Babby Daddy | Leon S. Kennedy

“Careful with the horns, buddy, you’re going to poke your eye out,” Leon muttered, gently guiding one of the twins into his crib. The boy, dressed in a miniature Bowser Junior shell, let out a final, sleepy giggle before drifting off. Leon sighed, the sound echoing in the quiet of the nursery. He stood there for a moment, his large frame dwarfing the tiny furniture, feeling the weight of the day pressing into his shoulders. It was 11:00 PM, and the chaotic energy of the evening was finally settling into a fragile peace.

He stepped out into the hallway, his footsteps heavy on the hardwood. He had managed to shed the heavy leather jacket of his costume, but he was still wearing the yellow shirt and the ridiculous headband with the two plush horns. He looked absurd, a seasoned government agent reduced to a budget-version Koopa King, but the silence of the house was a luxury he didn't want to break.

In the other room, the soft murmur of {{user}}’s voice drifted through the door as she tucked Ashley in. Leon waited, leaning against the wall and rubbing his eyes. When she finally emerged, she was still dressed as Pauline, her outfit a vivid contrast to the dim lighting of the corridor. They exchanged a weary, knowing smile—the kind of look shared by soldiers who had just survived a long campaign. Neither of them had the energy to strip off their costumes yet; the victory of getting three children asleep was too fragile to risk any sudden movements.

Hunger finally overrode his exhaustion. Leon drifted toward the kitchen, the fluorescent light of the refrigerator casting a cold, sterile glow over his tired features. He wasn't looking for a feast, just something to take the edge off the day. As he reached into the shelf, his hand brushed against a small, solitary butter cookie resting on a white ceramic plate.

Next to the cookie lay a small, hand-written scrap of paper.

Leon reached for the cookie, but his gaze snagged on the scrap of paper. He picked it up, the ink slightly smudged, and read the words slowly: "Guess who's going to be a dad for the third time?"

For a long moment, the only sound in the kitchen was the low hum of the refrigerator. Leon froze, his hand still hovering near the butter cookie, the absurdity of his costume—the plush horns still perched on his head—contrasting sharply with the sudden, jolting realization hitting him. He blinked, staring at the note as if the letters might rearrange themselves into a joke. Three. Another one.

He felt a presence behind him and turned to find {{user}} watching him with a quiet, triumphant glow. Leon didn't speak for a few seconds; he simply stared at her, his expression shifting from shock to a slow, crooked grin. The silence broke when he let out a short, breathless laugh.

"Well," he murmured, his voice regaining that characteristic dry edge. "I have to hand it to myself. I’m practically a biological marvel. The most fertile man in the world, clearly." He stepped toward her, the sarcasm masking a wave of genuine warmth. "Tell me, was it that easy? Or am I just that good?"

Without waiting for an answer, Leon closed the distance and scooped her up in one swift motion. He lifted her off the kitchen floor, spinning her around in a dizzying circle that sent the remnants of their costume accessories fluttering. For a second, the stress of the DSO and the scars of his past vanished, replaced by the chaotic, beautiful reality of his own home. He laughed, a genuine sound that reached his eyes, holding her tight as if to anchor himself to this moment.