a hand on my knee to get my attention. “Wait until we get to the hospital.”
I groaned and rolled my head along the head rest to face him. All the lights flashing by as the car moved was irritating my eyes. “Can you talk about something? I need a distraction.”
“A distraction…” He went quiet for a moment. “The Pax case we’ve been working on at the firm is in the process of being finalized.”
I, somehow, managed to breathe a small laugh. “Artem, I love you, but if you talk about work right now I really am going to fall asleep.”
“Sorry, I wasn’t sure what else to say.”
Could he be any sweeter? Even though we’ve been dating and living together for quite some time now, he never lost that shy side, cute awkward side.
If my head wasn’t in so much pain, I would have shaken it. “Don’t be, I was the one who put you on the spot like that.” Another short silence. “You never did end up telling me what you had planned this evening.”
“That’s right, I did mention taking you somewhere earlier.” Focusing on the road, he made a left turn before continuing. “A small street fair has been set up in South Stellis to raise money for a charity dedicated to funding schools in third world countries. You’re very active with such events, so I thought you would like to pay a visit.”
A weak smile tugged at my lips. “You’re right, I would have liked to go. Of all days to get sick, it had to be today. Is the event only for tonight?”
“I’m afraid so.”
A quiet sigh left my lips. “I’m sorry, Artem. You went out of your way to plan something and I ruined it.”
“There’s nothing for you to apologize for. You’ve done nothing wrong.” I felt the warmth of his hand suddenly cover one of my own. “We’re almost there.”
Thank god, because my stomach was starting to twist into a knot and the last thing I wanted was to get nauseous in his car. Not that I’ve eaten anything today, anyway.
Finally, the car came to a stop. Artem jumped out first, then came around to help me. He didn’t pick me up but did stay right by my side, walking slowly and allowing me to lean on him. The hand on my back, keeping me steady, was gentle but also firm and reliable.
The woman sitting at the front counter looked up as we approached. “Good evening. What seems to be going on?”
Artem, thankfully, spoke for me. It was rare for him to do so but considering the circumstances, it was reasonable. “Her head is in a lot of pain, and I’m not sure how many painkillers she took. She can’t remember, either.”
The woman handed him a clip board and after helping me fill it out, Artem and a nurse escorted me to an empty room. The doctor came in shortly after and after checking a few vital signs, sent me to have a CT scan and blood work done. The process was rather quick and before long, the doctor was coming back with a diagnosis.
“It looks like you have a mild concussion.” The older man said, adjusting his white coat as he sat in a chair in front of the computer.
“A concussion?” My boyfriend’s eyes widened a little, posture stock still.
“Have you hit your head at all recently, Miss. Castel?”
I squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to think. “Must of been from my fall at work. I slipped on the stairs the other day.”
“That would do it.” The doctor sighed and shook his head. “It’s always safer to be looked at after a fall like that, no matter how mild the injury may seem.” He glanced at the compute screen. “The dosage of painkillers we found in your system is high but not high enough for a major overdose risk. That type of painkiller is good for combating headaches but isn’t strong enough for a concussion. You’re lucky your boyfriend found you when he did.”
This isn’t the first time I’ve been scolded by a doctor, so I don’t think his tone left the impact it should have. “If it’s just a mild concussion, why does it hurt so bad?”
“You haven’t been resting properly. When was the last time you ate?”
Feeling Artem’s eyes on me, I got a little shy and looked down. “Yesterday night.”
The doctor sighed. “That would also be why. It’s common for people to experience headaches when they’re hungry.” He tapped away at the keyboard. “I’m going to set you up with a drip to your replenish vitamins and nutrients, then we can start reintroducing food back into your system. I don’t want to shock your body by filling your stomach instantly. I’m going to fill out a prescription, have your boyfriend pick it up for you while you rest.”
The doctor handed Artem a slip and sent us off to a different room. The transfusion room had several beds but all of them were empty. In fact, the hospital seemed rather quiet tonight.
“Thanks, Artem.” I said as he helped ease me down onto the cot closest to the nurse’s desk. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest? You’ve been working all day.”
He shook his head and lowered himself into the chair next to the bed. “I’m alright. I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone.” Reaching an arm out, he gently took hold of my hand. Something resembling guilt was hidden in the depths of his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me about your fall?”
Now it was my turn to show guilt. “It’s not that I hid it from you on purpose, I’m just used to dealing with pain so I didn’t even think about it. I mean, I’ve had headaches that bad before and they’ve always gone away…”
His eyes narrowed, the blue hues within them seeming to turn a darker shade. I knew the expression wasn’t directed at me, but it made my sense of guilt skyrocket. “How many concussions could you have had and not known…”
I gave his hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
A shake of his head cut me off. “No, I’m sorry. Now isn’t the time to bring up such things.”
A nurse approached just then, smiling warmly and greeting us with kind words as she hung the drip on the hanger. Artem let go of my hand so the nurse could inject the needle. The pinch made my flinch but it wasn’t too bad. The feeling of cold liquid entering my blood stream, however, was unpleasant.
When the nurse walked away, Artem spoke again. “Get some more sleep. I’ll be right here.”
The gentleness of his tone made my eyelids feel heavy all of a sudden. “You really should go home…”
He smiled but made no move to get up. Unable to resist anymore I let my eyes close and wiggled my fingers in attempt to get some feeling back in them. Something warm covered my hand just then, stopping them from moving.
“Be careful of your IV. Don’t move too much.” Artem’s voice was warmer then the blanket that was carefully draped over me.
The only response I could manage was a hum.
~~~~~~~~~~
My body felt a little less heavy as I regained consciousness. The first thing I noticed was that the needle for the IV was missing from my hand, suggesting someone had taken it out while I was sleep. The blanket that I thought was covering me wasn’t a blanket at all; in fact, it was a black coat belonging to the man still sitting next to the bed.
“You really stayed this entire time?” I asked, part of me in disbelief but also not.
Artem nodded. “How are you feeling?”
“Better. A little hungry, actually.”
He looked relieved. “That’s good. You’ll be able to eat soon.”
The same nurse from earlier returned with a second bag of IV fluids. Artem excused himself as she set up me up again, and when he returned, a second nurse was at his side.
“I have to step away for a little while. I’d call your brother to come stay with you but you mentioned he wouldn’t return from his trip until next week. So, I’ve asked this nurse to keep an eye on you.” He said, leaning over to press a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll return shortly.”
My cheeks grew hot as he turned and walked out of the room. The nurse smiled but didn’t comment anything about it, just left me with a hand warmer and said to call for her if I needed anything. Artem must have told her how cold my hand gets because of the drip.
About an hour later, as promised, my boyfriend returned carrying a black bento box. “You’re still awake? You really should be sleeping more to rest your brain.”
“I’ve slept so much I don’t feel tired anymore.” I said, morning the needle in my hand as I sat up.
I wanted to tell him how stressed I was feeling about the fact he refused to get rest himself, but I bit my tongue before the words could come out. He was clearly worried about me, was being more attentive then my last partner’s ever been, and the only way I knew how to respond to this display of love was guilt. The last thing I wanted to do was make him feel that he was making things worse.
Artem picked up on my mood before I could even try to hide it from him. “What’s the matter?”
Falling back into old habits, I forced a smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just hungry, is all.”
“That’s not the truth, is it?” When I didn’t respond, he carefully set the bento on the small table next to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress, his hip brushing against my thigh. “Whatever it is you want to say, I’m listening.”
Taking his hand between mine, I drew circles on his palm with my thumb. It was more of an excuse to avoid looking him in the eye. “I just feel guilty that I’m causing so much trouble for you. You work so hard and now you’re putting aside your rest to take care of me. I’m… not used to it.”
He shifted a little closer. “May I touch your face?” Looking up, I nodded and leaned my cheek into the warmth of his palm. “Everything I do, I do because I choose to. Even if I did return home, I wouldn’t be able to rest comfortably knowing you were here alone. Being here in case you need something puts my mind at ease.”
Smiling, I leaned into his touch even more. “You’re too good for me.”
“That’s not it at all. You just haven’t been treated the way you always should have been.”
My heart skipped a few beats at his words. I opened my mouth to say something but the sound of my stomach obnoxiously growling rudely jumped into the conversation. Blushing, I turned my face away in attempt to hide from him.
Artem simply chuckled and reached for the bento. “Here. The nurses said it’s safe for you to eat now.”
Opening the box, the smell of freshly cooked food hit my nose and made my stomach growl a second time. The meal was simple: three fillets of salmon, broccoli and a small container with pecan and walnut bits off to the side.
“It smells delicious.” I said picking up the fork from the utensil slot. “Where’d you get this from?”
“I made it at home.” Artem replied, to which I looked up at him in shock. “Every restaurant differs in how they prepare their food, so I thought it would be safer to make it myself. These foods are known to help the brain heal, but it’s best to ensure they’re cooked for that purpose and not overloaded with unnecessary spices or oils.”
I was speechless. As we live together it’s not the first time he’s cooked for me but to stop by a store, go home and come wall the way back was more then I could wrap my head around. Something from the cafeteria should have sufficed, no?
“What’s wrong? Did I make something you don’t like?” He asked, looking a little shy.
I shook my head and immediately regretted doing so. “It’s not that. I’m happy you went out of your way to do all this for me. I don’t really know what to say.”
His shoulders relaxed. “You don’t need to say anything. I hope you enjoy it.”
Enjoy it I did. I was by no means a professional at describing and critiquing food but everything Artem cooked had a sense of home to it. It was a little nostalgic, making me think back to holidays at my parents house. The house was always rowdy, expected of a family with thirteen children, but when we all sat around the dinner table it was a different kind of atmosphere. It felt like we were close.
“That was really good, Artem. Thank you.” I said, leaning forward to kiss his cheek in gratitude.
His skin turned a light shade of pink. “You’re welcome.” The blush faded as he cleaned up. “I ran into the doctor on the way back. He wants to hold you overnight just in case you start to feel intense pain again.”
I sighed and slumped back against the bar at the head of the bed. “I’m gonna have to call the school and tell them I won’t be in tomorrow. I don’t know how they’re going to find a substitute on such short notice again…”
“I’ll take care of it. All you need to focus on right now is resting.”
I gave him a look. “I don’t suppose you’re going to go home and sleep now, are you? You have to work tomorrow.”
Artem stared at me silently. I guess that’s a ‘no’.
~~~~~~~~~~
My night in the hospital was, thankfully, uneventful. Concussions usually took between a week or two to heal, so although I was doing well enough to be released from the hospital I was restricted when it came to screen time and physical activity.
“Artem,” I giggled as he handed me a glass of water. “I have a concussion, not a broken leg. I can handle a walk to the kitchen.”
“Your injury is still recent. It’s best to minimize your activity to avoid aggravating it again.” He said, taking a seat next to me on the couch. “Do you have everything you need? Would you like me to get anything else for you before I leave?”
My heart swelled as I set the glass down on the coffee table. Pillows, blankets, healthy snacks with reach, Artem has made it so that I won’t have to get up for anything but the bathroom.
“There is one thing.” I said, shifting to sit sideways on the couch, legs tucked up comfortably on the cushion. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, I gently played with the shorter hairs. “Kiss me before you go?”
He blushed heavily but nevertheless, leaned close and softly pressed his lips to mine. I smiled against his mouth and returned the gesture. I hadn’t gotten to kiss him at all yesterday, and as much as I wanted to make up for it now, he really did have to get going. He’s already going into work late for my sake.
“Let me know what you want for dinner. I’ll bring it for you.” Artem said. “And if you start to feel sick again, call me.”
“I will.”
Pecking his lips once more, I watched him gather his things and leave. Adjusting my position again to lay across the couch, I started thinking about what I wanted for dinner. Knowing Artem, he’ll wait all day for my message.
HOW TO BABYSIT TODDLER LUCIFER 101: THE BROTHERS' SPECIAL EDITION PART 2
A/N: I'm back! Sorry for the long wait. I'm stuck with writer's block in the middle of writing this but I'm okay now. Progress is great but a bit slow because I'm spending SO MUCH TIME watching the Olympics game instead of writing. Sorry ＞﹏＜
And I've decided to again make part 3 for this series because it's getting longer and I'm afraid it'll break my momentum of writing if I wrote longer than I expected. By breaking it apart, I can take a few breaks while you guys get to read the previous part without any hold.
So no more talking, please enjoy this next part. I apologise for any grammatical errors.
Genre: Fluff 🌼
Warning: Contains spoiler for Season 1 Obey Me!
You can read Part 1 here.
**************
Sitting on Satan's bedroom floor while munching on a biscuit, was Lucifer. He wiggled his feet and shook his head to let the bunny ears swung around his head, playfully slapping his own cheeks with the cotton fabric.
Satan clicked his tongue in annoyance and said, "Don't drop the crumbs!"
A few minutes before, Beel had dropped off Lucifer to Satan because he had to attend his fangol practice session. Before doing so, Beel gave Lucifer a few pieces of biscuits for him to snack on.
So now, Satan's stuck babysitting his eldest brother whom he's not so fond off.
After being scolded by Satan, Lucifer immediately stopped and looked down to his lap, slightly pouting.
And now Satan's slapped with guilt.
He let out a deep sigh and ran his fingers through his blond hair in frustration before saying, "Well, what do you want to do now?"
Lucifer brightened up and immediately ran towards one of Satan's bookshelf. He tiptoed a little and grabbed a book with a title, 'The Sleeping Bunny'.
"...Are you doing this on purpose?" Satan chuckled a little when Lucifer handed him the book.
The young Lucifer didn't reply. Instead, he tried lifting himself up into one of Satan's chair to take a seat. Lucifer slipped a few times and a groan left his mouth with a visible frown on his face.
Smiling to himself, Satan carefully picked the toddler up and placed him on his lap. "So you can see the pictures better," he claimed.
Feeling comfortable on Satan's lap, Lucifer pointed to the book cover and said, "This is a bunny." He then gently dropped his head to take the bunny ears in his hands and said, "Luci also a bunny."
Finding himself lost for words, Satan froze. It's taking everything in his will to not squeeze Lucifer's cheek and squeal because of his cute actions.
"But Satan not a bunny. Satan a cat!" the toddler tee-heed.
After another absence of reply from the fourth born and no indication of starting anytime soon, Lucifer leaned back against Satan's torso and looked up to observe Satan's face in worry, "Satan...? Satan don't want to read to Luci?"
Feeling himself turning redder every seconds, Satan cleared his throat and said, "You know what, I think it's better if we take a walk outside instead. You must want to run around, right? Let's go and see some cats while we're at it. Do you want to see the cats?"
No words can describe how elated the young one looked as he climbed down from Satan's lap and raced towards the door, absolutely ready to meet the creatures.
----------------------
"This one is named Mint because her eyes are as green as mint leaves." Satan watched his brother gently petted Mint's calico coloured fur with a smile.
Satan usually gave the stray cats some food and water behind the House of Lamentation so these cats were already comfortable around him, but to see Satan bringing another person with him was rare.
Of course the cats ran away at first but after seeing Satan poured their favourite kibbles, the cats slowly approached the Avatar of Wrath along with the unknown presence. The toddler in bunny onesies didn't strike them as someone with any harmful intentions. He even petted them gently on the head, along with some giggles. Within a minute, the cats already felt comfortable with Lucifer.
Deciding that it's okay to let Lucifer roam around by himself for a while, Satan continued pouring more cat foods for the cats and asked them how their day went. The melodious meows from them only made Satan chuckled.
The cats were really friendly with him and he's glad they're doing the same with Lucifer too. Nothing is perfect than surrounding yourself with friendly cats.
Satan could literally fill up the entire House of Lamentation with cats, but Lucifer would probably be against it. Not that he hasn't tried it before.
Mint also came by and rubbed her body against Satan's hand playfully.
"Mint? I thought you're playing with Lucif-" Satan turned to his side and found no signs of his brother, "-er...?"
A curious meow from Mint failed to calm Satan's beating heart, especially when he reminded himself how this area was quite close with the underground tomb area. And underground tomb means there's also...
"Lucifer!"
In a frantic state, Satan rushed to the underground tomb entrance. There, he saw a tiny figure running excitedly towards the greatest nightmare of a pet.
Lucifer's bunny ears from the onesies flopped up and down, dancing along to the rhythm of Lucifer's racing feet. The toddler extended his arms and hugged the tall, three-headed, dark furry creature.
"Puppy!" Lucifer said, closing his distance with the guard dog, paying no attention to Cerberus's deadly growls.
Suddenly, one of its head came closer and sniffed Lucifer curiously while the toddler just giggled and hugged the dog tighter.
Satan was ready to sweep Lucifer into his arm and just run for their lives should Cerberus showed any signs of attacking.
The atmosphere was very anxiety inducing. He wouldn't dare imagine what Cerberus will do to tiny Lucifer. And most importantly, it's his careless act in the first place that got Lucifer into this mess.
Sensing Satan's presence, Cerberus growled lowly and bared its fang, ready to attack.
"Cerberus, calm down... That's your owner... Don't attack him..." He took a slow step by step, fearing his presence would make Cerberus angrier.
Cerberus made a deep growl again and Satan was ready to grab Lucifer away from the hellhound. But the guard dog only growled at him while the other two heads licked Lucifer's face lovingly.
"Tickles... Hihihi," Lucifer laughed. His height was way too tiny when compared to Cerberus but he showed no fear to the dog.
Seeing Cerberus being on guard because of his presence, Satan decided to back down and let the dog enjoyed his owner's loving affection. Even though all he wanted to do was get the hell out of there, he wouldn't dare leave Lucifer unattended again.
"Satan? Satan is here? Look look! A puppy!" Lucifer turned over to face Satan.
"I'm pretty sure you don't call something as big as Cerberus a puppy," Satan mumbled under his breath.
"Lucifer, I think we should go now. You know, it's gonna be nighttime soon. And I'm pretty sure you're hungry. You're hungry, right? We should get ready for dinner. Come on, let's go," he tried closing his distance with Lucifer without alerting Cerberus.
"Oh... okay..." young Lucifer dejectedly bid his farewell to the hellhound and the dog also licked his owner's face several times before finally letting him go with Satan.
Satan, finally able to approach Lucifer without inciting any reaction from Cerberus, immediately lifted Lucifer up into his arm and made a dash towards the exit. His hold on the toddler tightened as he cursed to himself on how careless of a babysitter he'd been.
Fortunately for him, Cerberus recognised the Morningstar. Had the guard dog disregard the toddler as Lucifer, the worst case scenario could happen.
"Lucifer, never ever ever leave my side without telling me first, okay?"
"Okay!"
"...And don't tell the others about this."
"Okay!" Lucifer laid his head on Satan's shoulder lovingly, trying to ease Satan's anxiety.
---------------------------
Everything went smooth after that.
Satan was able to keep the incident with Cerberus a secret from the others and considering Lucifer is a very good toddler, he didn't mutter a word about it either.
Lucifer was then bathed by Beel and changed into a cute dark blue pajamas chosen by Asmo.
Supposedly, he'd be tired from all the adventures, but Lucifer didn't seem tired at all. He ran around the house, giggling and giving surprise hugs to his brothers' legs and proceed to run away again.
The brothers didn't seem to mind his never-ending energy and just watched him from afar, occasionally patting him on his head before watching Lucifer ran away to find somebody else to hug or play.
It wasn't long until dinner time and the toddler needed to eat.
"Lucifer, dinner's ready!"
And within a minute, Asmo found the young Avatar of Pride beside him, looking as cheerful as ever.
Did something fun happened this evening? He seemed happier...?
It was Belphie's turn to babysit Lucifer, so he picked him up and placed him on his lap. Since the house didn't have any baby chair, they had to improvise.
"Mammon made curry today, so we're eating rice and curry. If it doesn't suit your taste, go tell Mammon that."
"Hey! Don't insult my cooking!"
"Mammon, did you make sure to tone down the spice level? I don't think Lucifer could handle it if it's your usual spicy curry," Satan asked.
"What do ya take me for? 'Course I did! Lil Lucifer is weak now, no way can he handle the Great Mammon's Super Delicious Curry," Mammon responded.
"Just in case, here's some milk." Levi poured the milk into a plastic cup and handed it over to Belphie.
True, Mammon's spicy curry had tone down a notch and Lucifer's able to eat it, but that didn't stop his face from flushing after a few bite because of the heat.
"Is it too spicy for you?" Belphie wiped Lucifer's sweaty forehead with a napkin and was ready to give him the milk.
Lucifer shook his head but his hands were slowly itching to grab the plastic cup from Belphie's hand.
Still prideful as ever.
Sighing, Levi got up from his seat and grabbed Lucifer's plate, "I'll modify this. Wait a minute."
Not minding Lucifer's denial, Belphie gave the milk to Lucifer and watched the toddler drank it in a rush.
Belphie then flicked Lucifer's forehead gently and as nonchalant as ever, said, "Tell the truth next time. You'll get stomach ache if I keep forcing you to eat something you can't handle."
The toddler reacted with a pout and a frown.
---------------------------
Belphie yawned sleepily and sank further onto the couch. He should probably sleep on his own bed but his room is too far. He'd rather take a nap on this nice, comfy couch.
Feeling himself drifting off to sleep, he suddenly felt a weight on top of him. Annoyed from having his nap interrupted, he slowly opened his eyes to see a smiling Lucifer with a book in his hand.
"Belphie, read to me," he said with hopeful eyes.
This tiny thing! How dare he interrupted my nap for this?
"Who do you think I am? Your servant?" Belphie frowned, "Besides, isn't Satan more suited for this job than I am?"
"But... but Satan busy... Luci want to read this..." he looked down at the book, feeling dejected that the seventh born didn't agree to his request.
In his hand was the same book he gave to Satan this evening, 'The Sleeping Bunny'. He was requesting for a bed time story but all of his brothers were busy with their own agendas. That's until he found Belphie resting in the common room.
Sighing in defeat, he finally agreed. The way Lucifer beamed after that made Belphie cheered up a little bit.
Maybe it wasn't so bad...?
Belphie sat up and opened the book, starting to read with a very excited Lucifer sitting on his lap. It was actually a pretty nice story and the images illustrated were simple but impactful.
Belphie thought to himself why someone as intelligent as Satan would keep such storybook for kids in his massive collection of ancient and academic books.
"And the sleeping bunny is finally able to sleep with peace. The end..."
"Yay! Bunny gets sleep!"
"Well, shouldn't you be getting some sleep too? It's late." Belphie ran his fingers through Lucifer's black hair in hope for the toddler to calm down and get ready for bed soon.
"Belphie wants sleep...?"
"Been wanting it since you came over here and tell me to read this," Belphie said, trace of annoyance was still lingering in between his words.
"Okay, then Luci sleeps too." Lucifer nodded, still very much alive but agreed to rest for the night.
Belphie began laying down on the couch again and put Lucifer on his chest. He brought his hand on top of Lucifer's back to secure the toddler's position so he wouldn't fall off. Gently, Belphie tapped Lucifer's back to soothe him and lulled him to sleep.
Lucifer's tiny figure on his chest made him mesmerized on days where the eldest brother would care for them when they're sick.
He'd stay up all night; checking their temperatures; tending to their every needs and cooking his famous congee for them.
Belphie wouldn't want to admit it but he loves Lucifer's special congee, so he's really looking forward to his sick days.
The misunderstanding regarding Lucifer's decision had made a crack on their bonds as brothers. He used to love and adore Lucifer so much, but the self-hatred and constant unforgiving due to Lilith's death made him loathed Lucifer's decision to went along with Diavolo's plan.
Didn't he remember how the brothers suffer so much from the Fall? How they struggled to accept the fact that Lilith is no more? And how hard they had to adapt to Devildom at first?
Lucifer's decision broke Belphie's heart because he felt betrayed.
Betrayed by the fact that his brothers have all moved on.
Betrayed by the fact that he has to share his living space with the sole being that cause Lilith's death.
Betrayed by the fact that his dearest eldest brother forgot about Lilith's pain and went along with Diavolo's plan without any remorse.
If it wasn't for that particular exchange student, this misunderstanding might still happened and this family might be broken beyond repair.
Belphie was really grateful for their existence.
He then gently ruffled Lucifer's hair and gave a kiss on top of Lucifer's head, hand still firmly holding Lucifer in place. Slowly, he began to join Lucifer as well.
