I Write Stuff :)

The first sound is small. Too small to mean anything on its own. A soft scrape somewhere in the house that makes you pause mid-scrub, dish still in your hand, suddenly very aware of how quiet everything else is.

Then it happens again. Closer this time.

Your stomach drops before your mind catches up. You don’t think. You just move. You pull your phone out of your back pocket as you back up to the kitchen counter, sinking into a squat against it.

While you're whispering to yourself that it’s probably nothing, the house settling, a branch, anything normal, your fingers are already dialing.

You don't know why you're calling your neighbor. Even though he's a big, buff, federal agent, you two aren't that close. But your body recognizes where safety is in a moment of crisis.

Leon answers on the second ring.

“Yeah.”

It’s all he says at first.

And somehow that steadiness is what breaks you out of your paralysis.

“I think someone’s in my house,” you say, voice too tight, too fast. “I heard something. I don’t–I don’t know.”

His tone instantly shifts.

“Lock yourself in a room. Now.”

You’re already moving.

“Bedroom,” he adds. “Door locked. Stay on the line.”

You do as you’re told without question, because there’s something about the way he speaks that doesn’t leave space for hesitation. The line stays open while you sit on the edge of your bed, listening to your own breathing and the faint, distant sound of your house feeling wrong.

“Leon,” you whisper after a moment. “I’m sorry, I just, I didn’t know who else to call.”

“You did the right thing,” he says immediately.

Nothing extra, just certainty.

Minutes later, you hear another sound outside. Not inside your house this time. A car door shutting too firmly. Footsteps on gravel.

Your phone crackles slightly as he says, “I’m here.”

You hear the front door open.

“Hey,” his voice calls out, lower now, closer in real space than the phone. “It’s me.”

His boots make their way to your bedroom. A soft knock follows.

“You in there?”

“Yeah,” you shout back, fiddling with the lock.

When the door opens, Leon steps in like he belongs there. His eyes are scanning, posture already assessing every corner of the room before they land on you.

Nothing about him is rushed. That’s the first thing your body registers. Like the world can be falling apart, but he’s already decided how to stand between you and it.

“It’s okay,” he says again, quieter this time.

You shake your head.

“I thought…I thought someone was–”

“I know.”

He doesn’t let you finish the spiral. Just closes the distance carefully, stopping close enough that you can feel his presence without him crowding you.

“I checked the house,” he adds. “Front, back, windows. Nothing’s broken. Nobody’s inside.”

Your breath catches like your body doesn’t quite believe it yet.

Leon watches you for a second longer, then says, “You’re safe.”

You force out a short breath, a sheepish smile crawling onto your face. You scratch your cheek with trembling fingers.

A nervous habit.

“Well that's embarrassing,” you say softly.

“Hey.”

You look up.

“If you hear something again,” he says, “you call me sooner.”

You can feel it once the adrenaline fades. Embarrassment rushes in to take its place.

Your hands twist together in your lap. “God, I’m sorry. I probably freaked out over nothing.”

Leon doesn’t accept the premise. He just leans against the doorframe, still half in assessment mode, like he’s making sure your fear doesn’t come back the second he leaves.

“It wasn’t nothing to you,” he says.

You huff out a small, awkward laugh. “Still. I made you come over here for basically… paranoia.”

“You didn’t make me do anything.”

There’s no annoyance in it.

You're still embarrassed.

You glance at him, then away again, heat creeping up your neck.

“I feel like I should make it up to you.”

That gets a faint shift in his expression. Subtle curiosity.

“You don’t have to.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But I want to.”

He studies you for a second like he’s deciding whether to argue further. Then he doesn’t.

“Okay,” he says simply. “How.”

You blink, thrown.

“Uh.”

The seriousness of him makes your brain scramble for something equally serious. Something appropriate. Something adult and neighborly.

And then, because your brain betrays you in moments like this, you say, “Do you like pie?”

That earns the slightest pause.

Leon’s mouth twitches, almost imperceptibly.

“Pie.”

“Yes.”

“Yes,” he says finally, like he’s confirming a detail in a report.

Relief loosens your shoulders immediately.

“Good. Okay. I can do pie. I can definitely do pie. It’s like the least weird thank-you food.”

“I wouldn’t call it weird.”

“That sounded like you almost did.”

“I was considering it.”

You laugh, properly this time. It surprises you how easy it is around him, even after something like tonight.

Leon pushes off the doorframe a little.

“You don’t have to pay me in pie for checking your house.”

“I’m not paying you,” you insist. “I’m… expressing gratitude. With baked goods. Very normal human behavior.”

He nods once. “Understood.”

That makes you smile again, softer now. Less frantic.

“Okay,” you say. “Then it’s settled. Pie.”

Leon hesitates like he’s about to refuse out of principle, then doesn’t.

“Alright,” he says. Then, quieter, almost like an afterthought: “What kind.”

You blink. Almost smile.

“Apple,” you say. “Is that okay?”

Leon considers it with the same seriousness he gave your broken locks and your fear.

“Yeah.” He nods his head. “I like apple.”

Something about the way he says it, simple and unguarded, makes the whole moment feel different.

Not just a rescue or neighborly obligation. More like the beginning of something. Something unspoken but shared.

You nod, smiling a little to yourself.

“Okay. Then I’ll make you apple pie.”

Leon straightens slightly, like the conversation has officially concluded in his head, but he doesn’t leave immediately. Instead, he glances at you once more.

“You’re okay now?” he asks.

You think about it. Then nod.

“Yeah,” you say. “I think I am.”

He holds your gaze for a second longer than necessary.

“Good,” he says.

And this time, when he finally turns to go back outside into the night, it doesn’t feel like he’s just your neighbor anymore.

He never told you he had it printed. He was conflicted at first, bringing you into this space that caused him so much turmoil, that kept you apart more often than not. But the wall had been empty, and he pictured you there whenever he looked up anyway.

Finally, it's a rookie with the courage to ask.

“So, Kennedy, I’ve been curious every time I come in here.”

She points and he follows, a rare smile appearing on his lips as it does anytime you’re the subject of conversation.

“My wife,” he murmurs, matter-of-fact.

The rookie pauses.

“S-sorry?”

Then she catches herself, hands rising in front of her. “I mean—I didn’t know you were married.”

Leon simply hums his acknowledgment, eyes still fixed on the portrait, unbearably, uncharacteristically soft.

“Wouldn’t be here without her.”

Word travels fast, especially at the blip of personal information from the agent normally as open to sharing his private life as a brick wall. Naturally, everyone begins asking. And Leon is suddenly an open book—he can’t help himself.

“She’s crazy. Speaks 4 languages, works in the private sector. Volunteers with kids on weekends. Schedule’s almost as nuts as mine.”

An affectionate laugh at that one—had anyone heard him laugh before?

“She’s got this cackle she does when I catch her off guard. Cracks me up.”

“She works a room like nobody’s business. Intimidating as all hell.”

“You should see her with her plants. She doesn’t let me touch ‘em. There’s this one, a ‘fiddle' something? Supposed to be impossible to care for, but she’s had it going strong for 6 years.”

Like a dam suddenly broken, they never hear the end of it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

He’s in a meeting when you arrive, a rare break in your schedule allowing you to surprise him for lunch. You rolled the dice on if he would be able to take the time, but you knew somehow, some way, he would try to make it.

What you didn't expect was being led down the fluorescently lit hallway to feel oddly like walking a runway: heads suddenly whipping to you, eyes wide, hushed whispers trailing in your wake. You glance down at your clothes. No spilled coffee, no dirt, no remnants of your rushed breakfast this morning. Perfectly spotless. Strange.

Someone glances at you just above the divider of their cubicle and you raise your brows, lips pursing in a can I help you expression that has them sinking behind it when they realize you’ve noticed.

It’s fate that his meeting lets out just as you reach his door, and the gaggle of younger agents nearly colliding with you as they exit freezes. They give you a once over—seriously, what is that—and look behind them to an unseen corner of the office. When they turn back to you, mouths parted and brows high in what’s unmistakably realization, they’re smiling, stealing glances at each other as they excuse themselves. You watch them, confusion and amusement written in your creased brow, and one of them giggles as they hurry away.

“Hey, you.”

The familiar timbre of his voice draws you back, and you grin as you take him in where he leans in the doorway, happy surprise tugging at the corners of his lips.

You lift the takeout bags in each hand, giving them a small shake. “I got off the case early. Brought us lunch.”

A half grin and he's pushing the door further open. “Perfect timing. I’ve got some time before my next briefing.”

When you pass through, he stops you with a hand on your waist to plant a kiss on your lips. You hum, smiling into the space where he pulls back just enough for your noses to touch, then pull away and retreat further into the office.

“I snagged that rice dish you like, the one that’s usually sold out? Sushi fo—“

The bags nearly slip through your slackening grip.

You’d seen the picture once on his phone, caught him admiring it way back when. Truly, you couldn’t believe he took it. He’d told you how beautiful you looked; you’d deferred, insisting pictures weren't your thing.

Now, here… you could see it.

Your head whips to him, to where he’s watching you, features gentle, eyes moving from you to the portrait and back.

“Had to put it somewhere else in case my phone takes a shit.”

“Leon,” you hesitate, and your gaze travels back to the portrait, mouth opening and closing helplessly.

You knew he loved you. Never once doubted it. But he was private and always had been. Cracking him in the early days of your relationship had felt akin to scraping stone with a razor, slowly wearing away until you’d reached the precious gem beneath.

But you? He wanted to show this part of his life. To shout it from the rooftops, if he could. And so this was, in his own way.

You can’t help the prickling at the corners of your eyes when you look back at him, and he shrugs, nonchalant, coming up behind you to press a kiss to the delicate pulse point at your throat, stubble brushing where his chin comes to rest.

“So, lunch?”

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

A knock sounds at the door, and Leon rises from where he sits next to you on his desk.

“Kennedy? Sorry to interrupt.”

“Can it wait a few minutes?"

He glances back at you, eyes dancing, then opens the door further. “The wife and I are just finishing lunch.”

You peek around Leon from your place in his chair, offering a friendly nod. “Nice to meet you.”

The other agent returns it, slightly dumbstruck, his lips pulling into a knowing smile.

“Likewise, Mrs. Kennedy. I’ve heard all about you.

his eyes widen at your stern tone. "oh!" he smiles bashfully. "sorry but- i really have to go soon. i'm gonna be late."

you roll your eyes, pushing yourself off of him and huffing as you sit back down on the bed. he follows you , pouting, and kneeling in front of your legs. "sweetheart, it isn't personal, please. i'll play with you when i get back, okay?"

you stare at him, not saying anything. he begins to press kisses on your thighs. his silent way of apologizing. so, you finally give in and run your hand through his hair, and press a kiss to his head. but then lightly kick him. "okay. go. go do your cop duties, and i'll just be daydreaming of you in your uniform all day."

leon looks up with you with the cutest puppy dog eyes. "yeah? you really think i look hot?"

"mhmm. might have to call 911 just so you'll come visit me"

he laughs, eyes trying to remember your face for his long shift. but he has to ask, "okay but, baby, you know you can't do that-"

"leon!"

"okay, okay! fine, i'm going. love you," he mumbles, kissing your cheek as he gets up and runs out the door.

A smile tugs at the corners of your lips, and you shuffle, turning around to look up at him— all sleep soft and warm, the early-afternoon sun catching in your eyes. He reaches his hand out, his fingertips grazing across your face, pushing your tussled hair back so he can get a good, long look at you, and he smiles, rare and private, only for your eyes.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he whispers quietly, leaning in to brush a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

You hum, curling your arms around his broad shoulders to keep him close as he peppers open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your jaw, his nose bumping against your cheek. “Good morning, handsome,” you reply lazily, his stubble tickling your soft skin, purposely rubbing the rough hairs against the side of your face just to hear you laugh.

“Thought you were gonna go to the gym today?” you ask almost teasingly, slipping your fingers through his hair.

He groans into your neck at the reminder, his body melting in your arms, seeking your warmth out like a sunbathing cat, “That was the plan, yeah… then I woke up, and you were all soft and warm, clinging to me nd’I couldn’t leave you like that.”

It’s almost the exact same excuse he had used yesterday, but you weren’t going to complain, not when he’s all over you and pinning you against the soft mattress, bare-chested and spoiling you with kisses.

“Unless you want me to leave, hmm?— scared I’ll let myself go, baby?” He chuckles, running his knuckles along your cheek as your hands run down his chest, fingers catching the coarse hairs that pepper his skin.

“You’re ridiculous. Obviously, I want you here.” You murmur, tilting your head to kiss him properly, deeply, his lips slotting against yours perfectly.

“Oh, obviously, is it? ” he echoes smugly, grinning against your mouth as he pushes your shirt up to your collarbones, “This is better than lifting weights anyway,” he murmurs, kissing down your neck and over the swell of your breasts— your breath catching at the feeling.

“Well, that’s not much of a competition.”

Your fingers run through his hair and he makes a low gravelly noise, leaning into your hands. “You’re right, it’s not even close— god you’re so fucking warm.” He sighs, looking up at you through his lashes with a faint grin, blue eyes glinting—he was definitely scheming.

“Gonna let me love on you a little before we get up, yeah?” He smiles against your sternum, his voice all tender yet rough with want because god you look and feel amazing like this. “Make you come on my tongue first, then fuck you, nice and slow— make breakfast after?”

“Mm, Jesus… Leon…” his name falls from your lips, broken and whiny, desperate, and he coos in response, a hushed ‘I know baby’ before capturing your nipple into his wet mouth— his tongue flicking over the hardened peak as his hand cups your other boob.

He shifts against you, slotting himself snug between your legs. You wrap your thighs around him, a whimper catching in your throat when he grinds his hard-on against your clothed pussy, arching into him for more, wetness already collecting in your panties.

“I’ll handle it… you just relax f’me, baby.” He promises, kissing his way down your tummy whilst his fingers pinch at your nipples— his free hand tugging your panties down.

Lazy Sundays were the closest thing to heaven.