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batsycline69 · 4 months

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Chapter One: Head Above Ground, Feet in the Grave

Summary: You get a tattoo from Jason and realize your first impression may not have been spot on

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Words: 5,576

Warnings: needles, profanity, canon-typical violence, reader has tattoos but is otherwise not described, jason doesn’t know how to flirt.

SERIES MASTERPOST | NEXT

“So. Whatcha reading?” he asks over the buzz of his needle gun. Your confused look is enough get him talking again. “Saw you with a book out front.”

As soon as he stepped out into the front thirty-five minutes after your appointment was supposed to begin, as peeved as you were, you couldn’t deny he was attractive. One of his broad shoulders leaned into the wall, his thick, tattooed arms crossed over his chest. Dark curls with a patch of white at the front.

“Oh, it’s Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier,” you reply, a little surprised the guy built like a brick shithouse was asking about your reading. Then again, he’s probably just trying to make conversation.

Jason just nods.

Maybe he isn’t trying to make conversation.

The bad news is, up close, he’s even more handsome. Now you can see the little scar that angles through his eyebrow and another that curves up along his cheek. His eyes are intense as he works, his absurdly large hand has a firm grip on your forearm, guiding you as he works. He smells like cigarettes, but only just, and what you can assume is the lingering smell of the timeworn leather jacket sprawled across the chair in the corner. And all of this is bad news because this guy is obviously bad news. How can he not be, right?

It’s just this feeling, one that you couldn’t shake as soon as he sauntered towards you, the smell of cigarette smoke lingering on his worn black t-shirt. Like he’s too cool for you. Even as he’s permanently etching a skeletal bird into your arm, there’s this air about him you can’t quite place.

Before he led you back to his station, you were so certain there was going to be some sort of bikini-clad model plastered to the wall. But yet, the space is surprisingly empty. There’s a little corkboard leaning against a small table with old designs thumb-tacked to the board and not much else.

“How long have you been working here?” you ask.

Despite asking, you already kind of know the answer.

You’ve been following the shop’s Instagram for a while now. You remember the post introducing Jason, the carousel of photos demonstrating his work. Not that you’d tell him right now, but you had fallen in love with his style as soon as you saw it. The sure, thick lines. The moody shading. Bones and knives and bugs. He had no Instagram of his own for his work that you could find; only the posts in the shop with the caption ‘by Jay.’

“Couple months,” Jason replies. “I was traveling around for a while before. This is the first steady place I’ve worked.”

“Oh, wow, that’s cool. Where were you before?” you ask. It’s small talk, and you hate it, but the lack of conversation is uncomfortable in a way that usually isn’t the case. Silence doesn’t bother you. His silence does.

You wonder if his home lacks as much personality as his station. You imagine his apartment is the kind with the mattress sitting on the floor, TV on top of a folding table, and a refrigerator full of cheap beer. Something that doesn’t feel completely moved into.

He gives a small shrug of his broad shoulders. “All around,” he replies.

Even small talk seems to be off the table.

You give a curt nod of your head. A couple minutes pass, and you can’t take it anymore. “Sorry, you mind if I grab my book real fast?”

Jason nods in return, pulling the gun away. “Go for it.”

God, you feel him watching you as you slip off the table, heading towards your bag on the little couch in the corner. Why is he watching? Why is this so awkward? Is it you? Is this guy just that standoffish? You pull out your worn bookand get back into position on the table.

“You good?” he asks, his intense eyes still trained on you.

“Yeah, all good,” you say, holding the book open with one hand as the buzzing starts back up again.

This is pathetic.

Jason has spent the last few years spending his time around the worst of the worst. He’s been with assassins, arms dealers, and soldiers so bad, even the U.S. Military didn’t want them, and yet, he’s fumbling just because someone cute is reading classic literature.

Fuck.

He’s supposed to be better than this. Ever since he got back into Gotham two months ago, he’s been making deals with the worst of the worst—as far as drug dealers go—without breaking a sweat, and yet holding a conversation with you turns him into Mr. Darcy. He’s blowing it, and he cares that he’s blowing it.

At least everyone thinks he’s dead. If this had gotten out to anyone, he’d die again.

It’s been five years since he was resurrected. A couple of weeks have passed since he flew back into Gotham with another one of Talia’s connections, this time intending to stay for good. He found a little tattoo shop near Crime Alley. Close enough to keep tabs on everything, but not so close that he’d be crossing paths with Batman regularly. The last thing he needs is to run into Bruce while trying to come up on top of Gotham’s underworld. Not until everything was ready.

That’s his world. Swept off the street and recruited for a war that wasn’t even his, not really. That’s just what he was sold: security to a kid fending for himself.

Bruce may have believed he had something to show Jason about Gotham, but this city raised him more than anything. Without a stable place to call home, the city’s streets were the substitute. What more did Bruce have to teach him when Jason had already huddled for warmth in these alleys? Ran from cops, knew all the hiding spots. What did Bruce have to offer when Jason already saught comfort in a place where comfort died? In a place where hope was trying to grow on salted earth. A place so haunted, it’s more ghost than city.

Jason was made for Gotham.

After he died, Gotham fell to ruins in the greatest earthquake she’s ever seen. An anomaly. The world wanted to watch Gotham burn, abandon the city and everyone remaining inside it. Leave her buried in the fate the world deemed appropriate for a city so infected that everyone around suffered.

He knows what it means to come back again, maybe when staying gone was what should have been done.

While he learned how to kill, he learned how to tattoo. Bruce always went on about the importance of keeping their identities safe; he chose his playboy routine, and Jason chose this.

It started before Bruce even took him in. One of the older kids he used to sell stolen car parts to gave him a stick ‘n poke in the back of his dad’s auto shop. It’d only been a few weeks after his mom died. Bruce saw it within a few days of living at the manor. He didn’t comment, but Jason saw the scowl when Bruce saw the shitty skull on his ankle. He didn’t approve, and that made his chosen path all the sweeter.

In London, the guys he was staying with tattooed each other to pass the time. That’s how it all really started. He watched their hands as they worked, watched the way the ink shot into the skin. He gave his first tattoo in the seedy back room of some haunt for scumbags. He had yet to feel at home within his body again, like it was just on loan. Like his reanimation was contingent on something that could be taken away at any time.

But he kept living. And he picked up tattooing fairly quickly. He gave plenty of shitty tattoos to men whose lives ran off of fucking over innocent people. Some of them wouldn’t even live to regret his uneven lines. A good number of them, Jason watched die.

None of that, however, negates the fact that he still can’t have a conversation with you.

Every so often, he spares a glance at you as you read. You’re holding the book with one hand, awkwardly turning the page with your pinky in a way that he knows won’t last long. He’s trying to rack his brain for something, anything, to talk to you about once you need a break from your position.

When his moment finally comes, he clears his throat.

“You ever read any Virginia Woolf?” he asks.

He’s going to spoil his whole ‘asshole tattoo artist’ persona because he’s not supposed to be reading tragic modernist writers, but he can’t bring himself to fall into his usual routine. He wants to hide behind the metaphorical mask he wears when he’s not wearing his literal mask, but he just fucking can’t with you.

He doesn’t know you. You’re just someone who booked with him a few months ago. You’re a civilian, and he is supposed to be getting ready for his Gotham takeover. Now isn’t the time. He’s got work to do.

Unsurprisingly, you seem caught off guard by his question when you look up from your book. You try to regain your composure. You seem like someone who wants to be polite like that. Jason’s eyes land on your finger as it slips into your book to hold your place.

“Yeah,” you reply. “I’ve read a couple of hers.”

Jason gives a single nod of his head. He breathes as if steadying his aim to shoot. “I’m reading Mrs. Dalloway right now,” he says.

If you were someone he had to threaten, it would be going better than this. He could get you to tell him all of your secrets in under a minute no problem. But he doesn’t actually have to know how to do any of this to know that’s the wrong way to go about it. Besides, how could he forgive himself if he brought you into Red Hood’s world? You don’t belong there.

“Are you much of a reader then?” you ask.

Jason recognizes it for what it is. You’re holding out a hand, practically guiding him into a conversation just like you’ve tried so many times. You notice he’s trying too.

His lip quirks up a bit at the corner. “Yeah, I am. But don’t tell anyone. If they figure out I’m not an idiot, they may ask me to help out more.”

You graciously laugh at his joke.

He likes your laugh. It’s soft, like your skin. He’s tried to not think about it, but he has noticed. He knows you’re going to take good care of the bird carcass he’s tattooing.

When you reached out and told him what you wanted, he knew he couldn’t possibly turn the idea down. He did always have a fucked up sense of humor.

You’ll never know what makes this funny. He can’t do that to you. Maybe you can know Jason the tattoo artist, but you can’t know Red Hood.

Jason looks at you with a softness you miss when you glance away for a minute. “I’ve got a Metamorphosis tattoo over here,” he says, briefly raising the arm holding yours down.

You turn your head, trying to get a look of his Kafka tattoo, and Jason feels a little bit of warmth growing in his chest, even if he desperately wishes he didn’t. He’s getting way ahead of himself like a kid. It’s going to hurt that much more when you realize all the reasons you shouldn’t get involved with him. He shouldn’t be drawing attention to himself. He shouldn’t be getting distracted. This job isn’t for him to make connections with avid readers; he’s here to know what’s happening and when.

For all he knows, you could be a spy, aware of the moves he’s trying to make. Could work for the Penguin. But he’s aware that’s a Bruce level paranoid thought, and he’s not proud to admit that. His ties to Bruce are supposed to be severed forever.

Two hours pass far less painfully than you were expecting. Not in the literal sense, because your arm has started to get sore, but in the sense that you and Jason are finally actually talking, more or less. You take a break, trying to get the blood flow back into your arm from being at an angle for so long.

Your stomach started rumbling half an hour ago, and now you’re scrolling through your phone, chatting with Jason on what you should order. He says by the time food would get here, he’d likely be finished up.

Jason’s already told you he doesn’t do a lot of delivery. He says it’s because things are always fresher at the restaurant.

After the last couple of hours spent talking literature, you know your first impression of him was wrong—there’s a joke about books and their covers somewhere in there—but be that as it may, you still haven’t quite figured him as the sort of guy that’s going to be overly snobby about food.

He says he cooks, and you believe him, more because you like to indulge in the thought of him knowing his way around a kitchen. You also just want to believe it for the sake of justifying the crush you feel creeping in every time he shifts your arm.

You’re not going to hold your breath hoping he opens up to you, but you can tell he’s someone with a story. Someone with history. And that’s something you can respect, because you’ve got your own past you’d rather not shell out just because your tattoo artist is hot. That doesn’t stop your mind from wandering though, trying to fill in the blanks.

Maybe he did some sort of stint in the military. That’s your first guess, at least. You didn’t get any more information on the tattoos he’d done ‘all over,’ and he doesn’t talk about it anymore, so you can’t really figure out anything more than that. You also consider the fact that it’s Gotham, and shit just happens. It’s not your right to meddle in whatever tragedy this city has doled out for him.

“One of the apprentices orders delivery here a lot,” Jason says, and you roll your eyes.

“That’s not helpful, nor does it answer my question,” you say. “Even if you don’t get things delivered, you still have to know what’s good around here, right? You’re not bringing a little brown bag lunch to work every day.”

“And what if I do?” Jason asks. His voice is low, almost like he’s daring you. The features on his handsome face are serious, but there’s a glimmer in his eyes that hints he’s teasing you. And damn those eyes. You’re thankful he’s been spending the majority of your appointment staring down at your arm, because you’re not sure you’d survive two hours of looking at him, seeing where the thin ring of blue around his iris before it bleeds into vivid green.

You laugh. “Then I’d admire your dedication.”

You think he’s mostly being difficult because you offered to buy him food, a perfectly normal thing to do. But explaining to him that you’ve offered to everyone you’ve gotten a tattoo from doesn’t seem to change his mind. He’s stubborn, that much you can tell.

As you continue to scroll your phone, silence settles between the two of you. The silence doesn’t feel so oppressive this time, not weighted by awkwardness and uncertainty. Now it feels like a surrender. Neither of you bring up the beginning of the appointment. Not how he was late, not the tension that seemed to linger between the two of you, not how convinced you were that he actually hated the fact that you were sitting in his session.

“The fries at Wally’s are the best in Gotham.”

His voice comes from behind you, and you jump, turning over your shoulder quickly. He’s peering over your shoulder, eyes fixed on the screen of your phone. You hadn’t even heard him get up from his stool. Last you’d looked his way, he was sitting across from you.

You spit out a curse. “When did you get back there?” you ask, clutching your chest with overdramatic flair.

“What, you didn’t see me get up?” he asks.

You scoff. “No, I didn’t see you get up. What are you, some kind of fucking ghost?”

And Jason laughs.

At the best of the times, you consider yourself a relatively dignified individual. Maybe it’s a bit of flattery, but regardless, that’s what you’d like to believe. And yet, there’s something so incredibly rare about the sound of Jason’s laughter, something that makes butterflies flutter in your stomach. It’s like hearing something long forgotten. Like catching the song of a bird long thought extinct. This isn’t the playful scoff of laughter like when you’d said maybe Northanger Abbey was your favorite Jane Austen book, and he’d said you seemed more like an Elizabeth Bennett than a Catherine Morland; this seems like something secret. Something reserved.

Even if the sound makes your stomach flip, your foul language hardly seems funny enough to warrant such a laugh. Your silly off-handed joke doesn’t seem worthy of the burst of laughter that bubbles up from his wide chest.

“I think the hunger’s getting to you,” Jason replies finally when the laughter settles. He nudges his head back towards your phone to get back on topic. “Wally’s is good.”

You have to yank yourself from your thoughts and will yourself to nod. “Yeah, okay,” you say, feeling like such a loser for the way a single laugh could knock you off your track so quickly. You go back to scrolling through the menu to give yourself something other than gawk at him. “So fries. What else is good?” you ask, not daring to raise your eyes.

Jason crosses back over to his stool and sits. Your face gets hot as you feel self-consciousness creep up thinking maybe you’d been obvious, worried you’ll scare him off. But before you know it, he’s naming off his favorite things. And yeah, maybe you bought more than you alone could eat, and maybe you got the burger he spent a few minutes gushing about. If he doesn’t want it now, he can save it for later.

But nearly an hour later, you have a whole spread of junk food in Jason’s station and a finished bird skeleton plastic wrapped on your arm. Jason rolls his eyes at your generosity, and you threaten to eat everything you bought all by yourself, but he eats the burger and steals the fries you jokingly told him to keep his hands off of.

“So can I ask why you were so late?” you ask.

You’re toeing your boundaries. Maybe you’re intentionally trying to press your luck. Part of you knows you maybe shouldn’t ask. But you do it anyway.

Jason looks up from his burger, wiping a small smear of ketchup off his lip. “You’re gonna think I’m an asshole.” He smirks when he sees you quirk your eyebrow. He was thirty-five minutes late; of course you already think he’s an asshole. At least he’s a good sport about it. “I was out smoking.”

“Mm,” you say with a mockingly serious nod of your head. “Leaning up against a wall, cigarette in one hand, Mrs. Dalloway in the other. I guess you must be so cool I have to immediately forgive you,” you say sarcastically.

“Shut up.”

You smirk and go back to eating your food, unaware of Jason’s subtle gaze your way now that your attention has been diverted.

Jason’s used to a somewhat infrequent eating schedule, otherwise known as he rolls out of bed half an hour before he’s supposed to be at the shop, which doesn’t give him much time to eat. And by the time he’s done with his shift, he’s usually starved. He tries to eat an hour before kicking anyone’s ass so he doesn’t cramp up, so that involves him cramming whatever leftovers he has in the fridge into his mouth the second he gets back to his apartment. Then, he goes back out to work.

He’s become somewhat of a late night chef, putting together whatever he can make as quickly and easily as possible. The sort of skills he’d picked up when he was all on his own, trying to keep himself fed from whatever was available, doing whatever he could to make the best of a bad situation. Shoplifting butter and pasta, crushing up old Corn Flakes in a bag with a hammer to put on top. It was something his mom had done. Something he didn’t want to give up.

For the past two hours, he’s been hoping you’ll say something stupid, like how cool you think Batman is.Instead, he finds you kind in a way he doesn’t really see that often. You tolerate his shit to a certain point, and you push back when he goes too far.

People are scared of Jason, hood on or not. And they should be. They see his scars, his tattoos, his sheer size, and they cross the street. They turn their eyes as he buys bread at the grocery store. They can see him for what he is. But for some reason, you don’t. At least not now.

He’s mapping out his plan of how to take over the city, and you’re giving him shit for being late to an appointment for a job he only has for information. The fact that he met you is just a blip in the greater scheme of things, and yet that’s going to be what he walks away from today thinking about.

A guy came into the shop earlier. A local dealer. Jason played cool, pretended he didn’t have an idea who the guy was. This lowlife didn’t need to know Jason already knew where he picked up his supplies. He’d asked if the guy had any plans for the day, as if Jason didn’t already know about a shipment coming in late tonight. Jason’s plans for the evening had been clear. All he had to do was get through one more appointment.

Except that appointment had been yours.

The shop is closed now. A few stations away, one of Jason’s coworkers is still working. In the lull as you both eat, the faint buzzing of the needle and music playing from the speakers up front. Even if Jason wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s comfortable with you, there’s something of a surrender in the time you spend together.

You don’t know the things he’s going to do once you leave, and you wouldn’t assume them of him. What are you seeing in him because it’s sure as shit not something he’s ever seen himself.

At some point, Jason knows he’s going to fuck it all up. You’ll probably get ready to leave, and he’ll say something as you walk out the door that will make you question all of this. Make you second guess this good opinion of him you’ve managed to come up with. It’ll be for your own good.

His eyes drift over to your arm, your bicep still wrapped up in plastic. He can still feel the warmth of your skin lingering on his palm.

For so long, he’d been used to the dull cold of the apartment he squatted in, frigid air seeping in through neglected walls. As hard as he tries not to, he remembers arriving at Wayne Manor for the first time. He’d forgotten home could be so warm.

The warmth of your arm felt like that.

Since coming back in Gotham, he’d given plenty of tattoos, touched plenty of arms. Body heat is body heat, except when it’s yours.

“Where do you go from here?” Jason asks, looking up from his burger.

You shrug your shoulders. “Home, probably. Gonna get that good post-tattoo sleep.”

It’s cold out. You’re bundled up in your coat, aware of the tenderness of your arm where the fabric brushes up against the flesh.

You’re walking towards your train stop. The sounds of sirens echo somewhere in the distance. Purple light filters out through the blinds of one of the apartments you pass, loud bass temporarily overpowering the distant wail of emergency vehicles for a moment as you walk by, until it fizzles back out into quiet. As the music fades, you hear the sound of a couple arguing from an apartment somewhere up above you.

Across from the stairs up to the station is a bar, patrons hanging around outside smoking cigarettes and laughing. You can feel a huddle of men watching you as you move, but you don’t glance their way, just make your way up the stairs.

Yellow-tinged lights line the station, a lamp every fifteen feet or so. From what you can see in the beams of light weakly dispersing from the streetlamps, you’re alone. You find a spot under a nice shelter, though nice is relative considering the lingering smell of piss and obscene graffiti on the walls, but it’s not out in the open where anyone stumbling onto the stop will find you.

The light above you flickers sporadically. You wish there was somewhere else you could wait.

Jason hadn’t seemed thrilled that you were going out to wait for the train all on your own, but you assured him, somewhat indignant, you could handle yourself.

“You sat really well,” he’d said, and you couldn’t help but entertain the idea of inviting him along on the train with you, but you were not going to stoop to that level.

The sounds of approaching footsteps reminds you to keep your focus. You can kick your feet about Jason once you get back to your apartment.

Three guys stumble up the stairs. And just your fucking luck, you’re pretty sure they’re the guys from outside the bar. They’re laughing, and their voices carry from the opposite side of the tracks. You hope they’re going northbound, that they’ll have no reason to cross the tracks. You keep your eyes fixed away from them, down the tracks, now feeling even more impatient for the arrival your train, hoping somehow it will turn you invisible.

But their boisterous conversation suddenly turns much quieter.

Your shoulders tense, and as subtly as you can, you try to slip your hand into your bag for your pepper spray. Blindly, you feel around, trying to move as little as possible so as to not draw any more attention to yourself, because you have no doubts you’re the reason their conversation has become so hushed. If this doesn’t end horribly, you’ll have to try to remember to clear out all of the junk you have stashed away.

One of the men laughs, and then their conversation stops all together.

Your fingers curl around the tube of spray in your purse.

Without looking, you know they’re moving towards you now. Their shuffled, stumbling footsteps are growing louder. They’re drunk and not looking for their night to be over just yet. Unfortunately, you just happened to be in their way while they were looking for the next phase of the evening.

“Hey!” one yells.

You don’t acknowledge him. Maybe they’ll be drunk enough to think you genuinely can’t hear them and give up. It’s wishful thinking, but what does that matter?

Now you’re regretting pretending you were so tough for Jason because these guys sure as shit wouldn’t even give you a second glance if you were standing next to him.

They’ve crossed the tracks now, and there’s still no sign of train headlights. Your grip on the pepper spray tightens, not wanting it to slip now that your heart is starting to race.

“Hey! You!”

You don’t look.

One of them grabs your arm and tugs you out from the shelter. You wince at the contact against the fresh tattoo. “We’re talking to you,” he laughs.

You’re about to use your pepper spray when it clatters to the ground.

All three men look down at it.

“What’s this?” the second man says, bending down and picking it up.

But before any of them can say anything else, a figure just outside of the ring of light the four of you are standing under. You can’t make out any details about him besides the sheer size of him.

“Walk away while you still can,” he growls. The sound of his voice isn’t quite right. It sounds distorted. Your skin prickles with nerves from the sound of it.

The man who picked up your pepper spray turns it towards the figure, threatening to spray.

The figure just chuckles. It sounds cold, metallic. The sound of a gun cocking follows as the figure steps just into the light. The pepper spray wouldn’t do the man any good.

A man wearing a red helmet walks into sight, gun trained on the man holding my arm, but his grip drops instantaneously as he knocks through his other two friends to run, but the other two follow behind almost immediately.

And that leaves you and the guy in the helmet alone.

Gotham has its fill of guys in mask, and sure, there seems to be a new one popping up all the time, but you don’t know this one.

You look up at him, eyes wide with fright. The second the men are gone, he puts the gun back in one of the holsters on his thick thighs, but that doesn’t change the fact that he has them. You don’t know who this guy is, who he works with, whether he’s any better than that group of men or just more armed.

“You alright?” he asks when you don’t say anything. He has a voice modifier, you realize now, though you piece that together slowly.

After a beat, you nod your head. Your hand curls over your throbbing arm. You don’t like that you can’t see where he’s looking. Just two unblinking white voids where his eyes must be. “Yeah,” you breathe. Your eyes fall on your pepper spray. The man holding it must have dropped it when he ran.

When it’s clear you’re not moving to pick it up, the man bends down and grabs it. He holds out a gloved hand, offering it back to you.

Your trembling hand raises and you take it from him, offering a barely audible thanks as you slip it back into your bag.

He nods.

There’s still no sign of a train, and he’s not moving.

“I can give you a ride someplace. If you want.”

Don’t take rides from strangers. You’d heard it just as much as anyone, and the man standing before you is the definition of a stranger. You can’t even see his face; you have no idea who he is beneath that helmet. The one thing you do know is he has a gun, and he’s built like a fridge.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he adds, but his modulated reassurances don’t ease your concern. He senses your hesitation and takes a step back. “Do you want me to leave?”

A few more seconds pass as you consider the question. What if those guys come back? What if some other group comes along? But is giving your home address to the guy with a gun a better idea? And would him standing beside you as you wait for your train make you feel any safer? Could you so willingly accept he wasn’t going to just wait for the moment your guard is down to do something, just the way this city works?

Finally, you shake your head. Neither decision seems like the right one to make. But he did help you. Now you just have to hope to god he’s not going to take advantage of your vulnerability.

You want to ask if he’s one of Batman’s friends, but you don’t find the words.

Instead, you two fall into a silence. For you, it’s tense. You wonder if he feels the same, or if this is just a regular night for him. He stands near you but keeps his distance, like he’s aware how intimidating he could be.

The train is so late. There must be some hold up. One of Gotham’s usuals causing a delay in public transit. Go fucking figure.

“Are you new?” you ask finally. If the train never comes, you might end up taking him up on his offer for a ride, so you may as well try and figure something out about him. Any sort of indication of if you can trust him or not.

There’s another distorted chuckle, though somehow, this one seems less malicious than earlier when threatened with your pepper spray. “You could say that.”

You have no idea how to respond to that, so you don’t.

Silence settles between you again. You can see the lights of the train in the distance. You’re hoping that nothing happens on the train. All you want is to crash into your bed.

The man in the red helmet stands beside you, not pushing any further to make conversation. He waits with you. As it screeches to a halt in front of you, you turn to thank him, but you notice he’s already gone.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #x reader

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missglaskin · 5 months

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Yandere S.T.A.R.S Team (Resident Evil) platonic headcanons

Note- I am back (It's been years), this has been in my drafts so I said fuck it/this is so messy and the timeline/canon may not be accurate but enjoy! This is mainly platonic, but w/some characters it could be interpreted romantically

Characters; Albert Wesker, Chris Redfield, Jill Valentine, Rebecca Chambers, Barry Burton, Joseph Forest, Brad Vickers, Forest Speyer, Richard Aiken, Enrico Marini, Kenneth Sullivan, Edward Dewey

The first person you perhaps meet is Albert; he is the leader of the S.T.A.R.S Team. Not only do all the recruiters get approved by him, but he also overlooks all your tests. He greets you like any other, but gradually something takes a hold of him. He's in denial at first, even seeming harsh. You may initially believe he didn't like you; oblivious to the countless files and cameras hidden everywhere.

Having the rest of the team be just as enamored was not on the table. You are immediately welcomed by the team and Rebecca is the first to befriend you since you two are the youngest of the team. Like how Richard was tasked with watching over Rebecca, he’s tasked with the same responsibility over you (even if Wesker preferred to do it himself).

Chris can't help but grow quickly fond of you. He positions himself in the role of your protector; feeling the utmost responsibility for your happiness and safety. So if you have any problems - whether it's with Chief Irons or getting in trouble for say, breaking a rule; trust he'll be quick to intervene and 'save' the day.

You're all Chris ever talks about to Claire and before long, the two of you cross paths. Claire, like her brother assumes herself in the role of being your friend right away. She occasionally pays you visits and you can be sure that you will receive calls from times when she's unable to visit. Claire expects Chris to keep her informed of you at all times.

Barry, Enrico, and Kenneth all take fatherly roles; they look at you and already placed adopted papers on the table ready for you to sign. It makes it all the harder for Wesker to have any absolute control as they all put their foot down.

Barry adores you and it’s not taken lightly when it’s said he treats you as his child, probably cause he views you as actually one of his own. He invites you to a family dinner, introducing you to his family who all naturally take a liking to you. Barry insists on his house always being open if you need a place to stay or run into trouble.

Since Barry sees you as his own, there is a never-end to his dad jokes. Even when you comment on how terrible it is, he likes seeing the smile on your face. Trust you'll be invited to every birthday, barbecue, or any family Burton event.

Enrico while he adopted a fatherly role, he was a bit reluctant to get so attached to you. He’s the few in the team who's fully aware and doesn't hesitate to call out the others when he thinks they are going too far. He worries a lot about your safety, and most times it's Enrico who comes out on top of arguments on who gets to drive you home.

Kenneth as the oldest of the team, feels the most responsible for you. He is aware just like Enrico and doesn't wish for you to be scared of him or the team. He wants you to come to him whenever you need anything, even for small tasks such as finding a specific file. Like Enrico, Kenneth has no problem telling the others to back off if you need space.

More trouble comes along when Forest and Joseph come along. They develop their tendencies the quickest and tend to be the most clingy out of the team. They (along with Chris) become your partners in crime.

Joseph is someone you can always count on to make you smile even in the most serious of situations; he doesn’t care when others lecture him for it. You're not safe from his teasing. Granted you're not the target of his pranks but he likes to poke fun at you from time to time. It's why no alarms are ringing in your head when he says something questionable, assuming he’s just being Joseph.

You're not safe from Forest's playful teasings either. He can be a little annoying, poking your cheek or trying to tickle you when wanting your attention. Like Joseph, he's very affectionate, putting his arm around your shoulder and resting his head on your lap if you allow it. The others lecture him for doing it so publicly but Joseph knows it's jealousy talking more than anything.

As said, a squad of its own is formed; Chris, Joseph, Forest, and you. While they tend to be jealous, the three are okay with sharing when it comes to each other. Forest and Chris enjoy competing in shoot training and showing off who can do it better, inviting you to place bets. They're happy to show you all the gun's tricks and let you choose your weapon's signature.

Joseph, being a mechanic, can't always spend as much time with you. But he'll eagerly drag you into teaching you the ropes, whisking you away from the other two. He beams with pride when you grasp something from his impromptu lessons. Even if he's not exactly teaching you anything, he's happy to chat about anything as he works.

Jill becomes someone you’re close to, someone whom Chris and Barry trust to leave you alone with. She’s not afraid to whisk you away from the others when she wants to and won’t hesitate to call out anyone selfishly taking your time (Uhm Joseph).

Most of all, Jill loves having girl time with you. She's there for any fashion advice, gladly taking you shopping to revamp your wardrobe. If you're unsure how to do your makeup, she's eager to help, though Jill never wants to teach you so you can keep coming to her.

Jill is also willing to use any excuse to have you stay over at her place anytime even suggesting sharing an apartment to ‘save money”. And if you think Wesker’s the only one with a bunch of files, Jill has a hidden drawer filled with everything she has on you.

Brad becomes incredibly attached but is a bit shy about approaching you. He'll do little things to make your day better, like bringing your favorite coffee (watching you do it too many times) or organizing your desk just the way you like it.

Brad tries to agree with everything you do, supporting any ideas you bring forth in, team meetings and hesitates to snitch on you, always trying to talk to you first to prevent trouble (aka punishments). Similar to Kenneth, he's aware of his tendencies and doesn't want you to fear him.

Richard is the softest guy on the team as said, was tasked with watching over you and quickly grew fond of you, He has made it well known that if you ever need help you can seek him out even when you get in trouble, he’ll gladly keep it hidden from the others to avoid you being in trouble even taking the brunt of it.

If you find yourself spending time with Richard, trust that Rebecca is there, too, being the sweetest in the group as well. Initially, she might not fully grasp her tendencies, but once she does, her sole concern is your safety and happiness. She frowns upon hearing Jill and Chris discussing ways to keep you confined and is the one who tries to reassure the others not to be too 'harsh' on you.

Edward may appear intimidating, but he's actually a softie at heart. While he might not warm up to you as quickly as Forest and Joseph did, given some time, he grows fond of you and eventually places him as your trusted friend. He's aware that his demeanor can be intimidating and desires nothing more than for you to feel comfortable opening up to him, always offering a smile whenever he sees you around the RPD.

----------------------------------------------

Chief Irons has learned that you're the one person he can't even dare to go near. You might be a troublemaker, breaking every rule in the book, but Albert will put his foot down to ensure nothing comes of it. It's enough that the rest of the team has a dislike towards Irons, and he, along with everyone in the RPD, knows that crossing you means crossing the Stars team.

Wesker also keeps the extent of his monitoring and knowledge of you a closely guarded secret. He's aware that Kenneth, Enrico, Richie, Edward, and Barry all vocally dislike the idea of 'stalking' you in such ways (they all do but try to keep it as ‘morally right’). In his grand plan, he hopes to lure you away, but he must do it in a way that won't raise suspicion.

You have the most protective people watching over you. Even a simple accident like someone spilling a cup on you puts everyone on high alert.

Your favoritism doesn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the RPD, sparking rumors around the station that Edward and Barry quickly shut down whenever they hear someone bad-mouthing you.

Chris and Forest, on the other hand, can be incredibly impulsive, leading to all sorts of issues that Wesker and Enrico have to deal with. Jill and Joseph even got in trouble once for punching someone.

That means going on no dangerous missions; the one thing they all agree on. Wesker ensures that all your missions are carefully managed, eliminating any risks of you being in danger, and he pretends not to know what you mean if you ask. The other members are willing to gaslight you, suggesting that you just happen to get the easy ones, even Rebecca and Brad.

They're all eager to fight each other to train you, each claiming they're better at teaching you self-defense. Chris and Forest are the ones who usually end up teaching you since they're often the first ones to arrive. But everyone knows that if Wesker insists on training you, they can't object. And it's probably for the best, as some (Uhm Richard, and Edward) will pretend to lose or go easy on you because they don't want to "hurt" you.

The team normally doesn’t go out, but they all want to spend time with you. Usually, all of you go to diners (except for Wesker, wonder why). There's a little argument over who should order you to prove who knows you the best.

Your seat is chosen to please everyone, sometimes between Jill and Chris, other times between Richard and Rebecca. Another silent argument happens when they debate on who should pay for you; Enrico succeeds by slipping the payment to the waiter when the others aren’t looking.

Everyone always makes sure you come home safe. You expect numerous calls from everyone checking up on you. They all secretly know you're fine, as they're in cahoots with each other, but they just want to hear your voice.

There's also a chance that if Richard, Forest, or Jill are the ones bringing you home, they'll make some excuse about needing to stay overnight because they're tired or the weather is bad.

If you need someone to drive you to the station or pick you up, perhaps because you can’t drive, they're all willing to fight each other once again to do so. They've left important meetings or appointments countless times just to rush to your aid. It's almost always Wesker, Richard, Enrico (and sometimes Chris) who beat the others in picking you up.

Once again, you're always taken to events that the teammates have. Brad is getting takeout, he's on his way to pick you up since he assumes you're also hungry. Forest wants to go out for a drink, prepare for him to be at your door, and when you attend together, he’s protecting your drink with his life and will even pretend to be your boyfriend. Barry has a baseball game he wants to attend, so why not come with him and his family.

Jill needs to pick up a new outfit or something in the way, she decides to take you as well. Rebecca comes along, and sometimes the three of you have spa days in the process. Rebecca also loves going on road trips with you; there needs to be a person or two with you to ensure nothing bad happens. Rebecca once brought you to her favorite team's basketball game and the two of you shared those nachos and fries. It was Rebecca's happiest memory.

Movie nights are a must. Brad and Edward agree with anything you wish to watch, while Jill and Joseph are fighting over which ones to watch. Chris and Forest are trying to get your attention more than actually watching a movie. Meanwhile, Rebecca is actually enjoying the movie and wants to talk to you about it later on. She and Richard ensure you have your popcorn, and Richard brings your favorite bakery treats.

Expect to be always praised when you're around the team. Wesker himself praises you for a job well done whenever you find a clue or bring him the right file. Richard, Edward, and Rebecca are the most vocal. Also expect Chris and Barry to give you a pat on the back, while Forest and Joseph jokingly pat your head.

Wesker has you as his right-hand assistant, even when it’s not officially confirmed as such. You're tasked to help and stay by him whenever he needs assistance. He pretends not to see everyone side-eyeing him when he places your desk right next to his, but then again, they all ignore his stare when they come to your desk for whatever excuse they need.

The best people to comfort you are Barry, Enrico, Kenneth, and Richard. These men hate seeing you in tears. Brad will try to make you laugh while hugging you, while also finding the right words to comfort you. You can lie to Enrico, and he'll still know; he's memorized your body language, pulling you into an immediate hug before the tears even come.

Kenneth's ability to comfort shines in giving the best advice and solving any issues you have. Richard will sit next to you and listen; it could be the middle of the night, and he'll gladly answer any call or stay up to do any activities that will cheer you up.

Something everyone has huge arguments about is punishments; it gets heated at times. These discussions are, of course, not done in your presence.

Wesker is open to punishments, Chris and Jill agree with precautions, and Barry may reluctantly agree but claim he wants nothing to do with it. Brad and Rebecca voice their disagreement but can’t really intervene. Edward and Richie, like Barry, say they want nothing to do with it. Forest and Joseph don’t like it but will let the others make the decisions. Enrico and Kenneth are the most vocal against such decisions.

-------------------------------------------

Everything is going well in the team until the mansion incident.

You had to be with the Alpha team, unaware of the fate that fell upon the Bravo team, as there was no way Wesker would have let you out of his sight.

You had to witness Joseph get mauled by the zombie dogs, and if it weren’t for Wesker shooting the one coming at you and Chris pulling you along, you may have been a victim of it. Getting into the mansion has them immediately checking for injuries, only to realize you are just shaken up.

If you try to suggest coming along with Chris to check on what’s happening, Wesker immediately disapproves, even pulling rank to have you stay by him, and Jill agrees. Chris assures you he'll be just fine.

Things happen and it may lead you to be separated from Wesker and Jill. It makes all of them panic and look for you. Chris is nervous but assumes you must be with either Wesker or Jill. Jill and Wesker are trying to remain calm as they search. There is a chance you will meet Rebecca, who informs you of Edward's death, and this leads to you reuniting with Chris.

Alternatively, you may come across Barry, who refuses to leave your side, leading you to reunite with Jill. Both scenarios will have you meeting Richard, who immediately embraces you upon seeing you safe. You may also encounter Enrico, who seems hesitant to inform you of who he believes is responsible for the situation.

Forbid you get injured at any moment in the mansion, everyone will be in panic. Barry will try to reassure you, holding your wound while Jill rushes to get any herbs. Or Rebecca will try to tend to you while Chris silently panics in the background, refusing to leave your side. Richard will insist you stay in a room for your safety while he tries to find Rebecca or first aid. Enrico tries to remain calm, bringing you along with him as he rids the area of any zombies, fearing the risk of leaving you alone.

Soon enough, you will find out about Wesker's involvement, and his first act is to keep you as a hostage, even knocking you out. He’s merely bluffing but needs to keep the others away. If he encounters Enrico, he is well aware the man knows he’s a traitor and will kill him in front of you. After all, you will know the truth either way.

It all ends with Wesker believed to be 'dead,' killed by the tyrant, and the mansion about to blow up. You and everyone mourn all those who you have lost, and you are surrounded by the remaining survivors as they try to comfort you and tend to any injuries you may have gained.

You are too lost in your grief and all you have experienced that you don’t realize the eyes all watching you, as they all make a silent vow to themselves to forever keep you safe. And most of all, you don’t know that Wesker has been reborn, getting out of the mansion as he plots his revenge.

@aphroditelovesu @yanderes-galore @gwynsly @tiddlybops

#resident evil x reader #yandere resident evil #albert wesker x reader #chris redfield x reader #jill valentine x reader #rebecca chambers x reader #yandere x reader #x reader insert #platonic yandere #yandere headcanons #reader insert #video game x reader #resident evil #stars team

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ovaryacted · 7 months

Text

CANDY HEARTS

PAIRING: RE2!Leon x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS: It was Valentine's Day at the precinct and everyone was giving out candy grams for their secret admirers. Who knew that one piece of candy would have so much of an impact?

CONTENT/WARNINGS: FLUFF. Mutual pining. Alcohol consumption. One kiss. Flirting and confessions at the end. Canon-adjacent. Modernized era (they have cell phones). The og gang is together and are all above the age of 21. Leon being silly and not knowing about social cues. Chris plays matchmaker & Claire is a jokester. Jill likes margaritas and Rebecca is the mom of the group. They are all friends and live happily ever after cause I said so.

WC: 3.7k

NOTES: I am back from the dead, and I come bearing gifts. This was just something I wanted to write for Valentine's Day, and I don't even know how the idea came along the entire way. Here’s some nice fluffy stuff with a bit of added corniness, something new from me. Hope you all enjoy and like it! Comments, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

✰ ── 《 Navigation ⟡ Main Masterlist ⟡ AO3 》

February, supposedly the month when red and pink mesh together to signify the one thing that couldn’t be explained. Love. Romance. Companionship.

It was a silly thing really, something that Leon didn’t understand, mostly because to him, it couldn’t be real. That didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, that he always wondered what it would be like to be so attached to another person it felt like being two parts of one whole.

It was another full week of the month, the days passing by as quickly as they started. Another day, another patrol, that was what he knew as part of his routine. Heading toward his locker to grab his gear, he was surprised to see a small heart-shaped lollipop wrapped in a red bow. He raised a brow at the strange object, curious fingers reaching out to inspect it closer.

“What do you have there?”

His head turned to the side at the sound of your voice, more so feeling your breath on his neck as you peered over his shoulder. Holding up the red lollipop for you to study, you took it from his grasp, the very tips of your fingers barely touching his before you held the wrapped candy.

“Leon, do you even know what this is?”, your eyes held that same mischievous gleam it always did when you were with him, and simply gave you a shrug. “It’s a candy gram silly”

“What? Someone just put a lollipop in my locker?”, Leon didn’t get why someone would even bother putting something like this for him to find.

“It’s for Valentine’s Day, something that the precinct wanted to do to celebrate. If you get one of these, it means someone is your secret admirer”, the way you described the entire ploy was almost comical to him, and he only chuckled.

“So it’s like a crush type of thing?”

“Sort of. Did you even read the note?”, and from the way he looked like a deer in headlights you knew he didn’t. You motioned over to the small red note that was hidden underneath the piece of candy. Carefully, he went to unfold it and read over the words that were written in cursive black ink.

I can’t turn water into wine, but I’m hoping to turn you into mine.

You watched as Leon quickly became flustered at the funny pick-up line, rolling his eyes and trying to hide the subtle blush he got from reading the words over and over again.

“I don’t like this game”, Leon grumbled under his breath, trying to shake off his embarrassment and scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Oh cmon, it’s supposed to be funny. But listen, if you don’t want your lollipop I’ll gladly take it”, you smirked as his eyes met yours, pink lips curling up to match your grin.

“What? You didn’t get any candy grams of your own so you have to steal mine?”, he unwrapped the lollipop, popping it into his mouth and humming as he approved the taste. Cherry, his favorite.

“For your information, I got three. I just munched on all of the candies already I wanted another”, you placed your hands on your hips, the uniform only accentuating the curvature of your figure that Leon tried his hardest not to notice.

“Really? You got notes too or were you too busy eating your lollipops you forgot to notice”, he was teasing you now, going into his locker to put on his tactical belt and wrapping it around his hips. It fit snugly on his body, the leather belt he wore underneath to hold up his cargo pants seemed to add to his slim figure. Not that you were paying attention either.

“I did, but didn’t pay too much attention. I got a nice one though, said something like My candy heart is all yours. Real cute stuff”, you leaned against the wall as you waited for Leon before going on patrol. He was one of the only good things working at the R.P.D. had to offer, and coincidentally it just helped that he was also your friend. Having known each other for a while now, being like this came naturally, remembering how easy it was to be with him when you two first clicked.

“Sounds corny”, he said with a shake of his head, closing the metallic door and gesturing the both of you to start walking out of the room and into the main hall.

“Yeah, you’d know everything about being corny wouldn’t you?”, you taunted him back as you walked through the halls of the precinct, keeping track of all the patrols you had on the board today.

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Are you coming on this patrol with me or what?”, he already knew the answer, didn’t have to so much as second guess to know that you’d be riding along with him.

“Of course I am. Who else will bother you with their favorite pop songs?”, you walked ahead of him, and his gaze went down your back to look at the handcuffs that jingled every time you took a step.

He definitely wasn’t looking at anything else.

It was a long day of work patrolling the city before Leon finally had some time to himself to relax. Thankfully, he didn’t have to work the overnight shift and could lounge at home to watch some shitty reality TV or whatever tickled his fancy. Of course, that was before he got a text message from you, ever the pest constantly wondering what he was up to. Not that he complained.

There’s a whole theme night going on at the local bar. Free shots at 10:30 pm. Bring your ass over here, and wear red!

Drinks? With you? That wasn’t anything out of the ordinary considering how familiar it felt to be around you, but he still couldn’t think of anything else he wanted to do for the night. So, he pretended like he didn’t want to be dragged out of his small apartment as he trudged his feet toward the shower to get dressed. He shouldn’t have cared so much about being presentable, usually, he never did. But for you, he was willing to try new things.

For the first time in probably ever, he’s forgone his usual color palette and took out a red button-down, rolling the sleeves up towards his forearms. Leon was always more fond of shades that reminded him of the sky, blues, greens, and white. Red was out of his comfort zone, but going out on Valentine’s Day night was enough to make that ball of anxiety tighten in his gut. Topping it all off with a bomber jacket, he left the keys to his jeep behind and took a cab instead, playing it safe if he ended up drinking something that would surely knock him off his feet.

He seemed to be counting down the minutes to the moment he walked into the bar. Scanning the area, he looked for any sight of you amongst the crowd, walking past several pairs of people lip-locking and downing shots in groups. The energy was electric, the music was lively, and as he continued to trek further into the bar that’s when he spotted you.

There you were, sporting a red deep-cut blouse and leather pants that were tight along your thighs. He caught the glossy red lipstick you put on for the occasion that only brightened your teeth as you laughed with those around you. And when you turned your head to find him standing there, he gulped down the pang he felt in his chest.

Yeah. He’s screwed.

“Finally, I’ve been waiting for you for so damn long. Good to know you listened to me for once”, you walked up to him, grabbed a hold of his wrist, and pulled him toward a corner of the bar where your other friends were sitting. Unless you cared to look for it, his pulse spiked when your fingers wrapped around his wrist. Maybe you felt it, maybe you didn’t, but that brief touch was cut short when Leon was brought to the table.

Most of the newfound gang was there, Chris and his sister Claire were there sharing a beer, while Rebecca was forcing Jill to be a bit more social. It was supposedly a normal night even though you were out of your uniform, forcing Leon to find a point on the wall to avoid peeking over in your direction. Chris kept him occupied, offering him a drink that he sipped to ease the nerves he felt, all while Claire teased him about wearing red instead of his usual navy. This wasn’t so bad, I’ll make it through the night, he thought to himself.

It only took a few drinks for everything to spiral out of control. The blame is to be put on tequila. It was always tequila, but thank god it was the weekend.

Just like you warned him, 10:30 pm rolled around and the bar burst into cheers as servers carried shot glasses filled with red liquid. Everyone at the table had one, and Leon watched as you downed the shot with ease, a wild grin on your face as you did. With your encouragement, and Claire’s taunting, he drank the shot and winced at the stinging of the liquid going down his throat. He hated taking shots, that you knew, but he’d do it so long as it made you happy.

This is why you leave the clear liquor to me and you stick to your beer. He remembered hearing you say that to him one night when you made him drink vodka, the raging hangover he got in the morning only further proved your point.

He’s lost count of the number of shots you consumed, splitting them between Jill and Claire, and an extra you forced Chris to take despite him sticking to his beer. Rebecca remained as the group chaperone, making sure nobody did anything too embarrassing tonight. Hearing a particular song that brightened your mood, you brought Claire towards the middle aisle where others seemed to follow you to dance in the small space.

Propping his elbow up against the wooden table, Leon leaned back to simply watch you move to the music. His whole body felt warm at the sight, seeing how you swayed your hips to the beat of the song and Claire did the same. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, his eyes ran up the stitching of your leather pants, over the deep v-line cut of your blouse, and again towards your face. Sure, you were attractive, he wasn’t blind. But what he was the most fond of was your smile, all cheery and wide to the point where the corners of your eyes crinkled.

He could see that look all the time and never get sick of it. The only thing he’d change was that he was the reason why you beamed like that.

“You’re doing it again”, Chris said out loud with a smirk, knocking Leon out of his little fantasy before meeting eye to eye again.

“I’m not doing anything”, he challenged in denial, Chris only chortled and shook his head.

“Unless you’re watching Claire dance, you know exactly what you’re doing”, the brunette matched his sister in humor, Leon exasperating in disbelief and took another sip of his beer. “You like her. You should do something about it”

“Chris…”

“C’mon, man. How much longer are you going to stand on the sidelines and just watch? Even I’m getting tired of the tension, it’s killing me”, ever the dramatic man, he wrapped a thick arm around Leon’s shoulder, bringing him in closer as if he were telling him a secret.

“You had a chance with the candy grams you realize that right? Sure, free candy but why not make it special?”

“Who says I didn’t do just that?”, the blonde said before it could be filtered out properly, sighing and downing the rest of his bottle.

“You’re joking. Seriously? She got like three of those things”, Chris’s brown eyes widened the slightest bit, not wanting to believe the truth.

“Does it look like I’m laughing right now?”, Leon chuckled incredulously at the realization that these feelings he’d been harboring for so long were starting to pour out of him the more he drank. “I don’t know how to talk to her. Besides, it doesn’t matter anyway, she’s not into me”

“Leon, you must be an idiot or something because she is into you. Who do you think gave you the candy gram?”, Chris muttered, probably not meaning to say it the way he did but it sounded like a confession.

Leon didn’t have time to ask for more details when you came back to the table on his side, an energetic Claire going towards Jill who was down three margaritas and growing sleepy. He could practically smell the perfume off of you, jasmine and soft vanilla, things that he found comfort in and sought after through his day-to-day.

“I think that’s enough dancing for me, I got dizzy”, you said, finishing the last bit of your watered-down drink and slamming the glass down on the table. From the way you were standing, your body almost leaned against Leon’s, ever inching closer toward him.

“Do you want to leave?”, Leon asked you, ever the concerned friend and partner despite the fact the alcohol was starting to get to him too.

“Nah, I’ll stay a little bit. Do you want to go?”, the way your eyes were hazy when you spoke to him brought that same twitch in his chest he usually ignored when he was around you.

“If you’re good, then I’m good. I’m not leaving without you”, he didn’t mean to say it in a different context outside of friendly, or maybe he did, but when he avoided a visceral reaction from you he figured he was in the clear.

“You got it boss”, you joked with him, but your hand lightly skimmed against his by accident, a shock running through you from the light touch. You didn’t meet his eye, instead, you felt the way his pinkie came closer to your own, discreetly curling around the digit.

It was a shy touch as if to gently test the boundaries of what was other than a cordial relationship. Leon started to grow anxious, thinking maybe he messed up, his mind beginning to spiral until you squeezed his finger back in silence. He tried not to make it obvious, but he looked over at you to see you smiling, and for that second he thought his small dream had come true.

“Another drink and then we’ll call it quits”, Chris’ voice popped the bubble that you were both in, but your hands didn’t move from where they were.

Yeah, one more drink couldn’t hurt, so long as you two remained like this for the rest of the night.

Leon regrets having that one last drink. The world around him was spinning, and his feet were lugging across the floor as if he was going to sink into the Earth any minute now. He nearly forgot that he wasn’t going home alone, that you were beside him, doing your best to support his body as you brought him over to your place like you had done a few times before.

Unlocking the door to your apartment and walking inside, Leon was hit with the same scent of jasmine and soft vanilla that he recognized as your own, faint layers of cinnamon engulfing him when you brought him over to your couch in a slump.

“I’m never letting you drink that much again”, your voice sounded almost distant, but it was comforting nonetheless. You walked away from him, your footsteps growing faint until you came back with a glass of water he graciously chugged.

“Wasn’t so bad, I can handle my liquor”, he slouched further into your couch, his head beginning to whirl from everything he drank.

“Leon, I had to carry you inside. You’re drunk”, you glanced at him with that same mischievousness you always had reserved just for him. Even if you had a better alcohol tolerance than he did, your pupils being dilated told him that you were in the same predicament

“Not complaining”, he was damn near mumbling now, his head pivoting to look at you fully. You were right there next to him, all dolled up in a way he hadn’t seen before. In the back of his mind, he imagined you did it just for him.

So pretty.

“You think so?”, your voice brought him out of his current haze, watching as he blinked once or twice before realizing he said his inner thoughts out loud.

“I-I…huh?”, Leon was stuttering now, looking towards the floor and growing embarrassed at the slip-up. You couldn’t help but giggle under your breath, and he prayed to God it wasn’t at him.

“Leon…I don’t know if you can tell but I’ve been trying to send you signals that I like you for months now. You’re a tough nut to crack”, you were speaking, but your words stopped filtering through his brain the moment you said the words ‘I like you’.

You like me?

“Yes, you cornball, I do”, you answered him anyway, catching him off guard at the response. At this rate, he’ll spill his deepest darkest secrets because he can’t tell the difference between what he’s thinking and what he’s saying. “The candy gram, that was me. Thought it might register in your head but it didn’t”

Leon looked like he had uncovered the biggest truth known to man. It was astonishing to witness, how he couldn’t process the thought that you were actually interested in him. You could see the gears starting to turn in his head, and once the revelation settled in his mind his lips were formed in a gentle smile.

“That was a really bad pick-up line”, Leon said, making you laugh even harder. Your hand made contact with his chest, patting against his body with every sound that slipped past you.

“And yours was any better?”, your hand didn’t move from where it sat on his chest, mindlessly caressing the material of his red button-down.

“Yeah, I think ‘my candy heart is all yours’ is one of my best works”, he was almost cocky when he talked, but his facial expression was anything short of dorky. You both looked like a bunch of love-drunk idiots waiting for one to say what the other wanted to hear.

“Hmm, that sounded like you. Is this you admitting that you gave me that candy gram?”, you were leaning on him, shifting so your body was closer against his. The tequila still running through your system heightened your senses, the natural scent of Leon’s cologne was enough to make your heart flutter.

“Something like that”, he grinned bashfully, blue eyes looking at you intensely. He took in every detail of your features he could get, moving some of your hair out of your face and curling it behind your ear. His hand didn’t move too far, resting his palm against your cheek and running his thumb against the warmth of your skin.

“Would it be bad to kiss you?”, he whispered his words to you, as if his feelings would only be safe in the four walls of this room.

“No, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me”, you moved so your chest was pressed against his, hands moving up towards his neck and caressing the hair at his nape.

Leon didn’t have to wait too long to feel your lips meshing with his, sighing in what he could only describe as pure satisfaction. A shiver rushed down his spine and broke off into the rest of his body, blood pulsing through his veins at rapid speed the more his heart pumped in his chest. He pressed your body against him, wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping his other hand on your cheek.

Leon felt drunk, both literally and figuratively off of you and everything that you were. Things made sense for the first time, having you like this here with him. It was all he wanted, all he needed, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough. Against his wishes, he pulled away for air, staying close by to rest his forehead against yours.

“About damn time Kennedy”, you teased him again, but your expression was tender. You noticed how your red lipstick stained his lips, no doubt leaving barely any left on your mouth. “Red looks good on you”, you put a thumb against his lips, rubbing at the plush skin you just felt for the first time.

“Does this mean I get to ask you to be my Valentine?”, he looked so cute when he asked you, rolling your eyes at his question, but you found it endearing.

“You’re two hours too late, but I’ll happily be your Valentine anyway”, you gave him one more smooch on the lips, and the happiness on his face was damn near palpable. “But you owe me a better one next time, you hear me?”

Next time.

“Loud and clear. I’ll have a better pick-up line to use on you”

“If you start getting corny, I will leave you on the couch”, the playful threat didn’t worry Leon in the slightest, his smile getting wider with every passing second he spent with you.

“Awe come on, I meant what I said. My candy heart is all yours”, his nose nuzzled into your neck, kissing your soft ticklish skin and breathing you in, marking your scent into his memory.

This time around, he thinks he’ll thank the tequila instead. Perhaps Cupid is real, a little overdue, but he still got the job done in the end.

©️ ovaryacted 2024. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

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destinationtrekk · 1 month

Text

i notice (when you're not around)

He promised to always answer when you needed him, no matter what. Or, 5 times he answers your call, and one time you answer his.

2.3k, 5+1 things, mentioned/referenced sex, cursing, domestic fluff, jealousy, canon compliant, S.T.A.R.S reader, I just think Wesker would be the best husband

a/n: all my fics are cross posted to my ao3

-> masterlist

-> i notice (when you're not around) on ao3

One

“Wesker speaking.”

He’s standing in the hallway, only half paying attention to his phone as he keeps an eye on the agents in the conference room. Chris and Barry sounded to be on the verge of snapping at each other, but he had promised to answer when you called.

“Captain! I’m so sorry, I didn’t think you’d actually answer.”

He hums absently, narrowing his eyes into the room, before his attention snaps to you. “Are you crying?”

You sniffle a few times and clear your throat. “I- no! No, I’m fine! It’s okay, listen I shouldn’t have called, you sound busy-”

“I am, we’re debriefing with the Beta team. What do you need?” He doesn’t mean to sound harsh, you’re obviously upset, but he really can see Chris’ eyes about to bulge out of his head with every word Barry spits at him.

“I- well, it’s really embarrassing, actually, but someone rear-ended me and they drove off, but I can’t get dispatch to answer because I think there’s something going on downtown-”

He barks out your name, “Get to the point.”

You suck in an audible breath and sniffle again. “My car is totaled, and I think I have a concussion.”

Chris is now standing over the table, sneering at Barry while Jill and Rebecca hold both of them back. Wesker sighs heavily, and hangs his head. “Where are you? I’m leaving now.”

Two

You’re sitting stiffly on his couch - the couch , you keep forgetting this is technically your home now too. He’s only been gone a week, but the dark woods and long driveway outside the house drive an eerie feeling straight through your stomach. Your phone is pressed tightly to your ear, the dial tone like a death bell over the speaker.

“Wesker speaking.”

You suck in a breath, suddenly at a loss for words. What had you even called for?

He makes a sound like he’s checking the phone and grumbles. “I'm busy. What is it?”

You snap out of whatever nervous trance you were in. “Sorry, it’s nothing, I just thought I heard something and I thought- it’s fine!” Your voice squeaks as you try to excuse why you really wanted to call. Somehow over the last year he's become a comfort to you, somewhere between being your suave mysterious Captain to stealing you away after the Arklay incident. He hadn’t left you alone longer than a day or two since then. Now, sitting alone in the middle of the night in his- your - dark, empty house, you just really needed to hear his voice.

“Are you afraid of the dark?” He sounds smug, and you hear the crunch of snow and distant yelling. “Poor pet. You miss me, don’t you?”

You scowl and blush. “Wha- no! When are you coming home?”

He chuckles darkly and hums. He doesn’t speak for a moment, and you bite your lip as you sway in place, trying to channel your nerves. How do you ask for the terrorist who practically kidnapped you for reassurance? His voice has an unfamiliar note to it when he replies. “Shouldn’t be much longer. You know I can’t tell you more.”

“Oh, yeah, right.” You swallow around the lump in your throat, voice sounding small. “I just… can’t sleep. I got used to you talking in your office, and now it’s… really quiet outside.”

He’s quiet again, and you laugh awkwardly to fill the same silence that’s making you paranoid. “Sorry, that’s probably weird-”

“Go lay down, pet. In my bed.”

You freeze at his words, choking on a breath as he sighs. You had been in his room a total of once, only after you drunkenly kissed him and he put you to bed. You hadn’t talked about that night, but he had been…not affectionate, but certainly less distant since it happened.

“I’m serious. I can talk for a few more minutes, but that’s it.”

You quickly make your way to his room, crawling under his soft sheets and laying there stiffly. He must hear the rustle of the sheets and your tense breaths because he scoffs. “It’s just a bed, relax. Nothing is getting in there without me finding out.”

You whisper a weak “Okay,” and listen as he begins to tell you about something simple he’s been doing in Antarctica, and you realize he’s definitely making up details to cover what’s really going on. You don’t mind though, and quickly begin to drift off to the gruff rumble of his voice. You’re nearly asleep when he says he has to go, but you swear you can hear one last thing before he hangs up, and the three quiet words sound suspiciously like what you had whispered to him, right before kissing him.

You might be wrong though, but the sheets smell like him, and you finally sleep through the night.

Three

“Hello, dearheart.”

“Are you alone? Take me off speaker.” Your voice was dark, and you heard Albert’s sigh. You imagined him rolling his eyes the way he did when you made a joke he didn’t like. “I’m serious, Albert. This is important.”

That caught his attention. You heard him speak low away from the phone, and then the click of a door shutting. “What’s wrong? Are you oka-”

“You need to get rid of her. Right now.” You cut him off, gripping your phone so tight your fingers were starting to ache. “I mean it, if I so much as hear her voice -”

“What the hell are you on about?” He sounded nearly as pissed as you now, and you felt a spark of vindication in your chest. “I don’t have time to listen to you throw a tantrum because I can’t babysit you. I have work to do.”

“Watch your mouth, Albert, I’m not the one letting an Italian nepo baby run her filthy hands all over me. I don’t give a shit what work you have to do, you should consider yourself lucky I haven’t gotten rid of her myself.”

He was silent for a moment, and then his laugh rumbled through your speaker. “Fiesty today, are we, pet?” He paused, and sighed. Despite your anger, your lip twitched in amusement at the thought of him sliding his glasses up and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I am… sorry, that she did that. But you know what’s at stake here, and that she is a key part of Tri-Cell-”

You scoffed. “Yeah, Tri-Cell’s expansion, whatever. I don’t care. She can be a key part over a fucking Skype call for all I care, just keep. Her hands. Off of you.” You growled into the phone, white-knuckling the desk you were standing over. His desk, actually, where you had sneakily logged into his database and were watching his hacked security systems. You smirked to yourself at his bristling silence. He may be the evil mastermind, but he didn’t keep you around for nothing.

“I’ll do what I can.”

It was as good a promise as you would ever get from him, and you hummed flatly, your anger starting to dissipate. “Fine… please come home in one piece.”

He huffed again, but sounded softer. “I will, sweet thing.”

You let a smile slip out at his words. “I love you, Al.”

“Stop going into my office when I’m gone.”

The call clicked, and you set your phone on his desk. You looked back up to the monitors, seeing him enter the room with Excella and Jill again, but this time he pointedly waved her off as she approached. Your mouth twitched in a smirk. Albert may not be a sweet man, but he certainly knew when to listen.

Four

“I expected more of a challenge after all this time, Chris. How disappointing…”

Before Wesker could sneer at Chris’ cheesy retort, his phone rang in his pocket. He immediately pulled it out, recognizing your ringtone like he would his own voice. “Yes?”

“Hi, baby. You’re not busy, are you? The neighbors just did the absolute worst thing and I really wanted to-” Your voice was like honey to his ears, before you dropped the sweet tone and cut yourself off. “Is that Chris?”

He dropped the phone to his side, smirking as Jill took the BSAA agents out with ease. He could hear your voice still jabbering from the speaker, no doubt confused and nosey about where he was. He ignored you a moment longer, sneering at Chris pinned to the floor beneath Jill as he taunted him. “...I’ll leave you two to catch up.”

He quickly reactivated the P30 device on Jill, before he turned and entered the elevator, pointedly ignoring Chris’ obnoxious yelling. He finally raised his phone back to his ear, where, no surprise, you were still yapping.

“-Anyway, that wasn’t really the point, but Greg said he thinks it’s my brake system, but I’m not having a problem with-”

“It’s not your brakes, I just had those changed in December.” Wesker scowled, annoyed by stupid neighbor Greg’s complete incompetence. You stopped talking, and laughed breathily. “Oh, good you’re listening again. Was that Chris? You didn’t tell me this was an arch nemesis mission, you should’ve told him I said hi!”

“He is not the point of this ‘mission’, my love. Merely an obstacle I have to kick aside, as usual.”

You hummed knowingly, odd shuffling and tapping sounds coming though your end of the call. Wesker’s mouth twitched in a smile, you were probably making lunch right about now.

“Did you fight him? I wish I could’ve seen, I bet you were doing that sexy hand thing agai-”

“What are you yapping about now?” He growled, face quickly heating up. Only you had ever managed to make him blush like a teenager with your frankly vulgar mouth.

“What? You know what I’m talking about, the thing where you start bending your fingers like you don’t know how to make a fist- it’s actually kind of cute, but you do something similar every time you’re fingerin-”

He let out a choked breath, and hung up the call right as he heard your bright laugh. He struggled to will away his red cheeks before the elevator doors opened. God forbid Excella see him like this, he would never hear the end of it from either of you.

Five

“Hngh- what is it?”

You’re glaring at the soup aisle shelves when he answers, his voice gruff and raspy from sleep. Your mouth drops open and your eyes widen. Shit, you hadn’t even thought he might finally be asleep. “I’m sorry baby, were you napping? I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

He groans and the rustling of sheets crackle through the phone like static. “S’fine. What do you want?”

You can’t blame him for sounding grumpy. You would too, after all, if you had been dragged half-burned-alive covered in black goo from a volcano less than a month ago. “I’m at the grocery store, what soup do you want? I know you usually like the stew but Uro made you sick when you had it the other day so I’m thinking maybe just broth?”

He grumbles, and you think he might actually be mad now. “I told you to quit calling it that, it isn’t a pet, it’s a damn virus.”

You hum noncommittally. “Well, we’re kind of stuck with it forever, and it really does have a mind of its own. Do you want to try ramen instead? You said you liked the chicken when you had it that one time, but we don’t have to use the powder.”

He’s silent on the other end, and you frown, calling his name worriedly. He groans and rustles the sheets again. He heaves a great sigh, and mumbles a quick “I want chicken noodle.”

You smile widely, setting a few cans in the cart, and then grabbing a couple more just in case . He used to eat enough for a football team, and his appetite has slowly been coming back since he’s been home. “Gotcha. I should be home in about an hour, traffic was kind of bad on the way-”

He’s snoring through the speaker, a deep rumble of air that he would absolutely blush and stammer and scowl about if you mentioned it. You just shake your head fondly and end the call.

Maybe his stomach would be up for trying something sweet tonight, you’d better get a box of hot chocolate as well.

Plus One

You’re surprised when your phone rings as you crawl into the hotel bed, the sheets stiff but soft, and also freezing . You’re tempted not to answer it, but you can’t stop yourself.

“You know we aren’t supposed to see each other before the wedding, Al.”

He doesn’t talk, but you can hear the wet slide of his hand as he strokes himself. He’s panting, soft puffs of air. “We aren’t seeing each other- ah, we’re on the phone.”

You smirk, and begin to pass your hand down your chest, feeling the blush heating up your skin. “Wes’... you’re gonna give us bad luck.”

He groans weakly, the slick sounds picking up. “C’mon, baby, just a few minutes- I won’t even touch you, I just-” he gasps, and you adore the way he sounds utterly broken fucking his own hand. You hum, pretending to consider it for a moment.

“No, I don’t think so. I don’t think you should finish at all, actually.” You can’t help the teasing lilt of your voice, or the way your stomach drops when he moans again.

“Sweetheart, if you don’t get over here, now-”

“Goodnight, Albert.” You murmur breathlessly, making sure he hears the wet drag of your fingers between your legs, and at his choked groan you hang up the call. Just a few more hours , you think as you bring yourself over the edge at the memory of his wide, calloused palms. He’ll be mine.

#albert wesker x reader #albert wesker x you #albert wesker #resident evil #resident evil x reader #albert wesker fluff #trekk writes #re5 wesker #stars wesker #re1 wesker

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