your honor, i love them

Whiskey Peak seemed a little too good to be true.

Why would an island welcome pirates? Why would they give them all of their food and drink? Why would they open themselves up to the possibility of pirates doing what pirates do, pillaging the town in spite of its hospitality? It wasn't like they knew that the Straw Hats weren't the average pirates.

In spite of the explanations the mayor had given, it just didn't sit right in your gut. Years of experience had taught you to listen to it, especially in strange situations. And it was telling you to leave. Run.

But no one else seemed bothered once the partying started.

Luffy was eating everything he could get his hands on, Usopp charmed a group of locals with his stories, Nami was in the middle of a drinking contest with a nun, Zoro sat at a table all on his own, surrounded by several empty beer bottles, and Sanji, of course, had found himself behind the bar.

He leaned on the counter in front of you, ignoring everyone else who sat at the bar for just a moment.

"What would you like, love? Somethin' sweet? Or maybe somethin' spicy?" He winked.

As tempting as it was, you shook your head. "No, thank you. I'm alright."

Usually, you were happy to try any food or drink he made for you, so it threw him off momentarily. "Are you sure?"

You gave him a smile. "Yeah."

Sanji wasn't entirely convinced, but he let you be as he went to go take orders from other ladies at the bar. Or he tried to at least. Except that he found himself glancing over at you every so often, concern tickling at the back of his mind.

Meanwhile, you were watching as he made drink after drink with a showmanship that was very much in character for him, occasionally looking out at the rest of the saloon.

You jumped slightly in your seat as Sanji came to you again, the calls from the other ladies at the bar going unheard. You spoke before he could. "I promise I'm good. I'd just like to keep my wits about me."

Oh, was that what it was? "I can make you something non-alcoholic," he offered.

"I just don't trust it," you muttered.

You noticed his smile drop just a fraction. "You know I'd never serve you anythin' that would hurt you, right?"

"It's not you I'm worried about." You leaned in closer to him, side-eyeing the others at the bar as you whispered. "Doesn't this place seem weird to you? People don't usually welcome pirates with open arms." Not that pirates were really still a thing where you came from, but you'd seen enough pirate media to know that this was not how regular people reacted to them.

"Things are different on the Grand Line," he repeated his words from earlier with a shrug. "I don't think there's anythin' to worry about here. You should take the opportunity to enjoy yourself before we head to the next island. That's what the rest of us are doin'."

A pretty redhead called for Sanji again, and that was when it hit you.

Everyone was way too distracted. They had just what they wanted. Women, meat, money, an audience. If you were right and not just being paranoid, they probably wouldn't figure it out until it was too late.

Except for the one person who always kept watch–unless he was taking a nap, of course.

"Go tend to the ladies, Sanji. I'll talk to you later."

Sanji called out for you, you were already out of your seat.

Zoro still sat all on his own, silently enjoying another beer. You'd noticed a few people coming up to him at one point, but they'd gotten the message that he had no interest in conversation. You had to hope that he was more open to you.

And that he was clear headed enough to see the same red flags you were seeing.

Zoro didn't react as you slid into the booth with him.

"Hi," you said.

Out of the crew, Zoro was the one you'd spent the least real time with. Sure, there were times where everyone was together, but it was never just the two of you. So you did feel just a little awkward at that moment.

"Finally get bored of the cook? I don't blame you," he said with a smirk, which grew when he noticed that said cook was looking right over at the two of you in surprise.

"Not really. I just...um." You lowered your voice. "Do you also have a bad feeling about this place?"

"Yeah," was all he said before taking another swig of his beer.

Your shoulders relaxed and you let out a breath. It was nice to have some confirmation. "So what are we gonna do?"

"We let the others have their fun. And if something goes down, I'll take care of it."

"And...that's it?"

Zoro looked over at you with a little smile. "Pretty much, yeah."

You scooted a bit closer. "I'm gonna stick with you until we leave. If you don't mind."

"Sure." He wouldn't have really cared anyway, but he just knew that the cook's blood was boiling at the fact that you had left him to go sit with his least favorite person on the ship. And that gave Zoro quite a bit of satisfaction. "Want one?" he said, popping the top off of a beer with his thumb and offering it to you.

"I'm a little worried about eating or drinking anything from this place. They could've done something to it. I know they're drinking it too, but they could have an immunity built up or something." Maybe it sounded ridiculous, but drugs or poison in the food and drink would be an easy way to take care of all of you, if that was their plan.

"The beer's fine." He nodded to all of the bottles he'd emptied. "I'm still alive."

The beers were sealed. It would make sense for them to be safe. "Hm...okay." You took the beer from him and had a sip of it.

The sound of glass breaking startled you, and you looked over at the bar to see Sanji, his face pink with embarassment as he began to clean up the mess he'd just made.

Zoro scoffed. "Some bartender he is. Can't even manage not to break the damn bottles."

"Flair bartending is harder than it looks, you know."

He raised an eyebrow. "What could be so hard about slinging bottles of booze around like an idiot?"

"Yeah, I guess it wouldn't be that impressive to a guy who uses three swords at once." You leaned back in your seat and got comfortable. "Speaking of the three sword thing, how do you do that? Your teeth must be insanely strong..."

It didn't take too much longer for your gut to be proven right.

Zoro had stumbled out of one of the back doors to take care of some business, leaving you all alone in the main room of the saloon.

A wave of panic hit when you noticed a group of men coming towards you, not looking nearly as friendly as they had with Usopp just a while ago.

"The swordsman left you all alone, huh?"

"Don't worry, sweetheart. We'll make it quick."

You looked around frantically for anything within arm's reach to use against them.

Of course they waited for Zoro to leave.

Of course they were going for you first.

You were the easiest to get out of the way.

The weakest.

But you weren't going to just lie down and die.

You balled up your fists, and the men's laughter at the action was quickly cut short by two of their number being tossed through the doors like ragdolls.

And in walked Zoro, cool and controlled, hands resting on the hilts of his swords. "Gonna need more than two to take me down."

He dispatched two more before you could even blink, and a clapping sounded from the upper level.

The crown-wearing jerk from before, Mr. 9. "Quite an entrance. Unfortunately, what you failed to understand is–"

"You're all Baroque Works. And this whole town is a ruse to get pirates drunk and kill them?"

Mr. 9 laughed. "We also steal their loot."

"For your costume budget?"

"For Baroque Works!"

The assassins cheered, and Mr. 9 addressed them all directly. "The man before you felled our dearly departed Mr. 7. A stroke of dumb luck, no doubt. But I have it on good authority that whoever kills Roronoa Zoro will be fast tracked to frontier agent!"

And that was when the weapons came out.

"Oh man," you said, backing away from the guys who had finally turned their attention away from you.

"There are a hundred of us, and only one of you. I like our odds."

Zoro showed no sign of concern as he pulled out his bandana and tied it on. He locked eyes with you. "I'll take care of this. Just stay out of the way."

You gave him a thumbs up. "Got it."

Getting out of the saloon probably would've been the best thing to do, but you didn't know exactly where anyone else on the crew was. And if you went outside, you could end up running into more agents. If that happened and you had no help, you would be absolutely screwed.

So you pressed yourself back against the nearest wall and just watched. It wasn't like they would bother you anyway, seeing as Zoro was the way to secure a promotion.

"This will be a great workout for my new swords."

The moment Mr. 9 said the word, every agent in the bar went right for Zoro.

The swordsman's movements were lightning fast as he sliced at the agents with ease, taking down at least five before you even realized what happened. Your eyes could barely keep up with him.

This was different than the fight in Loguetown. It seemed he was really letting loose against these guys, as opposed to Buggy and Alvida's crew.

Even though he was literally killing people in front of you, your jaw hung open watching the grace and skill that he did it with.

"Holy shit."

Being blinded by a fake nun, or even facing a huge guy with a mace several times the size of your head, didn't stop him. Zoro fought hard, and you stayed on the edge of things. Until...

"The idiots are upstairs. Go with them back to the Merry," he called to you before disappearing through the back.

Right. You should probably do something besides stand there.

Dodging all of the bodies left in Zoro's wake, you rushed up the steps to the second level. "Usopp?! Sanji?!"

"We're in here!" You heard them call from a few doors away.

When you got there, you found Usopp sitting tied up as Sanji used a dagger to saw at the rope on his own wrists. He paused for a moment, looking up at you with the relief of seeing you alive. "You're not hurt, are you?"

"No, Zoro was looking out for me." You scanned the room and found another knife lying next to one of the assassins. Grabbing it, you used it to start cutting Usopp free. "He's kicking so much ass right now. I've never seen anything like it in real life."

As happy as Sanji was that you were okay, he also found himself a little irritated that mosshead was the one protecting you while he and Usopp were tied up and helpless. But it was the guilt that caused him to speak. "You were right about this place. I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

"It's fine, Sanji."

"It's really n–"

Usopp's wrists were finally freed, and he rubbed at them. "Thanks. But for the record, I also knew this town was weird. I had a whole plan and everything."

"Did that plan involve getting tied up and stabbed?" you asked with a raised brow.

"Actually, yes it did. Let me walk you through it–"

Because of the chaos of escaping Whiskey Peak and finally heading for the next island, you didn't get a chance to talk with Zoro again until the morning.

He stood on the deck, looking out from the side of the ship as he had his post-morning nap beer.

You stepped up next to him and rested your arms on the railing. "You doing okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"You fought 100 assassins last night. Or did you forget that already?"

"I'm fine. Booze cures everything," he said, taking a swig from his bottle.

"Hm, sure." You rested your chin on your hands. "That fight was amazing, by the way. Coolest thing I've ever seen."

Zoro wanted to take pride in it, but there was still that voice in his head that sounded very much like Dracule Mihawk, telling him that it had been less than nothing. That you didn't know enough about the world to realize that he had a long way to go on his journey. So he just gave an uninterested grunt.

"So, I was wanting to ask you something else."

Zoro finally turned his head towards you, draining the last of his drink. "What's that?"

"Can I train with you? It doesn't have to be swords since that's kind of your thing. I just want to get stronger. I have no clue how long I'll be here, so I want to have a better chance at defending myself..."

You were never going to get anywhere close to his level, or even to the others, but in spite of Nami's assurance that you weren't dead weight, the last thing you wanted was to be a liability like you were in Whiskey Peak. And you were willing to put in the work to change that.

Zoro's face was unreadable as he pushed himself from the railing and began to walk away.

"Meet me back here in five minutes. Be ready to train."

After practically running to the girl's room to change into the closest thing you had to gym clothes, you made it back to the deck in record time.

Zoro was already there setting up some weights. Weights which you noticed were quite large, almost comically so.

"Um..." You started stretching your arms and shoulders as you spoke. "I think those are gonna be too heavy for me."

"I use those to warm up. They should work," he said, nodding towards some smaller dumbbells and plates. "You ever lifted weights before?"

"Never."

Zoro had his work cut out for him, but if you were committed, so was he.

You were almost questioning things a while later when you found yourself lying on a bench, pressing a weight that had your arms shaking and chest aching.

Zoro stood above you, and if you weren't so focused on the bar that could easily crush your throat, you might have been distracted by the view.

"One more," he said.

"O-okay."

Despite the protests of your muscles, you dug deep inside and found the will to push the bar up again and slowly lower it back down.

Before you could even worry about it, Zoro already had a hold of the bar, casually taking it in one hand and allowing you to let go. He placed it down on the deck and you sat up, breathing heavier, sweat trickling down your temple.

"I thought you'd be weaker." He'd only expected you to do one or two reps your first time, but he'd been pleasantly surprised.

"I wait tables," you said, wiping your heated face. "Carrying around heavy trays full of food and drinks kinda helps with strength."

He nudged you to get up from the bench, then started loading more weight onto the bar for himself.

"Rest for a minute. Then we keep going."

"Sanji, could I trouble you for something cold to drink?"

The cook stopped the lunch prep that he was doing the moment he heard your request. "It's no trouble at all, love."

"Thank you."

But the moment he saw the state of you as you walked further into the galley, he paused. Because your skin was glistening with a sheen of sweat that had him thinking some not so gentlemanly thoughts. He cleared his throat, moving to grab a few lemons. "Ah, how about some freshly-squeezed lemonade?"

"That sounds amazing," you said, collapsing on one of the stools. You could barely feel your legs from all the lifts Zoro had you doing, so it was nice to finally sit. "Zoro really wore me out."

Sanji fumbled a lemon and it hit the counter with a thump, making him recall how he'd shattered an entire bottle of booze the night before when he saw you accept a drink from the swordsman. "He what?"

Your cheeks warmed, realizing how that might have sounded. "I asked him if he'd train me. We started this morning."

"He wasn't too hard on you was he?" Sanji asked seriously. "If I need to have words with him, I will."

"Believe me, I know." Surprisingly, they hadn't been in a argument yet that day. You weren't about to be the reason it happened. "It was fine, really. I feel great. Sore, but great."

"You know, if you wanted to train, you could've asked me," he said as he got to juicing the lemons. "I'd be happy to show you a few moves."

"You'd take it too easy on me."

"No, I wouldn't."

You couldn't help laughing. "The first thing you asked when I mentioned training with Zoro was if he was too hard on me."

"That's different."

"Not really." You leaned into the counter, smiling up at him. "I wouldn't mind learning some cool kicks, though."

Sanji smiled back, knowing Zoro could never help with that. "I suppose someone has to make sure you can fight with style. That's not exactly mosshead's strong suit."

"I don't know. He was pretty stylish when he beat 100 assassins all by himself."

"I could've done that, too. Easily," Sanji claimed, still bothered about how the previous night had gone. He couldn't believe Zoro got to do all the fighting while he was tied up.

"You and Usopp couldn't even take two of them," you teased. You were well aware that they had been distracted, and that Sanji refused to fight women anyway.

"I wasn't really thinkin' clearly last night."

"You were, just not with your brain." You rested your face in your palm. "By the way, you really shouldn't let a woman tie you up unless you know her."

Sanji smirked. "That an offer?"

"In your dreams."

What was NOT so shocking was that he remembered your order. Without even trying to. Which honestly felt like his own personal betrayal.

And the funniest part was that he still didn’t know why.

Leon exhaled sharply, sinking further back in his chair, exhaustion settling heavily across his face as he pressed his fingers against his temples.

Headquarters now; had gone completely quiet around him late into the night, and he knew today he wasn't going home either. Instead he is going to go over what happened in his mind like a broken radio; the fluorescent lights overhead kept buzzing faintly in the empty office. But his thoughts somehow were even louder.

Now: all he was thinking was why the hell did he ask Claire whether you had eaten? Why did he care enough to notice you skipped lunch, and buy it for you afterwards. Why did seeing you exhausted at your desk make something uncomfortable twist inside his chest? 

Leon still didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop being such an asshole toward you. Because every single time he saw you, something inside him reacted too fast, too sharply, before he could think properly. So, instead of dealing with whatever the hell this feeling was becoming, Leon hid behind sarcasm and sharp remarks until he pushed you away all over again. And somehow, the worst part was watching the hurt settle across your face afterward every single time. 

why, when that zombie nearly got its hands on you, why did something in Leon snap? And the gunfire came before thought. One. Then another. Then another. Long after the thing had collapsed, Leon still kept pulling the trigger hard enough to make his wrist ache. He only stepped back when Chris Redfield grabbed his arm and pulled him away, and honestly, Leon still didn’t know what the hell had taken over him at that moment.

Leon swallowed hard, his chest tight so hard that it hurt. And the only fact running in him like a truth was; that the second he saw you in danger, something vicious and terrified burned through his chest so fast that it left him breathless. It didn’t make sense. Because Leon had spent years convincing himself he buried every soft feeling left inside him a long time ago.

He genuinely thought he had learned how to survive without needing anyone. And then you showed up and proved him wrong, not that Leon would ever willingly admit that out loud. 

But from the moment you walked into headquarters on your first day, something inside him completely lost control over whatever he had left and now he didn't know what the hell this was becoming. 

And instead of acting like a normal human being and apologizing for the way he acted, Leon did the exact opposite. He hid behind criticism, sarcasm, like a coward; pretending your existence irritated him far more than it actually did or at least, that was what he kept trying to convince himself. 

Because how else could he explain the weird pressure in his chest every time you smiled at someone else? Or the way his heartbeat suddenly turned uneven whenever you stood too close beside him?

It was embarrassing.

But for Leon it was terrifying.

And that stupid sandwich incident yesterday only made everything worse. Leon could still picture your face perfectly afterward how genuinely you had been trying to thank him before everything went to shit again.

The embarrassment in your eyes.

The hurt hidden underneath your anger. “Forgot who I was talking to.”

That sentence genuinely made Leon feel sick afterward, because the second those words left your mouth, he realized he had pushed too far again.

And then came the part he couldn’t stop replaying, “Next time shove the sandwich up your ass.”

For one insane second, Leon genuinely wanted to grab you by the wrist and stop you from walking away and instead wanted to pin you against the nearest wall just for talking to him like that. Wanted to force you to stop misunderstanding him and somehow make you understand what he was feeling without ever actually saying it out loud.

But instead?

He just stood there.

Watching you leave.

Again.

Like the idiot he was.

And now here he sat at nearly three in the morning, exhausted and unable to sleep because somehow you had invaded every quiet corner of his head without permission. Leon exhaled sharply through his nose before leaning his head back against the chair.

“Fuckin’ damn it,” he muttered bitterly under his breath.

Because deep down?

He already knew.

This was bad.

And the worst part was, Leon didn’t even know how to stop anymore. Maybe it would take a miracle for this feeling to finally die for him to stop wanting you every single time you walked into a room.

The next morning, Leon didn’t even bother going home honestly, he barely remembered what the point of having one was anymore. Sure, he had an expensive apartment and a car sitting below the headquarters, but none of it meant much when that familiar emptiness inside him never really went away.

So instead, Leon stayed at headquarters.

And by the time he finally when it was around 11 a.m. Leon walked toward the meeting room, the hallway outside was already unusually loud as agents slowly gathered for briefing. Inside the conference room, the room buzzed with chatter of familiar faces; Claire Redfield sat beside Carlos, who lazily spun a pen between his fingers while talking about something neither of them were actually paying attention to.

For a long moment, Leon drowned out every sound around him: the low chatter of fellow agents, the lazy spinning of Carlos’s pen against the table, even the faint smell of coffee and perfume, Leon sighed and leaned further back in his chair.

Then you walked in, and there it was again. That familiar feeling he hated. That sharp tightening in his chest that appeared every single damn time you entered a room. Leon instinctively scrunched his face slightly, almost annoyed at himself for reacting so quickly to your presence again.

But the moment your eyes landed on him, you immediately looked away, like you didn’t even want to acknowledge him anymore. And honestly, Leon knew he deserved that after everything he had been putting you through. Still, he couldn't outrun the ugly feeling that settled heavily inside his chest the second you stopped looking at him altogether.

Before the silence could stretch any further, Chris Redfield finally entered the briefing room and cleared his throat loudly and Leon turned his head towards Chris just to escape your presence. “This next mission will require a week-long operation outside the city.”

“I see,” you murmured quietly while finally walking further inside the conference room, avoiding Leon’s gaze entirely.

“This is the village you’ll be stationed in.” Chris tapped the map spread across the table. “Some of the residents have already been bitten. If there are people who can still be saved, you save them. If not…” He let the unfinished sentence settle heavily into the room.

You listened in silence, eyes fixed on the map as the mission details continued pouring from Chris’s mouth. Then, without sparing Leon a single glance, you moved to sit beside Carlos instead. A small smile tugged at your lips when Carlos leaned closer to whisper some sarcastic comment under his breath. And that made Leon finally look in your direction, and suddenly something restless and sharp twisted beneath his ribs watching the two of you together, watching how easily your attention drifted toward someone else. It was irrational, yet it kept building in his chest. And the longer Carlos kept talking to you, the more Leon felt the urge to say something just to break the moment apart.

Finally, as if divine intervention itself decided to step in, Chris Redfield looked up from the files in his hands and turned toward you, breaking whatever tense conversation had been building between you and Carlos.

“You’ll be partnered with Leon Kennedy due to your performance evaluations.”

For a second, silence settled over the room.

Carlos leaned back with a low whistle while Leon tried not to react at all, though the heat rising in his chest made it impossible to ignore.

“Absolutely fucking not,” you said immediately, the words slicing through the room before Chris had even finished speaking.

Chris closed his eyes for a brief second, already looking exhausted. “You two scored highest together during combat simulations.”

“I’ll take Carlos instead.”

Carlos raised his hand without hesitation. “I am completely fine with that arrangement.”

“No,” Chris answered flatly.

“Chris.”

“No.”

“Chris, please.”

“No,” Chris Redfield said firmly, his voice carrying the kind of final authority that reminded everyone exactly why he was the captain, not even giving you another second to argue.

A frustrated groan tore from your throat as you dragged both hands down your face.

Then you pointed toward the mission file sitting on the table. “Fine. Then cross my name out. I’m not going.”

Chris looked at you tiredly. “You know that’s not possible.”

Before you could argue again, Leon’s voice cut through the tension. “If it makes you feel better,” he said, crossing his arms against his chest, “I’m not exactly thrilled about having you as a partner either.”

Your head snapped toward him instantly. The glare you sent him could have killed a man on the spot. And Leon knew, immediately, he’d made it worse.

Stupid.

So unbelievably stupid.

Because the truth was the complete opposite. He was more than okay with it.

The second Chris assigned you to him, something relieved had loosened quietly inside his chest before he could stop it. But the way you reacted to the immediate refusal, the desperate attempts to switch partners, the way you looked ready to walk out entirely had hit straight into his pride. Even if he knew why you reacted like that and for that he had no one to blame but himself.

Even then, instead of admitting he trusted you more than anyone else in the room, he did what Leon always did best when something got under his skin.

He threw gasoline onto the fire, and judging by the murderous look on your face now, the fire was spreading perfectly. 

And just like that, the meeting came to an end.

Chairs scraped against the floor as everyone began filing out of the room, conversations blending into meaningless noise.

But unfortunately for Leon, the meeting hadn’t even been the worst part of his day.

Later that evening, you stayed behind at the office to finish a pile of reports, completely unaware that Leon had stayed behind too. This time, though, it had nothing to do with coincidence but if you had asked Leon, he would’ve simply said it was work; and nothing to do with you at all. Nothing to do with the fact that he overheard you telling Claire you’d stay late alone, or that somehow he ended up doing the exact same thing minutes later.

That was all. Just work. At least that’s what he kept telling himself while sitting several desks away, pretending to read through files he hadn’t actually focused on for the last half hour because every few minutes his eyes drifted back toward you instead. 

Claire had offered twice to stay and help, but you only smiled tiredly and told her, “I’ll finish the reports and leave.” 

Now hours later; you sat focused at your desk with a forgotten cup of coffee beside you, exhaustion softening your features every few minutes when you rubbed at your eyes or leaned back in your chair, and Leon kept catching himself looking at you instead of his non-existent work. 

Because ever since the meeting, and watching you sit beside Carlos without even sparing him a glance, something restless had been lodged beneath his ribs all day. Because the truth was, he understood why you kept your distance. He had given you every reason to. And somehow that only made the silence between you hurt worse.

The office had gone mostly dark by three in the morning, illuminated only by the glow of your laptop screen and the small table lamp resting near the edge of your desk. Outside, rain tapped softly against the headquarters windows while Leon quietly watched you from another desk far from you.

Yet you still hadn’t noticed him.

Your typing had eventually started getting sloppier. The steady sound of keys filling the quiet office became uneven until eventually it stopped completely, and you didnt know when you even fell asleep.

Leon looked up instinctively, his eyes drifting across the dim room until they landed on you. And there you were, asleep at your desk. 

Your head rested awkwardly against your folded arms, strands of hair falling across your face while the faint glow of the laptop screen illuminated you softly in the darkness. For a moment, Leon just stared at you.

The tension that had been sitting heavily in his chest all evening eased into something quieter, something almost painfully gentle as he took in the sight of you finally letting exhaustion win.  “…Idiot,” he muttered quietly.

And before he could stop himself, Leon pushed back his chair and stood swiftly. The office felt impossibly quiet as he crossed the room toward you, his footsteps slow and careful against the floor. 

As he reached you, up close he could see how exhausted you really were, your brows were slightly furrowed even in sleep, fingers still resting near the keyboard like you had tried to keep working until the very last second. His chest tightened painfully at the sight. Without thinking too hard about it, Leon slipped off his jacket and gently draped it over your shoulders, careful not to wake you as his hand hovered over your face; for only a second longer than it should have. His fingers barely brushed against you and Leon stepped back immediately afterward as your frame has burned him.

And an hour later, Leon had gone back to the desk across from you as he watched you sleep; while he kept pretending to focus on the paperwork in front of him while the office remained wrapped in heavy silence. Then suddenly, you stirred beneath his jacket. and your brows pinched slightly as sleep slowly left your expression before you blinked awake, dazed and unfocused. For a second, your sleepy eyes wandered around the dim office until they landed directly on Leon sitting nearby.

And without thinking you screamed. Loud enough for the sound to bounce off the empty walls. Leon nearly fell out of his chair in shock while you jerked upright, still half asleep and completely disoriented, pulling the jacket off your shoulders and clutching it tightly in front of your chest like a shield, still too sleepy and disoriented to realize it belonged to Leon.

Your wide eyes darted around the room in panic before settling back on him again, breathing uneven as exhaustion and embarrassment crashed together all at once. 

Leon nearly got a heart-attack; “W--what!?” he blurted out, staring at you in complete shock while you sat there clutching the jacket tightly in front of your chest, still half asleep and panicked.

“You scared the shit out of me!” you snapped immediately, clutching the jacket tighter dramatically to your chest.

Leon rubbed a tired hand down his face. “You scream too loud.”

“You were watching me sleep.”

“I wasn’t watching you sleep.”

“You literally are.”

Leon opened his mouth before immediately closing it again because, unfortunately, he didn’t have a single excuse that could fix how bad this looked.

You narrowed your eyes at him suspiciously before your expression slowly shifted. “…Wait.” Your gaze dropped toward the jacket clutched tightly against your chest.

Then back toward him.

Then back to the jacket again.

Leon already regretted everything.

“…You put this on me?”

“It was cold,” Leon said flatly, leaning back in his chair like the explanation alone should’ve ended the conversation. His expression stayed carefully unreadable, though the slight tension in his jaw betrayed him completely. Because now you looked confused instead of angry, your grip on the jacket loosening slightly as you stared at him across the dim office. And somehow, that felt worse.

“Why are you still here?” you asked quietly.

Leon leaned back slightly in his chair, dragging his gaze toward the laptop screen instead of looking at you.

“Work.”

“That’s bullshit.”

His eyes flicked toward yours immediately at your comment.

“You finished your reports hours ago,” you continued slowly. “You literally don’t have to stay.”

Your expression shifted instantly, and confusion burned into your mind and that soft frustration in your eyes that made Leon’s chest tighten painfully.

“Stop doing that,” you whispered.

“Doing what?” Leon asked quietly, like he genuinely wasn’t sure which part you were angry about anymore.

“This.” You stood up so suddenly your chair scraped harshly against the floor. “Being an asshole all the time and then suddenly acting like… this.”

Your hand tightened around his jacket as you looked at him, visibly frustrated now. “You don’t get to act like you care only when nobody’s looking, Leon.”

Leon’s jaw tightened immediately. “Its not care--I would’ve given my jacket to anyone. You were cold so I did put it on you, and me staying here? Well, I don’t go home sometimes. You just happened to be here.”

Fuck.

Instead of just admitting he wouldn’t have done any of this for anyone else, Leon had immediately hidden behind excuses that weren’t even true.

“Really, Leon?” Your voice echoed sharply through the empty office.

And Leon regretted the words instantly.

Because he should’ve just stayed quiet. Instead, he’d done what he always did, thrown facts between the two of you like they could somehow cover everything else.

Your eyes searched his face with frustrated confusion. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

“I just—” The words died in his throat before he could finish them, his jaw tightening slightly like he didn’t know how to explain himself anymore. 

Because what the hell was he supposed to say?

Sorry for acting like an asshole because I don’t know how to exist around you?

Sorry because every time you look at me I feel insane?

Sorry because I don’t know what to do with my feelings?

Leon laughed bitterly under his breath before finally saying, “I don’t know.”

You froze instantly, your expression slowly twisting into frustration. “You don’t know?” you repeated softly, almost like the answer hurt more than you expected it to.

Leon dragged a tired hand down his face. “I don’t know how to act around you.” The confession slipped out like a melting butter from his tongue before he could stop it.

For half a second, your anger faltered. “You know what? Stop talking to me, Stop existing near me,” you whispered shakily.

Leon felt his chest tighten painfully at your words, and for once, he genuinely didn’t know what to say to make any of this better.

“Because I never asked you for any of it.” you said firmly.

That sentence genuinely hurt Leon and before he could say anything else, you slowly, you walked toward him, and without even looking at him, you shoved the jacket back against his chest hard enough for Leon to instinctively catch it. Then you turned away immediately, walking back to your desk in tense silence while grabbing your bag as quickly as possible.

“And I don’t want to be your partner on this mission,” you said, your voice loud enough to carry across the office, echoing through the empty headquarters. “I’ll give notice for a partner change.”

Then you walked out, leaving Leon standing there alone with his jacket clutched tightly in his hands, the fabric still smelling faintly like you. Without even thinking about it, he pulled it slightly closer to his nose, the familiar scent hitting him instantly, and for a second he just stood there holding it like that before realizing what he was doing, and even then, he didn’t let go.

Yet the awful realization still sat heavily at the edge of his mind. He had ruined everything again. And under his breath, quiet and almost defeated, Leon muttered almost like a promise to himself, “Like hell I would let you have a change of partner.”

Your eyes drifted there every ten minutes like some kind of cursed routine. At this point, you could practically feel yourself drooling.

Which honestly made you feel absolutely pathetic, but you couldn’t help it. Instead, you licked your lips like a complete menace, a small sly smile slowly spreading across your face as your gaze drifted right back toward Leon’s arms again..

It wasn’t really your fault though, because they genuinely looked… yummy.

You shook your head once, maybe twice, trying to shake off the thought, but the sleeves of his black compression shirt were rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, veins shifting every time he typed something, and honestly? It was becoming a real problem for you to hold yourself back.

Leon had been stressed for days. Missions, reports, calls from HQ at ungodly hours. You knew he was exhausted, and you really didn’t want to push him further into that dark abyss hole. But unfortunately for him, exhaustion apparently made his biceps look even better.

It was completely unfair and wasn't your fault.

But you were trying to act normal about it. You really were. But every single time he reached for his coffee mug, your eyes followed the movement like a magnet.

At one point, you actually caught yourself leaning slightly across the couch just to get a better look.

Then suddenly,

“Okay,” Leon’s voice interrupted your thoughts without warning, making you nearly choke on your own saliva. “Out with it.”

You blinked innocently. “What?”

His ocean-blue eyes finally lifted from the laptop and landed directly on you. “You’ve been staring at me for the past hour.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I was thinking.”

“About what?”

“Your arms,” you blurted out before your brain could stop you.

Leon stopped typing immediately, and now his full attention was entirely on you. Which honestly made the situation ten times worse.

“What about them?” he asked, standing up from his chair before finally stepping closer to you.

“Nothing,” you answered quickly.

What you actually wanted to say was: I want to bite them.

“You want to touch them?” he asked seriously, and the seriousness in his tone made you laugh loudly.

“No, absolutely not,” you replied quickly.

You just wanted to bite them, you think to yourself.

“You are not subtle, you know that?”

You crossed your arms defensively. “Maybe I’m just, like, concerned.”

“Concerned,” Leon repeated flatly.

“Yes.”

“About my biceps?”

“Exactly.”

“They are so big, what if they actually explode?” you blurted out quickly, staring at Leon like a deer caught in headlights after realizing you had said that out loud.

“Explode?” he repeated, and then a tired laugh escaped him, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle despite how exhausted he looked.

“Yes,” you said immediately, doubling down instead of saving yourself. “Like one day you flex too hard and suddenly, boom. Property damage.”

Leon blinked a few times, like he genuinely could not believe what had just come out of your mouth, before staring at you with the most exhausted expression imaginable. “You know, most people worry about my job being dangerous.”

“Well I am worried about your arms becoming a national threat.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is.”

He rubbed a hand over his face, already regretting every decision that had somehow led him here. “You’ve been sitting there silently for an hour and this is what was happening inside your head?”

“You should be grateful I’m sharing my thoughts with you.”

“I really shouldn’t.”

You pointed dramatically at his arm. “Look at that! That should not legally exist.”

Leon glanced down at his own bicep like he was seeing it for the first time. “It’s literally just an arm.”

“It’s NOT just an arm.”

“It is attached to my body in a very normal way.”

“That sounds exactly like something a man with huge biceps would say.”

Leon barked out another laugh at that, shaking his head. “You are insane.”

“Yes, insanely in love with you.”

His laughter softened instantly at that, “…What?” Leon asked, sounding genuinely confused by what you had just said.

“Pretend I didn’t just say that,” you muttered quietly, suddenly finding the couch cushions very interesting.

Leon stared at you for a second longer before the corners of his mouth slowly lifted again. “If it makes you feel any better,” he said softly, “I’m insanely in love with you too.”

Your heart immediately started beating violently against your ribs at the confession, warm panic flooding through your chest all at once.

And just then, completely against your own will, your eyes drifted right back toward his arm again before you could stop yourself.

Leon noticed instantly.

“…Seriously?” he asked in disbelief. “God,” he muttered, staring at you now like he was witnessing a train wreck happen in real time. “You ACTUALLY want to touch them, don’t you?”

“I mean… not really?”

“Liar.”

Leon laughed louder this time. “You are unbelievable.”

“This is your fault.”

“My fault?”

“Yes. Why are they built like that?”

“I literally cannot control that.”

“Well, do something about it!”

“What am I supposed to do? Remove them?” Leon joked.

You squinted suspiciously at him.

Leon narrowed his eyes right back. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“…No reason.”

“That was the face of someone having a bad idea.”

“It’s not a bad idea.”

“It’s absolutely a bad idea.”

Without warning, you grabbed Leon's hand and pulled him down beside you on the couch, and despite the fact that he could have very easily resisted, he just let it happen, following your pull without a single complaint.

Leon immediately pointed at you accusingly. “No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”

“I know exactly what you’re gonna say.”

“…Can I take a bite out of your arms?” you finally asked.

Complete silence. Leon stared at you like this was the most absurd thing he had ever heard in his life, because he might have expected anything.. But this?

He definitely did not.

“You want to do what?”

“Just once.”

“You are insane.”

“They just look very biteable!”

“That is not a sentence a normal person says out loud!”

You were laughing now while Leon dramatically rubbed both hands down his face. “I fight bio-weapons for a living,” he muttered tiredly. “And somehow this is still the weirdest situation I’ve ever been in.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Leon.”

“No.”

“Leon.”

“No.”

You gasped dramatically. “Cruel.”

Leon tried to stay serious. He genuinely did. But then he looked at your ridiculously hopeful face, those beautiful innocent eyes, and visibly lost the battle. A long-suffering sigh escaped him. “…One bite.”

Your eyes lit up instantly. “I can?!?”

“One,” he warned, holding up a finger. “And if you break my skin, I’m going to bite back.”

“That’s fair, but I don’t have biceps,” you argued while dramatically flexing your arms in front of his face.

He laughed at that, and in that exact moment, before he could rethink his decision you grabbed his arm carefully and finally—

Chomp.

You bit it hard.

Leon froze completely like he didn’t even register the pain at first, which immediately made you glance up at him too. Then, very, very slowly, he looked down at you still attached to his bicep with the most offended expression imaginable.

“…Did you just fucking moan?!”

You immediately let go, horrified. “I DID NOT.”

“You absolutely did.”

“Fine! In my defense, they were tasty!”

“That is somehow worse!”

You finally pulled away from his biceps and collapsed into laughter against him while, your head resting on his shoulder, while Leon stared at you for another second before bursting into laughter too.

But even then, his other arm was wrapped automatically around your waist, pulling you closer against his side like it was pure instinct.

“…Worth it?” he asked tiredly.

You grinned against his shoulder. “Absolutely.”

“Now can I get back to work?” Leon asked, already sounding exhausted by your existence.

“You may not,” you replied immediately, holding his arms around you possessively.

Leon then let out a long, dramatic sigh like he was truly suffering, but despite all the complaining, he made absolutely no effort to escape your grip.

Instead, Leon simply settled even closer to you, gently pulling you tighter against his side before looking down at you and pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, making you smile wider than you ever did.

“Fine.” He murmur softly, and finally lets himself melt into you.

Then Leon let out the slowest, most offended sigh you had ever heard in your life before walking over from the kitchen toward the couch. “They are not boobs,” he said firmly.

“They absolutely are.” you argued, a mischievous glint sparkling in your eyes.

“They’re called pecs,” Leon said finally stopping in front of you, trying very hard to sound serious, but completely failing as a smile started appearing on his face.

“Mhm.” You nodded seriously. “And I think they need support.”

Leon stared at you for a solid five seconds, before exhaling sharply through his nose, “You’ve officially lost your mind.”

“No, listen,” you continued while trying not to laugh. “Your shirts are fighting for their lives everyday to hold them together.”

Leon rubbed one hand over his face tiredly, as he stared at you in disbelief, “You cannot be serious.”

“Oh, I’m incredibly serious.”

“You’re insane.”

“You need a bra!” you blurted out with complete seriousness, sounding more serious than you had ever sounded about anything in your entire life.

Leon actually snorted, “A WHAT?”

“A bra.” You repeated, while smugly smiling.

“The fuck, no way.” Leon said, shaking his head.

“Yes. You definitely do.”

Leon pointed at you immediately, narrowing his brows at you, “Absolutely not.”

But ten minutes later, after all the arguments Leon had finally given up.

“You look beautiful,” you whispered as you tried very hard not to collapse into laughter as you looked at him standing in the living room in complete humiliation.

Leon looked one second away from committing a felony. “This is humiliating!” he complained immediately, his ears turning red as a faint blush spread across his face.

“No,” you corrected while circling him slowly like an art critic admiring a masterpiece. “This is fashion.”

Leon was currently wearing one of your black sports bras stretched tightly across his chest, and unfortunately for him, it fit him suspiciously well.

Which only made this worse for him, and finally, you couldn’t hold it in anymore. And a loud laugh escaped you as you doubled over slightly, clutching your stomach while it started aching from laughing too hard. Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes as you tried and completely failed to calm yourself down.

Meanwhile Leon stood there still wearing your sports bra staring at you with the most betrayed expression imaginable. “You’re crying,” he said flatly.

“That makes it worse!” you wheezed instantly before laughing even harder. “You look so pretty,” you choke out between your laughter.

“I’m taking it off.” he says unimpressed.

“No!”

“Yes.”

“You promised to commit to the bit!”

“There was no bit!” Leon argued immediately. “I was manipulated.”

“You agreed willingly.”

“You were laughing like a maniac!”

“you said you were doing this because you love me.”

Leon froze for half a second at that, then narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “…That was emotional manipulation.”

“But did it work?”

“I hate you,” he muttered while glaring down at himself, but a small smile appeared on his lips anyway.

“No you don’t.”

“I absolutely do.”

You roll your eyes at him and say pointing at his covered chest, “They look supported.”

“I did NOT need that.” he says groaning, and continues “I am a fucking federal agent.”

“but now, you look,” you said proudly, “a pretty federal agent.”

Leon groaned loudly while you burst into laughter again. “I cant believe i let it happen” he says a small pout appearing on his face.

“But you still wore it.”

“Because you made me!” Leon argued immediately.

“But you could’ve just refused.”

Leon opened his mouth to argue again before suddenly stopping himself. Then quietly, almost accidentally, “Well… I couldn’t,” he admitted.

You blinked at him. “Why not?”

Leon’s face immediately turned even redder somehow, he actually looked like a tomato, as he looked away from you for half a second before muttering under his breath, “Because I am weak when it comes to you.”

And that was the truth, or atleast the half of it because he had actually agreed to wear it, mostly because you had laughed yourself breathlessly trying to convince him, while also giving him your most innocent eyes, and Leon being devastatingly weak when it came to you, eventually gave in with the expression of a man accepting death. Now he stood in the middle of your apartment looking deeply betrayed by life itself while you admired your own work.

Silence, your entire brain stopped functioning instantly after he said it and you took a minute to process before you start, “Wha–?”

“I hope the earth swallows me right now!” Leon groans cutting in immediately. “Please just don't mind what I said.”

“Fine. I’ll let it go… for now,” you agreed, mostly because you had already bullied that poor man enough for one night. Still, another bottled-up laugh immediately threatened to escape you, and you quickly tried covering it with a fake cough instead.

Unfortunately, Leon noticed instantly, and slowly narrowed his eyes at you, sending absolute daggers your way while you failed miserably at looking innocent.

“You know,” you mused thoughtfully, “you kinda fill it out better than me.”

Leon narrowed his eyes instantly. “Careful.”

“Oh my God.” You gasped dramatically. “Are you blushing?”

“I’m taking this off.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“You have to wear it longer.”

“For what purpose?”

“research.”

“There is no research happening here.”

You walked closer then, still grinning uncontrollably while adjusting one of the straps on his shoulder dramatically. “There,” you murmured proudly. “Perfect fit.”

Leon looked down at you with the most long-suffering expression imaginable. “You are enjoying this way too much.”

“A little.”

“A little?”

“Okay a lot.” you admitted, and stick your tongue out at leon.

Leon finally laughed softly despite himself, shaking his head while one hand settled automatically against your waist. “You’re impossible.”

“And you wore it because I make you weak.” you teased sweetly, fingers brushing lightly against the band stretched across his chest.

That made his expression soften immediately. And suddenly the teasing atmosphere shifted completely.

And Leon’s gaze dropped toward your lips briefly before returning to your eyes again. Then slowly, he reached up and hooked one finger beneath the strap before pulling it away from his chest and tossing it carelessly aside.

Finally free, Leon let out the most dramatic sigh of relief imaginable while glaring at you accusingly. “Alright,” he murmured quietly. “Fun’s over.”

Your stomach instantly flipped. “Oh?”

Leon stepped closer, to you that warmth immediately rushed through your chest. “Yeah,” he said softly, leaning down near your ear now. “Now let me remove yours.”

He said it so casually that your entire nervous system immediately exploded. Heat rushed straight to your ears, spreading across your cheeks until your entire face turned pink.

You squeeze your thighs tightly as he said it, staring at Leon in complete betrayal before immediately shoving his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”

Leon only grinned wider at your reaction, clearly far too pleased with himself now. “Oh, so now you’re shy?” he murmured teasingly. “After emotionally terrorizing me for the last thirty minutes?”

“You looked funny!”

“And you look cute and flustered.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“It kind of is.”

You groaned dramatically while hiding your face in your hands, which only made Leon laugh softly beneath his breath again before gently pulling your wrists away from your face.

“Hey,” he murmured quieter this time, still smiling while looking down at you, and leaning down slightly while pressing a soft kiss against your forehead, and you feel him smile against your skin, “You started this.”

Unfortunately, he was absolutely right.

But god help it you loved his silly ass.

And the way he was still gazing at you with softness in his eyes after your endless teasing, and your attempts to make him look ridiculous, somehow, in that quiet moment and in his softness, you knew he loved your silly ass too.

The first thing you noticed was gentle rocking motion beneath you.

Then the salty scent of the air.

Then...voices?

"Is she from Coco Village?"

"I've never seen her before."

"She wasn't there. I'd remember seeing a beauty like that."

"She probably stowed away while we were at the Baratie."

"Why does it matter how she got here? If she's a bounty hunter, we need to deal with her."

"Let's just talk to her first, okay?"

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking against the bright sunlight. It was supposed to be night time, so why was there a clear blue sky above you?

"Hey, you're awake!" One of the voices dropped down and leaned over you, his face getting a little too close to yours. He had dark, curly hair covered by a straw hat, and a scar beneath his left eye. "So, are you a bounty hunter? Because if you're trying to kill us, you're not doing a very good job!"

"Bounty hunter?" You frowned, your brain still trying to catch up. "Why would I be a bounty hunter?" Was that even a thing anymore?

"Because we're pirates," said another, quieter voice from above. He had vibrant green hair, and a sword at his hip.

.....

A sword?!

That got your brain and body moving. You pushed yourself up, ignoring the pounding in your head as you scrambled backwards a few feet, giving yourself a better view of your situation.

In front of you stood the two guys you'd already seen, but there was also a man wearing a bandana and another smoking a cigarette. And along with them, a woman with bright orange hair.

At the sight of them, there was something scratching at the back of your brain. A familiarity of sorts. But you were more concerned with the scene around you. Not only was it daytime now, but somehow, you were on the deck of a ship.

Your knees buckled a bit as you got to your feet, looking over the railing at the expanse of the ocean. No land, just sparkling blue as far as the eye could see. If there weren't a horrible weight settling in your chest at the realization that you had been kidnapped, you would've enjoyed your very first view of the ocean. Tears started to sting at your eyes, and your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

Quickly, you reached into your bag for your phone, not seeing how the green haired man smoothly popped his sword from the sheath with his thumb, or how the straw hat guy gestured for him to wait. But instead of the promise of contacting someone, you found nothing but a cracked, melted piece of junk, reeking of burning plastic.

What the hell?

"Fuck!" You turned back to the strangers, the one in the hat looking quite concerned. Like he cared about the fact that you were clearly terrified. Like he figured out at that exact moment that you weren't a threat, and certainly not a bounty hunter.

"We're good pirates! You don't have to be scared, I promise." He said with a big smile. "My name is Monkey D. Luffy, and I'm gonna find the One Piece and become King of the Pirates!"

Wait.

Luffy.

Straw hat.

One Piece.

"Oh my god...I've been kidnapped by lunatic cosplayers." You could almost laugh, if it weren't for being stuck on some ship god knows where. "Are you some anime cult pretending that you're that guy Luffy and his pirate crew?"

"Anime? What's that?" Asked the bandana guy. The smoker shrugged as he ashed his cigarette.

"Hey, we're not pretending! I'm the real deal. See?" 'Luffy' hooked his finger in his cheek and pulled.

And pulled.

And pulled.

He let go of the flesh and it snapped right back into place, leaving a wide grin.

The deck seemed to be pulled out from under you, your legs giving out, but before you could hit the wood, you found yourself cradled in a pair of arms. It was the blond man, cigarette no longer at his lips.

Luffy had stretched his own face like a rubber band. These weren't cosplayers at all. "So, I'm dreaming. Okay."

"I may be the man of your dreams, but trust me, you're awake."

The orange haired girl rolled her eyes, as did the swordsman.

"No, this is definitely some weird dream. I must have fallen and hit my head when I was walking home from work, and I'm unconscious. Or..." Your voice got softer. "I got hit by a car or something, and these are the last electrical impulses of my dying brain."

"That got dark," the orange haired girl said.

"But if this is all in my head, where's the skeleton guy, or the cute little reindeer with the top hat? I feel like they would be here."

"Did you say a skeleton guy? I wish we had a skeleton guy," said Luffy with a little too much enthusiasm.

The bandana guy's voice got smaller. "I don't..."

"Wait..." you looked back up at the blond man. The black suit, the cigarette... "Aren't you the perverted one? Let go of me."

The swordsman snickered, and the blond glared at him as he moved his arms away, letting you sit up on your own. "I only meant to catch you and make sure you were alright. Nothin' improper, I assure you."

"Yeah, okay," you said. Right on cue, your stomach grumbled. "Aren't you the chef, too?"

His mouth curved into a smile. "I am. You hungry, love? I was just in the middle of makin' dinner."

"Sanji's the best cook in the world!" Luffy said. "You should join us!"

If you were dreaming so vividly, why not take advantage? "Okay, you've convinced me," you said, taking the hand he offered to help you up.

The orange haired girl pulled Luffy aside, but not quite far enough to keep you from overhearing. "Luffy, are you sure about this?"

"It's fine. She's not here to hurt us, I know it."

Sanji gestured towards what you assumed was the kitchen. "There's a couch in the galley. You can relax while I finish up dinner, alright?"

He led you that way, all but the swordsman following as well. The bandana guy came up beside you, smiling big.

"My name's Usopp. But you can call me Captain Usopp." He pointed towards the orange haired girl. "That's Nami, our navigator, and the really serious guy back on deck is Zoro. I guess you already know Luffy and Sanji. So what's your name?"

You told him your first name.

"Beautiful name for a beautiful lady," said Sanji.

You pointed to Luffy. "Isn't he the captain?"

"Yes," Nami and Sanji said in unison, as Usopp answered, "Technically..."

A little while later, you didn't hesitate to dig in when Sanji placed a plate of some sort of seafood pasta in front of you. It looked and smelled divine, and you were certain it would taste even better. You might as well enjoy it, considering you didn't often get good food when you were awake.

Slowly, you chewed and savored the flavor and the nice bite of the noodles. The perfectly cooked seafood. As you swallowed, you noticed that the cook seemed to be looking for your reaction as he continued serving the others.

"This has to be the best food I've ever eaten. Another point for 'this is a dream'."

Sanji smiled at that. "I'm glad you like it so much."

Luffy spoke, though his mouth was full of noodles. "I don't get it. Why do you think this is a dream?"

"Because all of this is literally impossible. Because you people don't actually exist." You said casually, taking a sip of your drink. Luffy didn't seem fazed as he continued shoveling food down his throat, but the other four looked at each other concerned.

Nami was the first to speak. "We...don't exist?"

"You're characters from a show. A really popular one, just not one I watch. I don't get why I'm not dreaming about something I actually like, but brains are strange. At least you're all hot, I guess," you added with a shrug.

Luffy swallowed his food and laughed loud. "You're kind of weird, you know that?"

Coming from him, it somehow felt more like a compliment than an insult.

You didn't doubt your whole 'this is a dream' attitude until you woke up in the girl's quarters, the moonlight shining on Nami's form sprawled out across the hanging bed just a few feet away.

When you went to sleep the night before, you were sure you would wake up in reality. Whether that was the usual lumpy mattress in your shitty apartment, or a hospital bed.

But there you were, smelling salt and wood, swaying softly in the hammock that Usopp had put up for you.

No fucking way.

You tried to get out of the hammock like a normal person, but you ended up spilling out of it, hitting the floor with a thump.

"Ow."

The lamp clicked on, illuminating the room and Nami's face as she peeked over the side of the bed. "You okay down there?"

"Uh huh," you groaned, rubbing the elbow that would surely be bruised later. "I'm just...I don't know, actually."

Nami watched as you sat up. Even though Luffy had told all of them that you weren't a threat, that he had a good feeling about you, that didn't stop her from being a little worried. You talked like they weren't real people, and that wasn't very comforting at all. But Luffy was confident that you needed their help to get back to wherever you came from.

"There has to be a way to be sure," you muttered, reaching back into your brain, through all the shows you've watched or books you've read, for something. Some idea of how to test this. To confirm that you somehow really were in the world of an anime....

"Nami, do you mind if I look at one of your books?"

"Go ahead," she said, not quite sure what you were getting at as you stood.

Her eyes followed you as you walked over to her desk. You picked up a book and flipped through it, finding nothing but various maps. And then another book with the same. You put it back down and turned to her. "Do you have anything with more words, like a novel?"

Nami got up from the bed and came to stand beside you. She spotted a certain book, one that she really should return to Sanji at some point, and pressed it into your hands. "Here, this should work. But what exactly are you doing?"

You ran your fingers over the cover, which read 'Noland the Liar'. "In dreams, text doesn't work the same way as it does when you're awake. So if I were really dreaming, this book would be total gibberish, right?"

"Uh...right." That sounded logical. In a way.

Opening the cover, you found that it was a picture book, like a fairy tale. Not quite what you had in mind, but close enough. You cleared your throat. "'In a certain country in the northern seas, there was a man named Mont Blanc Noland. Noland the Explorer's stories were always grand adventures that sounded like lies. But the people of the village could never tell if they were true or not.' Sounds familiar."

Nami smirked. Because of course Usopp hadn't missed the opportunity to tell you some tales at dinner.

You read on, eyes following each line and looking for inconsistencies as you spoke aloud. For anything that didn't make sense.

You didn't find it.

"'...Nobody believed Noland anymore, but he never stopped lying until he was dead.'" Slowly, you closed the book and put it back on her desk.

"Did you get what you needed?" Nami asked.

"Yeah..." you said softly, scrubbing a hand over your face. "I'm gonna go get some air...Sorry I said you weren't real."

Nami kept an eye on you as you left the room. Because even with Luffy's insistence that you were good, she was still a skeptic and protective of her treasure.

You padded across the wooden floors of the Going Merry, making your way back to the deck. The very same place where you'd woken up and found yourself in the most impossible situation. As soon as you made it topside, you took a deep breath of the ocean air, letting it fill your lungs.

Holy shit.

You were really in a world of pirates and adventure. You. The most average, unimportant person in the world.

This wasn't where someone like you belonged. But then again, you never really felt like you belonged anywhere.

You walked up to the railing and leaned against it, looking out over the ocean. It was somehow even more beautiful in the dark, the moonlight and the tiny hint of sunrise reflecting off the gentle waves. Surely there were times where the tide wasn't so serene, but not right then. It was calming to watch as you spiraled inside. "Wow."

"I was gonna say the same thing, only not about the sea."

A lighter clicked closed behind you.

You turned your head and spotted Sanji, already dressed for the day with a lit cigarette in his mouth. "Early bird, are you?"

He made his way over and rested against the railing as well, leaving a healthy space between you. "I have to be. Who else is gonna make breakfast?"

"Yeah, I guess with someone who eats as much as Luffy, you kind of have to get up at the crack of dawn to cook." Thinking back on dinner, it floored you realizing how much food the captain had put away. Being a rubber man must burn a lot of calories. "You must not get much sleep then."

"It's enough," he said before taking a drag. He'd gotten used to running on little sleep years ago. "What about you? Usually an early riser?"

"No, but the last 12 hours have been really strange." You fully turned to face him, your hip pressing into the side of the ship where you leaned. "I didn't think I was going to be here when I woke up."

"Disappointed?"

"Freaked out. I was so convinced this was a dream, now I'm pretty sure it's not." You looked back out over the sea, but Sanji's eyes remained on you. "None of this is supposed to be r–" Now that you were fairly certain this was reality, it probably wasn't the best idea to keep saying that they were fictional. That wasn't going to fly. Except with Luffy apparently, because he'd found it hilarious. "I'm not from this world. This shouldn't be happening. Especially not to someone like me."

Your whole situation was throwing him off, but there was something about you. Something that told him that you really weren't from his world. That you were being truthful, as strange as it seemed. And it wasn't just because you were beautiful. "Someone like you?" he asked.

"Normal, boring, unimpressive. Take your pick." You sighed heavily. "I'm a waitress at the snobbiest restaurant in town, who lives in a crappy apartment the size of a closet. I don't have a social life to speak of, or any real hobbies. I'm not special."

"I wouldn't say that." He took his cigarette from his lips and ashed it over the side of the ship. "If you're here, it must be for a reason."

You laughed, but there wasn't any humor in it. "Well, if you figure out what that reason is, you let me know."

He leaned in just a little closer, putting a hand on yours. There was a gentle sincerity in it that kept you from pulling away. "I may not fully understand all of this, but what I do know is that you ended up on the right ship. If there's a way to get you back home, Luffy'll find it."

"I hope so. I'm not cut out for pirate life."

"You might be surprised," Sanji said with a smile, pushing himself away from the railing. "You like coffee, love?"

His question made you perk up. "Like it? I practically live off of it."

Sanji flicked the cigarette away and headed for the galley, waving you to follow. "I've got a kettle goin'. I'll make you a cup."

Moments later, you sat on a stool at the kitchen counter, watching as Sanji took out another coffee mug and added more ground coffee to the filter. You'd noticed as he was cooking dinner the night before that there was something calming about his ease in the kitchen. Maybe a warm, steady presence was just what you'd needed after your realization. Your shoulders had already relaxed without you realizing it. "So, what are you making for breakfast?"

"Usually, I'd say whatever you'd like, but we're runnin' pretty low on supplies right now. I'll have to make fish porridge again today." Not his favorite, but it was a dish that stretched rice very well. And he needed to stretch everything he could until the Merry reached an island.

"Oh..." Guilt twisted your gut. "I probably screwed up your rationing, huh?"

Sanji noticed your face falling slightly and betrayed no concern. You had enough to worry about, being as far from home as you were. However far away that was, anyway. "It'll be alright, love. I'm a resourceful cook," he smiled as he put the filter over a carafe and started on a pour over. "I promise I'll make you somethin' nice whenever we stop on a island and restock the pantry."

"If everything else you cook is even half as good as that pasta last night, I'll be very happy." You tried not to think too much about last night's dinner, just so your mouth wouldn't start watering.

"You liked it that much, did you?" Sanji had gotten plenty of compliments on his cooking in the past, but they were always nicest when spoken by a lovely woman.

"Yeah. But it probably doesn't mean a lot coming from me. I have to have sleep for dinner more often than not, so I'm easy to please."

'Sleep for dinner'? Oh that wouldn't do at all. Sanji got quite serious for a moment. "As long as you're with this crew, you won't have to worry about skippin' meals."

"Right. I'm guessing Luffy requires three square meals a day on this ship."

"Five. Plus snacks."

"Not surprising," you said with a smile. "How long have you been a pirate cook anyway?"

"A little over a week." Sometimes, especially when moss head was around, it felt like much longer than that.

Your eyes went wide. "Wow, really? So you're new to this. That makes me feel a little better."

"Happy to help," he smiled. "How do you take your coffee, gorgeous?"

You described your usual order, and Sanji followed it exactly, pouring coffee into your mug once it was ready and giving it a stir for you.

Finally, you had a steaming hot cup of coffee in your hands, made just the way you liked it. The warmth of the mug was soothing against your palms, and just the smell of it did wonders already. "Thanks, Sanji."

"My pleasure," he said, pouring his own cup. "I can brew you some whenever you'd like. All you have to do is ask."

"That's a dangerous offer. Unless you're really okay with doing it several times a day."

"I don't mind makin' coffee for an otherworldly beauty such as your yourself."

"Do you ever run out of those ridiculous lines?" You took a sip, giving him a raised eyebrow over the rim of the cup.

"Not when I have such lovely inspiration." He stirred his coffee, finding himself reminded of the previous day. He'd been called a lot of things over the years, but never a pervert. It had stung a bit in the moment, if he was being honest. Moss head's amusement only made it worse. "Though it's probably not helpin' your opinion of me, is it?"

It took you a second to realize what he meant. "Sorry about yesterday. At this point, I'm pretty sure you're not a pervert. You didn't set off my creep radar." And after years of being a waitress and dealing with the general public, your sense was pretty spot on. It helped that his nose hadn't started gushing blood at the sight of you or Nami. "I think you're just a terrible flirt."

"Says the one who called me hot." Sanji said with the cockiest smirk you'd probably ever seen.

Your cheeks suddenly began to burn. "I said the whole crew was hot. And I thought I was dreaming. That doesn't count."

"It does."

"Ugh." You hid your face behind your hand. "Don't you have breakfast to make? Go do that."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, chuckling as he went for the pantry.

As you took another sip of coffee, you wondered once again why–and how–the universe had put you where it did.

you didn’t exactly need to worry about roronoa zoro. he didn’t lose fights. he didn’t rush into anything rashly— just calculated and confident. and he didn’t spare anyone a second glance. sanji found him completely infuriating— women threw themselves at zoro; offering to buy him drinks, offering him directions and all but cuddling up to him in public spaces, only to be brushed off with a grunt or sideways sharp expression. zoro wasn’t polite about his rejections, either— sanji practically begged him to let the girls down easy and still, he would only cast them a sideways glance, dark eyes looking bored and uninterested as he stuck an arm out and stopped them from getting any closer to him.

zoro was loyal to the point of fatally flawed. in his world, sometimes there was no other women but you. even poor nami and vivi would occasionally be at the end of a glare and unamused grunt. it was as if he forgot that you already trusted him fully. as if he needed to constantly prove himself to you and show you that he was committed. he was always so committed. to his swords, to luffy, to the crew— especially to you. he went out of his way for you in sometimes comical ways. some mornings he would wake up extra early just to make sure that sanji didn’t make you breakfast before he did. he always walked between you and the citizens of whatever town you were in, eyes scanning their faces as if identifying the most likely threat to you. he always stood just slightly in front of you, hand always hovering over the hilt of his sword just in case, shoulder blade pressed against your sternum with an arm slightly outstretched as if he alone was going to shield you.

you watched from the bar stool as yet another colorful haired girl began batting her eyelashes in zoro’s direction. he didn’t even notice. beer in his hand, leaning back against the counter like he owned the entire place. you eyed him, which he immediately noticed and met your gaze. he lifted one eyebrow and gave you a barely there smirk, “see something you like?”

you didn’t roll your eyes, but shifted slightly as sanji passed you another drink from behind the bar. “always.” you caught the drink and passed it in between hands, smirking faintly at him, “and every other girl in this place certainly does too.”

zoro grunted at this, shifting his beer to his other hand and eyeing you, “how disappointing for them, i’m sure…”

your lip twitched into a smile and you shook your head, “you didn’t even notice, did you?”

“does it bother you?”

you tilted your head, still eyeing him incredulously, “that the man every woman’s eyes are on goes home with me and doesn’t even spare them a second glance?”

zoro’s cheeks reddened just slightly, the faintest twitch of a smile at your acknowledgment. “for the record,” he looked more smug than he had before and shifted in his seat to face you fully, “i don’t spare them a first glance.”

you clicked your tongue with a smirk and inclined your head towards him, “i think sanji does just fine absorbing all the female attention…”

zoro muttered something that sounded a lot like idiot and you felt yourself smile, “i think he may just be the rebound after the pretty swordsman doesn’t so much as glance their direction or accept their free drink…”

“they’ll get over me, i’m sure.”

“oh, i don’t know… you’re pretty spectacular, pirate hunter.”

another smirk and his eyes darkened, “careful. that kind of talk will land you in something you may not be able to finish…”

you tipped your glass against his bottle and grinned innocently, “oh, i always finish what i start, roronoa zoro.”

zoro smirked and eyed his own bottle, expression dangerous but thoroughly amused. he took another sip before muttering, “just not very quietly…”

you whipped your head back around to stare at him and found yourself just savoring the smug smirk on his face that warned that he was entirely too cocky and in too good of a mood tonight to attempt provoking him without landing yourself way over your head once again.

you never had to worry about roronoa zoro, but everyone else certainly did. anyone who looked at you a little too long, stood a little too close or who’s tone was a little too friendly. all met with a sharp glare and an occasional blade to the chest. not even sanji was safe from the occasional threat when his naturally flirty personality got a little too carried away.

zoro– chronically indifferent and detached from most things– had written himself an entire new code of conduct just explicitly for you. he smiled more, he laughed more, and he assured you were never more than a foot away from him any time you were off the ship. he stood closer, his eyes would find you before any one else’s and hold your gaze for longer. then he would sit beside you without first fidgeting and scanning the room. he would brush up against you with his shoulder, casual, but intentional enough to let you know he was there. and wanted you to be close. now his hand rested on your thigh, casual but protective, equally for your comfort and his own now. he liked keeping you close. he was never over the top with his affection— certainly not in public— he would tuck a single finger in your waistband, yanking you against him at every suspicious character and lingering eyes.

zoro had always been protective. over any of the crew— luffy more than anyone else— but his demeanor around you slowly started to change more obviously than it was towards anyone else. you would catch his eye, you swore he started standing just a little closer to you, volunteering to go with you on every errand, coming up with some reasoning that he was going that direction too, anyway. you had usually been paired with him anyway, luffy and nami wanting you to make sure their first mate and master swordsman didn’t get lost. but eventually zoro really seemed to not hate spending time with you. and eventually, he snapped…

you had always helped sanji in the kitchen. before him, you cooked and sanji allowed only you in his kitchen. you stood side by side, you slicing the vegetables while sanji added them to the pan. you ducked under him to reach, he leaned over you to stir. his body was pressed against yours in a way that was not at all intentional. sanji put an innocent hand on your ribs, side stepping slightly to reach around you again.

“thank you, love.” it slipped out so innocently, sanji grinning as you passed him the minced onions and sautéed sauce. you smiled softly, nodding in acknowledgment before turning back towards the cutting board. you flinched, nearly slicing your own finger off with surprise as you caught a pair of brown eyes.

you blinked once, never used to zoro approaching so silently. he just stared at you, glancing between you and sanji and the very limited space between you.

“i was…wondering when dinner was.”

your mouth twitched up just faintly, not quite recognizing the look in zoro’s eyes but noting his tense posture and the way his thumb twitched against his sword. his eyes stayed locked on sanji’s hand on the counter just against your ribs. sanji shifted, pressing against your just slightly. zoro’s eye twitched and you held your breath at the way his arm jerked to draw his sword.

was he……

no—

your eyebrows lifted, fighting back a smirk. sanji glanced at you with a smirk, though you didn’t take your eyes off zoro. sanji shifted again, ignoring zoro despite his obvious glare.

zoro’s eyes tracked you as you shifted on your feet, adding ingredients and maneuvering around sanji. zoro just watched you, eyes dark and intense. his jaw ticked as sanji stepped closer once again, “scuse me again, love’,” he braced one hand on your hip, reaching above your head to the cabinet. his thumb twitched, hand shaking just slightly as he took in sanji like he was envisioning the fastest way to kill him. his hand closed around his sword and your breath caught.

“zoro,” you caught the immediate shift instantly. he was perched like he was ready to strike, preparing to attack with both swords.

at his name he flinched, eyes dropping the glare at sanji and flashing to you. there was a brief flicker of embarrassment, before he ducked his head and returned his hands to his side, still tense and brooding.

“i’ll help.” he seemed to stop himself from grabbing his sword again and side stepped behind the counter.

“what are you doing?” sanji had froze, eyes widening slightly. zoro had grabbed the knife from you and sliced the tomatoes like they were being punished. your jaw fell open, torn between finding his intensity attractive and being slightly concerned.

“what are—“

“i cooked sometimes before you came along.”

sanji glanced at you in concern, “i just am not sure there’s room for three behind the—“

“then leave.”

his tone wasn’t a suggestion and it wasn’t playful. zoro brushed against you as he cut like it was perfectly natural, standing between you and zoro in a way that was anything but subtle.

sanji paused, hand still braced on your hip, smirk spreading across his lips, “are you alright, mate?”

zoro’s eyes flashed dangerously, daring sanji to comment.

“you look a bit….. since when have you been this determined to cook? and trying to kick me out of my kitchen…”

zoro’s mouth twitched, jaw clenching.

“are you…jealous? not a fan of me and your girl in such close, steamy quarters.”

zoro moved in a flash, knife dropped on the cutting board and hand back on his sword. his eyes could have burned directly through sanji, face set like he was bracing for a fight. sanji’s smirk spread, eyeing zoro like he knew exactly what he was doing and how dangerous it was. you slowly stepped back and eyed zoro cautiously. the faintest smirk appearing on your lips.

“i don’t get jealous.”

he did not argue that you weren’t his girl.

you leaned back against zoro, head falling back against his shoulder. zoro glanced down at you with a tired expression as he downed the third beer. he lifted an eyebrow, a silent question. you just exhaled instead and closed your eyes momentarily. once zoro realized you were just getting comfortable and wanting to be close to him, he relaxed again and put a hand on the other side of you in a subtle gesture to keep you close. you placed a quick kiss against his jawline and his deep inhale turned to a content hum.

“should we find the others?”

sanji had slid back towards the two of you, looking tired but completely enjoying his bartending side quest. zoro grunted in response and sanji slid away with an amused smile.

“can i buy the lady a drink?”

zoro’s eyes opened and his gaze turned to the slightly swaying man that had approached. you shifted closer to zoro instinctively.

“no, thank you. i don’t drink.”

“all those bottles are from your boyfriend?”

you glanced to the small collection of empty beer bottles and almost laughed.

“what’s it to you?” you placed a hand against zoro’s chest as he moved to stand.

“i just think you deserve better than a drunk pirate…”

sanji had froze mid pour, eyes widening slightly. you held your breath, feeling zoro’s hold on your hip tighten slightly as he stood up with a deep sigh. “says the one swaying on his feet that can’t even look her in the eye…”

“seems to me you could be doing a number of things with her besides sitting in a bar. would hate to keep the lady unsatisfied.”

zoro didn’t so much as glance at the man as he slid berry on the table and shifted slightly, thumb pressing against his sword to unsheath it just slightly, “i wouldn’t worry about that too much…”

you could hear the smugness without needing to look at his face, “and even if i were drunk, i could still easily take care of you.”

the man snorted and you sighed, “i’d like to see you try. how about whoever wins gets the girl for—“ you ducked under zoro’s arm as he lunged forward. you didn’t even hear him draw his blade, before the man was unconscious on the ground.

“time to go,” zoro had become aware of the eyes on you and pulled you along behind him. you smirked to yourself, eyeing him as he kept the same neutral expression despite having just potentially killed a man with only his elbow.

the merry was quiet— a very rare occasion– creaking and swaying gently as you stepped onto it with zoro in tow. “you’re treating me as if i’m injured or drunk.” you eyed him sharply, the corner of your mouth twitched up. “oh, am i?”

“i can walk myself…”

“as can i. you lead me out of there with your arm around me, you know.”

zoro grunted, now eyeing you softly with the slightest smirk.

“you can keep me close other than just in public… did you ever think maybe i want to be close to you?”

zoro lifted his eyebrow, clearly not having thought about that once. you snorted, shoving him playfully. “did you think i do it for your benefit? cuddle up to you to show strangers and sanji that i’m already claimed?”

zoro stiffened slightly, “i didn’t mean for it to be like that. i don’t— i don’t only want you around when there’s eyes on you…”

you blinked once, hand on your hip.

“i don’t mean…”

“zoro, it’s fine. i was mostly joking…”

“mostly.”

you looked over at him with a small smile, “i knew exactly how you were when i fell for you. it’s part of your whole thing…”

zoro lifted an eyebrow, amusement pulling at the corner of his mouth, “my whole thing?”

“yeah, the swords. the bandana… the muscles. the grunts and side eyes…”

now he was smiling, “i’m not only like that.”

you were grinning at him, clearly amused by his protests of your perception. “i know… you do smile. occasionally. and you have managed to make me laugh.”

another smirk at this.

“if i wanted constant touching and overbearing cuddles, i would have picked sanji.”

zoro stiffened slightly, “i didn’t realize he was in the running.”

at this, your mouth twitched, “and if i wanted constant conversation, the obvious answer would have been luffy.”

zoro was eyeing you now, arms crossed over his chest, that usual casualness now holding an edge.

“do you often think about the strongest traits of the other men on this ship?”

and just like that you had him. there was the slightest hint of something in his tone. his posture was less certain than usual— expression now sharper and more anticipatory.

“of course not. i merely take notice of my friends… sanji is obviously touchy. he always has been and he means nothing by it. luffy would talk all of our ears off all the time if we didn’t remind him to breathe.”

“so what about me?”

you leaned against the railing, turning to face him fully, “you? you’re deeper than all that. you carry yourself like the world will move for you. the confidence… something you carry without an ego. you’re just so sure of everything. but most of all, i think it’s your passion.”

“i’ve never done this before.”

you took him in gently, eyes soft as they met his.

“i know… it’s not something you can spend a lifetime planning for or be taken care of with a sword…”

“you can tell me when i do something wrong…”

“you’re not doing anything wrong, zoro.”

he exhaled, turning to face you, “it was just different with you… i didn’t think anything of it. and then you just disappeared in whiskey peak and i couldn’t think straight. it was the first time something scared me…”

you inclined your head slightly, “and i probably should have said something. but i didn’t… and then sanji was bandaging your wounds instead of me and…”

your mouth twitched into a smirk, “are you jealous, zoro?”

“no, i’m not. not anymore… i—“

“it’s okay.”

“no. it’s not… i need to show it.”

“you don’t need to do anything…”

“i’ve never had a reason to, you know… it’s always been just me. then suddenly i have this…family. and this girl… and the world started looking a little different…”

zoro’s grip tightened in the railing like he was wrestling with himself. he kept his attention on the sea, “you said it was my passion… you once said i have too much passion. that i do everything with an intensity and commitment that could level islands.”

you just nodded, shifting closer to him, “i meant it. even with luffy and his quest to be pirate king, i’ve never seen anything like it. you’re dedicated. i’m still in disbelief of you, zoro.”

“i want to be like that. with you. that passion and dedication and commitment.”

“you are like that with me… you’ve showed it in your own way all along.”

“i want to be different. better for you… not only when there’s other men staring at you. or when we walk uncharted streets and i’m not yet sure if i need to protect you.”

“zoro…”

“i promise to be better.”

the days had gone where he would flinch at touch or stiffen at a bit too much laughter. he had started to lean into your touch— when you cried his hand was the first one you reached for and the one you held the longest. if you couldn’t sleep or startled from a too real dream, it was him letting you into his room at three in the morning. yet he needed to be more. he needed to initiate. to go out of his way…

“i love you.”

you flinched as if you had been shot.

“as much as i understand love… from what i’ve experienced…and felt…”

“zoro…”

“i’m not afraid to say it. i’ve always said things when i mean them and i think this i mean more than anything… and maybe now that scares me. i don’t know how to carry this… everything. you… so i’m going to start showing it.”

he took your hand and your entire body felt the heat. the cool ocean breeze seemed to not touch you as zoro stepped closer.

“i love you… and it will be with the same conviction and commitment that i do anything else…”

“i love you too…”

you pulled him closer, but it was he who first kissed you. it was zoro who wrapped his arms around you and kissed you like he had been deprived. it was zoro who didn’t let you pull away or let that space between you weaken for even a moment.

he would reach for your hand more— in the quiet hours of the ship and while sanji was cooking dinner and everyone gathered around in loud voices. he would pull you closer when you stood beside him, one arm on your hip, fingers holding you so you couldn’t move away even an inch. he would catch you off guard with a quick kiss, subconsciously still looking around to see who had seen— hoping it had been everyone.

zoro finally pulled away when you were both breathless and slightly unsteady. his eyes had darkened slightly, lips glossy with where you had been. he still had his hands on you, smirking in that way that was almost non existent.

“do you want to stay in my room tonight?”

you tilted your head slightly, mouth a faint smirk, “do you have anything in particular in mind?”

nights were usually spent in you room— hushed and dizzying, sometimes silent save the mingling of your breath. you were always left lightheaded and satisfied, clinging to zoro until you fell asleep and he kissed your forehead gently before quietly retreating. he never stayed the night.

he didn’t do it intentionally—

he didn’t do it to be distant…

he just couldn’t bring himself to make that step. he would guard your door, always volunteering for the night watch, swearing he was protecting the most valuable thing on the ship.

To wake up to the loud bass of God knows what kind of grungy music someone’s kid is playing at full volume a couple of doors down from his apartment is not exactly how Leon wants to be woken up on a random Sunday morning after another gruelling mission. It really is not.

But it’s exactly what is going on right now. With an insufferable beat stomping in his ears and making his walls tremble with edgy tones and a nausea-inducing, messy rhythm. It’s stupid that he instinctively reaches for his gun; it’s even more stupid that he points it at the closed door of his apartment. And by the time he actually understands what the hell is going on, anger pools behind his eyes. Fucking kids.

He’s still in his sleeping clothes when he bangs on your door. And, judging by the messy hair and three sizes bigger t-shirt you greet him with, so are you.

«Oh! Hi, can I help you?» «Lower that damn music down, do you have any idea what time it is?» For a second, you blink dumbly at him, with the edge of your door in hands and the sweet smile frozen on your face, and Leon is almost proud of how impolite he has come across. Then something in you snaps, and your face turns into a scowl; a pissy, youthfully-judgemental scowl. «Like… 2 pm, dude?» What?

Now that you have mentioned it… the hallway does look suspiciously lit. He must be looking completely lost, and a good portion of dumb, if even you — the most terrifying of monsters, a young adult — after a piercing eye-roll, find pity for him in the depths of your cold, cold heart. «Alright, I’ll tone it down a notch, but you have to go to sleep earlier next time. 2:15 is genuinely fair game.» And with a hip propped against the doorframe, you arch an eyebrow and deliver the last painful jab at his dignity: «grandpa.» For a second, Leon is so out of depth that he genuinely gapes. Well, there goes his resolve. «I’m sorry—»

Not that you step down easily with the derogatory sass, on the contrary, his sudden nervous behaviour seems to spur you on. «Don’t have a heart attack over it,» you cut him short, before swinging your weight from leg to leg and fixing him with a sour expression. «I’ll cut the music out, so you can have your afternoon nap in peace. Old man.» And with that, and a last dismissive huff, you close the door in his face, and he’s left standing on your “go away” doormat that does nothing but rub salt into his wounds. Well, that was brutal. It’s only when he’s back inside the safety of his apartment, too awake by shame to go back to sleep, too physically taxed to do anything else, that he finally realises he never stopped to buy coffee yesterday, coming back from his latest mission; and the nagging feeling of having forgotten something gets dethroned by pure despair.

He has to do some serious mental gymnastics to convince himself to throw on his leather jacket and walk in his pyjamas to the store, but he cannot function without coffee. It still takes him 20 minutes to hype himself up enough to even slip on his shoes. No socks because he hates life.

And today, life hates him back apparently, because as his door slams shut, his eyes connect with yours under the rim of his baseball cap and you’re simply there, at the end of the hallway like a sphinx guarding his freedom, between him and the stairs for the outside world, one yellow package in one hand and the handle of your door in the other. Your eyes scurry to his, attracted by the loud sound of the closing door, and something wicked splits your lips in a grin. «Well, well, well… aren’t you up bright and early?» You mock, crossing your arms and dangling the forgotten package from the hiding place tucked against your hips. «I finished coffee.» Is the only thing he can murmur, surprisingly truthful and plain. For a minute or two in the brightly lit hallway, nothing but silence lingers in the air; then, suddenly, as loud as gunshots, your laugh ricochets through the walls. «Man, today is not your day at all. Get in, 12B, I’ll make you a cuppa.»

And on a normal basis, Leon would have never accepted, but today, nothing feels normal. So he follows. The apartment is furnished the way Leon would expect a 20-something girl’s apartment to be furnished, perhaps leaning a bit on the side of 90s grunge; the one he lived on his skin firsthand during his own youth, and now echoed in his neighbour's cramped living room/kitchen/music room. It’s a weird transitory space that feels lived-in, as if its purpose had shifted and changed during the years, settling into an impractical mixture of old functions and newer ones. «Do you play?» The row of guitars and what he assumes are bass lines the wall over a mismatched old piano that screams “old lady” rather than college student. All different colours and shapes, a particular one even having two necks and some glittery finishing over the body. Those too feel lived-in, with scuffs and scratches across their varnish. «No, I like to spend my paychecks caring for these bitches out of the kindness of my heart.» sassy, «I’ve been playing since I was seven or so.» It should feel like hostility, but Leon knows what true hostility feels like, and that is not it. You’re more like a hissing cat swaying your tail dismissively, deeply offended. «You’re a mean one, aren’t you?» The coffee machine sputters to life, a low buzz indicating a long life of usage. You turn and tilt your head, unimpressedly looking at him through your lashes, «Me? Are you having a senile moment? I was sunshine and rainbows when I opened that door; — your hand does something incoherent with itself in the general direction of the exit, then, coming back to him, a finger points square at his chest — you were the mean one. It’s truly not on me this time… As you sow, so shall you reap.» You pronounce at the end, like a mantra, spinning on your heels, chin up in pride, messing around with pots and coffee pods.

«I had a rough night. My bad, I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.» It’s really easy to slip onto the stool at your small kitchen island, as easy as asking for your forgiveness. It feels almost… normal, a well-oiled machine that has finally sputtered back to life after years of neglect.

It sounds stupid. «Don’t stress about it.» The comforting aroma of coffee fills the air, the sound of poured coffee curls around the edge of your words, mixing and fusing. «There is space for my piano and then some inside those eye bags.» Your figure turns, your smile settles back into the soft one you had opened your door wearing, and something soft tugs at Leon’s heart. His cup clinks onto the kitchen island, you sip your own, the day outside slowly moves on. «Sugar?»

It gets really easy to talk to you, like sipping the sweet coffee cooling in his mug, like huffing at your playful jabs and hiding his smile under the rim of his hat as you question and probe to get a rise out of him.

It’s well past four when his stomach grumbles loudly, and you once again laugh at his expense. His joints creak as he rises from the stool, hands hoisting him up «Well, that’s my cue to leave. Pardon me, my lady.» Your laugh is a kneecap shot; Leon has dealt out his fair share of those, he knows how effective they are. You take no prisoners, stretching lazily over the counter dividing you two, your hands shooting from across the island to cup his own. «No, no wait! I’m having fun.»

His legs give up, and he crumbles back into his seat. «Tell you what, pretty eyes.» Your hands don’t leave his. «If you don’t have coffee in there, it’s hard to believe you have actual food. I’ll make you a deal: I cook you up something de-fucking-licious, and you tell me why I thought you were dead in your apartment, and your cat was eating your face to survive.» Your voice is light and cheerful, your back straightens, and your eyes glimmer in the afternoon orange light pooling from your windows. He’s suddenly two sizes bigger than his own skin, so out of place in your serenity, «I’m not usually around.» he chews in between his teeth, unable to avert his gaze but willing to try. Yours, once again and unsurprisingly, feels steady. Unhurried. «No shit, Sherlock, but if you want food, you’ll have to be a bit more loose-lipped.» «Why?» It’s an honest-to-god question, perhaps a bit too honest for his training. It feels like a layer of his soul is being peeled. You shrug your shoulders and let go of his hand, almost sure he won’t attempt another flight, and turn on your heels to start the late lunch. «'Cause I’m nosy as fuck.» you offer simply, putting a small pot on the stove and bobbing your head as if to punctuate each word now that he can no longer see your expressions. «Well I— I’m truly not… around… that much.» if you wish to humiliate him for the dumb repetition, you don’t let it show, simply huffing a somewhat derisive sound and arching an eyebrow from behind your shoulder. «How so? I thought people your age had achy knees, not travelling desires.» Yeah… why so? But most importantly, why is he around now? And why does he have the feeling he’ll have to make peace with the idea he’ll be around quite a bit more?

To put it simply, Leon is slowly falling into retirement; he can feel it. The missions are sparser and fewer in between; he’s at home more and more often, and life just generally feels… slow. He’s not getting any younger, tons of new agents are getting recruited every month, and his experience is starting to get outweighed by the constant ache in his knees. He’s old stuff now; the DSO is of the youngster roaming its neon-lit halls, as all he can do is make room and wonder how did he get to see his fifty.

His silence must have been interpreted as offence as you quickly cast a glance behind you and rectify: «Alright, I’ll quit it with the old man jokes. You did piss me off tho. Did the coffee taste of peace offerings and spite? Because that’s what I was aiming for.» You’re cute. All words and sassy remarks. A chatterbox with a cute scowl and an even cuter irritated frown. «Mmmister?» He gotta put his ass in gear, «It’s Leon. It’s stupid I haven’t told you yet.» God, he’s out of practice. But that doesn’t seem to faze you, little does apparently. «You’re fine, Leon.» You concede, pulling open the cabinet over your head. «You feel like the mysterious type. Plus, I liked “grandpa”» Grandpa. His eyes trail your back; you’re difficult to pinpoint. There is something unmistakably weird about you, the way you talk, the way you act, but Leon doesn’t really get what’s tipping him off; you’re just weird. It’s plain in the way you laugh, and it’s there when you say some absurd thing, bending backwards on a logic that is all your own, but it doesn’t stem from those. It just permeates them. His eyes catch yours, once again over the edge of your shoulders, and he finally notices you’re quiet. «Sorry, I wasn’t— I was paying you attention… I just got lost in thoughts.» and those same eyes shine, not with malice but not with innocence either. «An open-eyed nap? Alright, that was the last one. Tomato sauce or pesto?»

A couple of days later, he finds you at his door. Mail in hands and a new, silly, pyjamas hanging loosely on your body. «Dude, Kennedy? Really? Like the president?» Never mind “Confidential” is plastered all over the mail. The postal service managed to fuck it up regardless. «Gotta something to say about that?» Your shoulders shrug, your hand stretches, «Not really, it just sounds silly.» It’s out of his mouth before he can catch it, «My middle name is Scott if that fans you amusement.» It does, it really does, if the nasal and ugly laugh that escapes you is any indication. Weird. «Well, your mail got delivered to me mister president.» Yeah, he can see that; he got some neck to twist back at DSO.

He knows it’s not early, he won’t make the same mistake again and embarrass himself twice on the same matter, but he’s so fucking tired. «Dude—» This time you’re dressed, a black shirt of some band he had seen in concert, but that probably broke up before you were even born. Already on a war footing. «I know, I know, it is fair game, but— please, I just really need to sleep.» It must have been rude to cut you off like that; it definitely was, but he had been verbally digested once; he doesn’t want to have that experience again. You look pissed, eyebrows drawn, and hand gripping the door frame at your side, and for a second, Leon double-guesses his social skills, nonexistent, and his ability to not make you mad with his mere existence. But the sharp tones in your drawn eyebrows smooth, softly, almost out of habit, more than real softness. You look… gentle? «Aight. Fine. I’ll cut the music.» Leon can feel a sight escaping his lungs. «Thanks, really. I’m sorry.» Your head shakes, your shoulders do the same, and the myriad of bracelets on your wrist ring like bells. «Don’t be. I get it.»

That is the moment he should retreat, go back into his apartment and back to bed, the couch if he can’t manage the off meters separating the two. But something seems to prevent him from doing so. You are still there, scrutinising him like a mortician. He should take your doormat’s advice.

«Did you manage to buy coffee?» He didn’t. «Shit— no, I’ll go out tonight.» Last week had been a nightmare; spotty missions of a day or two, polluting his everyday life. Not hard at all, but gruelling. Your tongue clicks on your teeth, «Don’t bother, grandpa.» Fucking nickname, he won’t be able to shake it off, won’t he? «I gotta pull an all-nighter anyway. Just knock, and I’ll get you set up.» That’s odd, you’re odd. Oddly gentle, oddly kind. «You’re awfully nice for being this rude.» Even your laugh is odd. «Rude my ass, dude. Go catch your beauty sleep, princess; you look like shit.»

He does, catching up with his sleep — not look like shit, thank you very much — in a blissfully silent apartment, and then, not even bothering to put something decent on, he knocks at your door. «Damn, old man. Thought you would have been out for at least a couple of hours more.» Weird, but weird in a funny way. Like weird ha ha. «Thanks God you’re funny, girl.» Coffee at your place becomes a habit. You bitch and whine about “taking care of your elders”, but Leon eventually understands it’s an act. He does odd jobs at yours from time to time. The sink doesn’t work? You don’t even have to ask, he’s already two-thirds of the way to getting it repaired. The shutters don’t close all the way, and you hate sleeping with the light of the outside world? He’s already oiling them. It’s a nice balance. It makes him feel needed.

It’s not really clear, in the strict timeline he keeps tabs on in his head, how or when, did warm coffee became trash TV from the worn dip of your couch. It just happens. There is so much caffeine you both can ingest without seriously damaging your stomach before the ridiculous excuse to keep the moment going starts to feel old. The shared silences and the lively conversations weigh more than a possible ulcer on his part and a probable insomniac night on yours.

It’s not unexpected from his point of view; you’re full of life, a constant buzz fluttering around him, softening the blow of his mind’s reeling thoughts, spiralling in silences stretched too long in his deserted apartment. But it’s — once again — kinda weird for yours. For some reason unknown to him, you actually like him around, no, you want him around. He has passed his whole life noticing details, the true distinction makers between life and death in his missions. So it’s not really “spy work” to spot them as they surface. The room you have made for him in your life, nudging your clothes and rags away enough on the couch to make room for him, tugging them in the crevices of the seat. Not gone but folded enough to just let him exist in a spot that is all his. The shift is in the cup you always give him, blue and white, glazed wrongly, probably a failed art project of yours or a close friend. In the pack of cookies you have started to pull out of the cupboard every time he says, “I should go” without really feeling like going. Only to bribe a few minutes, he was already willing to give up, out of him.

Hell, most of the time you open the door of your apartment before he can even knock on it. It’s odd, and it’s even odder that you have stopped murmuring the ritualistic “what a coincidence” after the first couple of times, but somehow that puts him at ease. It’s clear that you want him to be there, in your apartment. And it’s a feeling so long forgotten he had thought he would have struggled more to recognise it.

And it’s not even such extraordinary company the one you offer, it’s mostly a quietly buzzing presence, sometimes a tad too much, but mostly enough. It’s enough when you sit at his side. You have one of those old TVs that, when you shake your hand in front of it, makes it look like you have twenty fingers or more. Per hand. And he’s sure that will probably be the thing that fucks his vision up once and for all — Leon is sure about that — but it’s enough.

Even with the eye-murdering TV, he cannot stop knocking at your door, sliding down the couch beside you as you pluck chips from the bag and hand him “the greasy ones” because you’re picky like that, and somehow you can feel the difference.

He doesn’t complain. When you are too deep into your film, you even feed him, aiming for his mouth without taking your eyes off the TV. It’s awkward, clumsy, and so irresistibly you.

Somebody is trying to remove the door from its hinges. The gun is in his hands in seconds, low, ready. He gotta get out of the apartment quickly, he doesn’t know how many are there, he’s in civilian clothes, his ammo is in his bedroom— «Leon, open up, I don’t care if you’re asleep, come on!» Your voice sifts through the door, through the cracks in the crappy old wood as your fists bang on its expanses. The gun, from his sole lifeline, shifts into an imminent threat; he disarms it and tosses it away as fast as humanly possible, as if burning. God damnit. The door swings open; his frame must be towering over you if he can see his own shadow obscuring your entire body. «Kid.» If you’re intimidated, you don’t let it show, with a shove and a pull, you literally stumble into his apartment. «Dude, there is a fucking Porsche down the street!» Your gait falls jittery and excitedly, running at the window and throwing a glance out of it, down the street. «wha—» But you don’t let him finish, actually, you don’t even dignify him with a glance, waving a hand with chipped nail polish, at him still trying to merge yourself with the window screen, «Put some clothes on, I wanna go see.» Your logic is a fucked-up mess he’s not sure he wants to tackle this early, and this hungover. And yet he asks. «Why do I gotta be with you?» «I don’t wanna go ogle all by myself, I’d look like a creep.» Ah, yes, sure, now he understands. «Because with me you’ll look different?» At that, you finally turn, sharp gaze fixing him with impatience, and a tinge of… embarrassment? «No, but… you know, we’ll just be two creeps… like a flock, you know, anonymity in numbers and all that shit. Better than the lone creep anyway.» He doesn’t really know, mostly because if you don’t want to look like a creep to the owner, you don’t really gotta worry. It’s his. And he already thinks you’re a creep, or at least some other variant of plain “weird" «Alright, gimme a sec.» And yet he yields. «Hurry, I don’t wanna lose it.» You won’t.

«Duuuude, that’s so fucking sweet!» You look like an overexcited… you. It’s actually pretty difficult to compare you to something tangible, something he knows and can catalogue. Your wonder is fresh and childlike, but your excitement comes off of you in waves of low curses and keen eyes raking over his car. He shouldn’t have come home drunk last night, he shouldn’t have left the Porsche out of the garage, but for some strange reason, he doesn’t think the mishap bore horrible fruits. It’s actually pretty nice to see you like that. «You like cars?» «Not as much as I like guitars, but I can appreciate. I’ve never seen one of those before.» Let’s see if you’re telling the truth. «You only like French cars or like…» Your laugh rises airy and light, not in derision, not even mischievous, once again, only yours. «Dude, Porsches are German.» The key in his hand clicks, the car beeps to life, and you almost jump out of your skin. When you turn around, panic visible on your features, looking for the owner, the keys are already dangling from his outstretched hand, and for a second, he can gloat in the magnificent picture of your owlish eyes blinking, slow; as the cogs in your brain shift and clunk connecting the dots. When he speaks, it’s a low rumble, «Alright, teach, do you wanna go grab some coffee?» You look like a fish out of water, gaping at him, and if your eyes could pop out, they would. «Are you?» You don’t even finish the thought, your eyes dart back to the car, to him, «Is it yours?!» «Yup.» Joy jolts through your veins, zapping behind your eyes, raw and unfiltered. «Oh my god, can we— coffee? Can you—» but then something snaps, all that enthusiasm bubbles over, but it’s as if the means to feel it were suddenly taken away from you. And you shift, a bit awkward. Silence falls. «Have you… have you drunk…» your voice comes out low, very low, almost inaudible. Torn between jumping in and putting your feet down on something you won’t negotiate on. He did, he could actually say he got hammered, stumbling up the stairs well into the night and collapsing into his couch moments after, not even properly securing his door, passing out where you had found him this morning. A heap of crumbled clothes and the shadow of a legend. Slowly fading away. Yesterday had been… weird, but not your type of weird, sad-weird. His life had flushed down the drain, drowned in cheap alcohol because that gave the worst hangover headache, and at this point, “hurt” is the only thing that keeps him connected to that part of his life that is actually way more than a part and that without he doesn’t know how to function. So yeah, he’s had a drink, several actually.

But your weird — right now — feels so real he can’t find it in himself to deny you; contagious and fuzzy, like a bad case of the flu. And he feels all warm and sluggish as he stares down the path of voluntarily wrapping around your finger. To be commanded left and right, for the simple pleasure of keeping you content. Buzzing. Not the same buzz he finds looking for solace in the bottle.

You fidget in your spot, growing roots, not moving a single step to get inside the car. He’s weirdly proud of you for that. «I did, that’s why you’re driving.» And for being a sad excuse of an old man, he must have done something right because you suddenly shine.

The coffee shop you drove to that evening was a random one, the only one open this late into the hour, but somehow that became a usual spot. “Usual” is also the habit of letting you drive. For a couple of minutes, Leon simply kicks off and lets you drive, letting you guide him wherever you want. The both of you end up going there quite a lot. On weekends, on Mondays, on Tuesdays… every time Leon is not at work. So a lot. You don’t seem to mind the fact he’s mostly silent, he hopes not rude, but definitely silent. He can’t change in the snap of a finger.

«So… you like own this crazy car but live in that shitty apartment building. Are you like one of those dudes who spend all their money on flashy cars?» The asphalt runs smoothly under new tyres, your voice drifts through the car. «The apartment is good.» The eyebrow-rise is comical, Leon thinks he did laugh; «Leon, I live two doors down from yours. I know mould is growing in your bathroom as well.» It does, in fluffy cotton balls of slightly concerning black substance. But if he closes his eyes, head lolling on the window of his car, he can recall the memory of pristine surfaces, modern lines and oddly shaped high-end lamps looming over perfectly 90° corners, walls of egg-white paint, expensive furniture. Untouched. Waiting for him after endless missions. A solitary life in the guts of a place that screams “aseptic” from every cashmere quilt. «Not really. I have another— place. I just…» You don’t press, you don’t ask, you just let him find it on his own. «I just don’t like it.» Your hum is barely audible over the sound of the car, but it’s sweet, and it’s soft. «And you like that piece of crap? I heard there are loud neighbours on that floor.» At that one, Leon actually laughs, unguarded and raw. He has been like that for a while now, slipping into the habit of simply existing out of questioning in your orbit. A gravitational pull that lures him in. «I’ll take your shitty music over never-ending silence any day.» The corner of your eyes crinkles, that unfiltered laugh seeps into the car, and his heart skips a beat, but oddly feels like it’s falling into the rhythm of yours.

He’s heading down a very dangerous path, but you are driving, and he has no power over the destination.

Leon huffs, annoyance must be visible on his face, perhaps pulling at the worry lines littering his forehead. Wrinkles, there is no need to call them by any other names, they’re wrinkles. «I used to be able to bullseye a wind chimer a mile away.» The newspaper slaps against the table. He can feel the waves of tension rolling off of him, and so must you. One eyebrow arched, eyes unimpressed. «And now you can’t read the newspaper without glasses.» The deadpan lands harder than you probably intended, smoothing the rest of the phrase out of your lips with a softer edge to it. «Come on, grandpa, use this. My father forgot them here like a lifetime ago, I assure you, he won’t mind.» But it doesn't land where you must have hoped it would land. And you must have seen that on Leon's face, this time around, there is more than tension; there’s hurt.

Your voice comes soft and unhurried but firm nonetheless; you don’t reach, you don’t corner, and for that, he’s grateful. You just exist, and you let him do the same «Leon… what’s wrong?» «It’s fucked up.» There is not much more to it. It just is. He has grown old. Useless. The look you pull is weird. Why must you always be weird? So complex to read? Because for a second, you look hurt. Plainly, openly. For what he said. As if he had said it about you. «Leon…» Easily mistaken for pity. Not that he truly believes it. He knows deep down that’s an excuse. The clock over your stove ticks by, time falling slowly out of his reach. «How so?» Your voice rises steady and calm; in a sip of coffee still too hot for him to drink but apparently perfect for you. «What?» Your shoulders shake gently, eyes darting up over the rim of your cup, directed at him. «Why did you know how to “bullseye a wind chimer a mile away”?» «I’m military.» Safe, easier than explaining Raccoon City. Your face pulls, half displeased, he’s well aware how opinionated you can get on government stuff; he gets where you come from, he had wanted to become a cop — a lifetime ago now — for the exact reasons you had listed. Tone heated and annoyed, one dying day he had passed lounging on your couch. He had wanted to change the world back then, to make a difference, but life had yanked him away from that path, hard. And the cop inside of him had died that faithful day. More than thirty years ago. You eye him suspiciously, as if he had turned into the enemy all at once. «Hold the gun, I’m DSO.» «Meaning?» «Division of Security Operations» Your face scrunches up, a very cute frown that tips into displeasure ever so softly, hiding your emotions had never been your forte. «Wow, that gives me like… nothing.» His scoff flees his lips almost unwantedly. «Anti-bioterrorism.» You hum, the sound rippling the surface of your coffee. «Cool.» You relent at some point, as if admitting it cost you something.

The bitterness resurfaces suddenly, ugly and unwanted. It was cool. «Not that it matters now. It has been a while since I’ve been active on the ground.» If there is something that you are, it’s not subtle. Your eyes bore holes where they rest on his figure, intense and searching. «That doesn’t change the fact you had been… DSO or whatever.» «No.» He hadn’t been someone— hell, something in a while now. Aimlessly drinking his sadness away, syphoning your joy, your calmness from your company. You don’t speak, nor correct him. «No, you don’t get it.»

For the first time since he met you, Leon sees it all from an outsider perspective. Outside the bubble of comfort you envelop him in. He’s old, so very old, and you’re younger and brighter, with a future waiting just around the corner. What is he doing weighting you down? It flutters out of his mouth in an exhale. «Of course you don’t. You’re young.» Then the right word to describe it boils down: «It’s humilia—» «Normal.» Your voice cuts him off sharply. Two steps, the clink of your cup to the kitchen island separating you. Your hand falls to his shoulder, and you look at him like you need him to believe you. Unmovable. «It’s normal, Leon.»

Something, in the deepest depths of his soul, is cracking open; he can’t actually pinpoint it, but he can feel it. It doesn’t scare him this time.

Falling for you is soft and graceful, then all of a sudden, it's messy and horrible. Jittery and unsure around you. Like he had lost the balance of your shared existence. So Leon does the next best thing than confessing: he withdraws. Because you don’t feel what he had found himself feeling for you, and it’s a fool’s hope to think of you as anything more than a weird acquaintance.

Days of isolation turn into weeks. You don’t knock on his door, and you don’t go looking for him.

Your absence rings louder than he thought it would. It’s in every nook and cranny of his life where you have jammed your presence, and it hurts around the edges, like a sharp object pressing onto his ribs. «Leon?» clammy hands wrung around each other, pulled hair. Sweat glistening on a thin sheet on his skin. He’s too old for this. «I… I’m sorry, I can’t— I can’t be alone right now.» What a pathetic thing to say to your twenty-something neighbour at three am after you have tried to avoid her for nearly a month. You ought to kick him out, curse his name, and spit on him. Because he’s a coward, a pervert and a pathetic man looking for comfort in retracing a bridge he himself has burned to the ground. «Oh… Yeah, sure, come on in.» But you are just so fucking odd. The apartment buzzes with the soft sound of the fridge in the far corner of the kitchen, the TV glows with a very annoying static and a low crackling sound. You lazily stroll barefoot to the couch, crunched covers squished down, rummaging through the cushion for the remote and shutting the TV down. The room falls into an uncannily still silence, Leon’s heart stutters but stops the galloping it had done for the past interminable minutes of lone panic. The remote slides back over the couch, a thud in the otherwise silent room. You turn and lean into the backrest from behind it, leg outstretched, as if you had never sat in a damn couch. «I’m sorry…» Comes out of his lips small and unsure. «You can go back to sleep, I just— I’m sorry I shouldn’t have—» «It’s alright, do you wanna sleep? Or talk, or like, watch trashy TV?» The proposal is so stupidly sweet he can feel it in his teeth. A dull ache. «No, no, it’s—» What is it? «I just wanted to know you were— okay. Just… safe.» Your head lolls up and down in a sluggish rhythm, crossed arms, a foot coming up to scratch the back of your calf. «Do you wanna sleep over?» He must have heard you wrong. «What?» «Like a pyjama party, shame I just ran out of facemasks. Sleep here.»

«Knowing you’re there, it’s— it’s enough, you can go back to sleep.» It is. It really is because all of this has always been about how much your presence has come to ground him. Your voice lifts something heavy in his chest, soft and calm. «Will you be able to sleep at yours?»

Fuck no. «No.» «Then stay. Why torture yourself?» Because I deserve it. And I don’t deserve you. Too bold. Instead, he settles on: «It’s a loaded question.» Your shoulders draw in, a silent chill running down your spine in jarring shivers. «It wasn’t supposed to be. Stay.» A huff of a laugh filters through his teeth. «I—» «Leon. Please…»

«Yeah… okay… I’ll— sorry. I’ll settle on the couch.» Your face pulls; there is something you wish to say underneath the sleepiness, but you refrain. «Will you be able to fall asleep there?» «Yeah, I will… eventually.» You look less than unconvinced, but once again, your self-control puts his to shame. «Okay.»

It’s an afterthought, soft around the edges, as you pull away from the backing of the couch, sleep clinging to your judgment. You pull him in when you’re close enough, arm circling the small of his back and a palm guiding his nape to the crook of your neck. A soft embrace. Comfort seeping through his clothes, where your skin meets and burns through each other’s warmth. Your voice hitches, «Door’s wide open if you want to curl up and spill your guts.» Then, as if you wanted to drill the thought deeper into his understanding, you clutch harder. «I’m right here.» And with that, you retreat. And he’s left struggling against what that had meant. He can’t recall for sure if he clung back. He does eventually. Fall asleep. Around five or so. And wakes up at eleven, to the soft clatter of kitchen utensils. «Good morning, pretty eyes.» Your voice fills a very deep void he never noticed. I love you. «Good morning.»

Your eyes burn on his skin. Always so unsettling focus. «What?» «Something’s different.» The slurping sound of the straw in your glass announces you’re done with your overly sweet milkshake. He’s halfway through his steaming hot coffee. «The milkshake?» He doesn’t even know how you could be able to tell, all that sugar must have fried your taste buds. «No, dummy, you. Something is different with you.» An eyebrow arches, he sips slower, just because he knows it irks you. «I don’t know what you’re talking about.» It has been a week since the night he spent on your couch. And that has gone blissfully unacknowledged. On his part, you had simply behaved as if what had just happened was the most normal thing that could have happened. «Yeah, you look… better?» your voice cuts through, smacking the tackiness of the sugar away from your lips. «Is it a question or a statement?»

He doesn’t get to listen to your reply. A waiter, all sweet smile and bubbly attitude, approaches your booth. «Can I bring you anything else?» She asks, tapping a pen over an already filled notepad, looking directly at you; Leon has been the “scary guy” all his life, he’s not surprised the woman must feel better speaking to you instead of him. «Oh no, I’m all done.» So he folds himself into a smaller version of what he is, pressing closer to the window, head tilted down. Less scary, less imposing. «What about your father?» The words freeze something in the air, like a spell gone wrong. And all he can inhale is ice-cold dread. Until he has to mutter: «I’m fine.» before the moment drags out worse than it had started. «He’s not my father.»

Your face is hard to read, soft-eyed, a simple smile on your lips, a genuine tilt of your head. You look at ease. You don’t look ashamed. «I’m so sorry—» «Don’t worry.» Man, you’re weird. «You drive like a madman, are you sure you’re not drunk?» You’re not even worthy of a proper answer, so you get a grunt. The road bends and twists in intricate backroads, “to avoid the insomniac rush hour.” you always say when you take it. «Leon—» but tonight you’re in the passenger seat. «I’m dry. Been a week.» Silence falls back, your head falls softly onto the headrest. «A week, mhm?» Fuck, you’re way too damn observant for your own good. «Yeah, been thinking of quitting for a while.» He steps on the gas, sidestepping a lone car going too slow for his liking. «What got your panties in a twist?» «Nothing.» And you let it be nothing for a couple of seconds, even a minute if Leon believes your magnanimity, «Was it the waiter’s comment?» But you’re not that nice, all things considered. «No.» And you’re not easily deterred either. «Then why are you trying to snap your wheel in half?» «You don’t know me.» The whiplash is painful. His own venom drips down his lips, poisoning his own thoughts. «Fuck— I—» «You think so?» Fuck, fuck, fuck… he fucked up so badly. Like horribly badly. «I—» «Stop the car.» That’s it. That is how the only good thing left in his life ends. Because he’s a sad man who doesn’t know how to stay in his lane. «Please, I’m sorry—»

«I want to know you. I do. And you can start letting me get to know you by telling me why you're mad right now.»

The car sits idly on the side of a deserted road. No other passerby in sight, you might as well be the last humans alive in the world. It feels like it. «I hate that she just assumed…» Your voice clicks, a low hum, almost like a buzz. «Why?» unkind. But not harsh.

You just sound demanding. No point in running. «Because I like you. And you deserve better.»

«Better…» Yes, better than someone edging on the void of the half-century mark with no other accomplishment to his name than destruction and blood. Yeah. Better. «Yeah.» «Better than you, but you still get to decide what I deserve and what I don’t.» «No, you—» You don’t even blink as you deliver your next line. «I’m the worst person alive.» And he falls for it like a dumbass. «You’re not—» «Then you aren’t either. If I like you, and you’re such worse, then I in fact do not deserve better. I deserve you exactly.» The air in the car grows heavy. Your words linger between your bodies. «You don’t like me the way I like you. Believe me.» «Boy, you’re dumb.» Your belt clicks, the car gives off a faint alarm, still on, still humming under you two. And for a second, panic sets in. He’s sure that next will come the bell of the door being opened with the car keys still inserted, yet another alarm blaring in his head. But it doesn’t. You lurch over the shift, hand fisting his shirt in your grasp, and then you yank him to your level and kiss him.

And then the rest falls into place with a satisfactory click. The odd-weird you’re dancing on the edge of infects him like a virus, and suddenly, he’s all jittery buzz and tingling fingertips as well. It must be all that sugar he’s tasting off of your tongue.

«Abso-fucking-lutely not.» his palms fall to your figure, harder than intended.

Your huff is playful; you rarely aren't. «Hard ass.» His hands grip harder. Your waist, your hips, your thighs straddling his lap. He guides you lower, harder, over the clothes you still cling to. «I am.» He still clings to. It’s hard to explain. He now knows for sure you won’t judge him; you have done plenty to deserve his trust, but the objective truth is that his body no longer looks like what it used to look 20 years ago. The scars have gone from “enough to feel mysterious” to ugly viper’s nests of leather-like damaged skin, varying in colour and texture; his muscles, no longer cutting, look defined, sure, but the definition of too strenuous work that had left marks deeper than stretch marks over bulging biceps. He looks used. Exhausted. And that scares him.

Your hand dips slightly lower than he thought you would, grazing the hem of his shirt, and his body goes rigid. «Wait—» Your hand retreats immediately, clasping behind your back as if demonstrating to him you’re harmless now; holding onto your forearms. Your lips land on his cheek, soft and steady, until you withdraw, but don’t leave him behind. «Sorry, love, got carried away.» The ease is so jarring he doesn’t even have the time to chastise himself. «It’s okay.» he mutters then, because he truly feels like he has won the lottery with you. Then a huff follows, as you litter his face with kitten kisses. «You sound like my mother when you call me “love”» Your feigned gasp comes with the definitive withdrawal, eyes wide open and false shock painted on your face. He had told you at least a dozen times. «You should know better than that.» you tut suddenly, popping your neck softly. You’re not wrong, his couch is kinda uncomfy. The smirk surfaces like a message in a bottle. Only reading “trouble” all over. «Aren’t you the one who got all grumpy ‘cause the waiter insinuated you were my daddy?» The tip of his ears warms up, and he’s sure that if he were in front of a mirror right now, he’d notice a soft dusting of red colouring them. «She did not say “daddy”» Your grin only gets wider. «She didn’t… I could tho.» Jeeze, he’s gonna combust. «Okay, you’re in time-out.» But he knows you have filed his reaction under the “for later shenanigans” folder inside your brain.

You dismount him like a saddle, swift and confident, not at all bothered by the interruption. He is tho. «Hey. Princess, hold on a second.» His fingers wrap around your wrist. hot versus cold. You always seem to run a bit colder than the rest of the world. Your eyes don’t. Pools of endless warmth zeroing on him. «What’s up?» So he blurs it out. «Does— I know it’s bothersome.» and he can no longer take it back. «What?» And if he can’t take it back, and you’re both already there… he might as well go with it. «The interruptions. It’s— frustrating, I know. I’m sorry.»

Your blinking is slow and deliberate, or maybe it’s just confused. «It’s not. I mean, not really; I do wanna jump your bones, you’re stupidly hot, I feel like I’m salivating every time I see you. But your comfort is the number one priority. So it’s actually not that hard a choice.» Oh…

Well, now he’s the one wanting to absolutely wreck you. It’s not fair. «Can I sleep at yours tonight?» «I’d be offended if you didn’t.»

This is silly. You are silly, your ideas are silly. It’s silly that you’re lying facing each other on your comically small bed. «Your mattress is minuscule.» «But he’s very hard. He’s compensating.» A hand lifts from the cramped space between your bodies, and a snap of his fingers hits the side of your forehead. «Dirty mind. If I knew it was this small, I would have stayed on the couch.» A smile at the edge of your lips pulls slightly. «I think he’s average size.» Typical. «Plus, I got rid of the bigger one to get you all close and cuddly the day you’d finally accept to nap with me.» Leon huffs. This close, he can see the strands around your face moving by the action. You look stunning, groggy with sleep and illuminated by the low light of the outside world. «A mastermind, I see.» Your giggle settles into a comfortable background noise, mixing with the sounds of the street below you; mischievous glint shining behind your eyes. «I got you in my bed, didn’t I?» You did, hell yeah, you did. «What’s next, Emperor Palpatine?» That grants him a full laugh, a soft sound falling precisely between embarrassing and sweet. «I’m swaying between making you cut that beard of yours and letting me shoot a real gun.» Silence falls softly over you, like a blanket pulled under your chin.

Leon’s the first one to break it. «Can I kiss you?» Your eyes soften. «How many times must I tell you, Leon: you don’t have to ask.» One too few. He will never stop doubting himself. «Only once more, I promise.» It’s not once more. He asks every single time, when you wake up in the morning, when he circles your waist at the stove, when you part ways to go to work, when he comes back and finds you curled up on the sofa, reading or plucking at the strings of the guitar of the day. It’s a routine that settles into a type of comfort that eggs him softer and softer into an edge he’s not sure he’s bordering until it’s too late.

The desire slams into him all at once, like a brute force pressing from every direction into his very soul. He has just returned home, to your apartment that had somehow morphed into your shared quarters, and you are just standing there in the kitchen, spoon in hand, and your work clothes draped over the back of the counter stool, messy as always, one of his T-shirts so old it probably predates you, hugging your figure, logo dry and faded. You’re doing some shenanigans with the stove, fire too high, he can already tell from the doorway, and you look so… cosy.

The desire hits hard. The need to act on it hits even harder. He barely shrugs his coat off, throwing his briefcase to the side and marching toward you. The sound slightly startles you, your shoulder jumping slightly, but you turn lazily, eyes focusing on him. «Shoot, I didn’t even notice yo—» He doesn’t let you finish, he just really wants to put his hands on you and grip tight enough to convince himself you’re real. This time, he doesn’t ask for permission; he still thinks he should have, but the want is too much. The kiss is hard and full, one hand flying to the back of your head and the other finding something to grip on your waist, skin, clothes, whatever he can put his hands on. He holds you there, gripping you tight and kissing you deeply. The room fills with smacks, you open up like a flower to sunlight, initially shocked, then melting to his touch. The hand on your waist flies to the knob turned to the highest setting and shuts it off. Something simmers in the background, finally cooling down. Your lips part with a wet sound, a strand of saliva still connecting you. You look at him sheepishly, still panting, still wide-eyed, lips red and glistening; something mischievous bubbles deeper. «You’re gonna burn down the whole building.» his own voice sounds strained. Desire is on a rampage inside him. Your eyes narrow, focused and predatory. «What can I say, fire must be in the air tonight.» Cocky. He still snorts. «Dinner’s busted by the way. In case you haven’t noticed. Beyond salvageable.» He noticed. It’s alright. He’s not hungry. Well, he isn’t for food. «We’ll survive.»

The moment stays charged, or at least he thinks it does; it has been a while since he had been comfortable enough with somebody to let the passion bubble. He had been an awkward teen, a lifetime ago now, a somewhat clumsy rookie, and then he had been a traumatised recruit. Not the best state of mind to let loose.

Sure, he had overcompensated at some point in his youth; when he had been younger and prettier, when the girls in bars had found his scars attractive and not concerning. But even that had gone stale quite early, and the shame of lying had outweighed the brief relief of a one-night stand. And Leon had gotten older, and the wrinkles around his eyes had deepened, his eyes had darkened, and the worry on his forehead had settled into deep lines. He had started to frequent the bars solely for the booze, and the pretty girls had started to steer clear of him. Leon’s not a saint, but it has also been a long time since he deemed himself worthy of such comfort.

Panic seizes him once more, and the urge to ask for permission flutters agitatedly in his chest. «You okay with this?» You’re not even doing anything. Your hand falls to his, slid from the back of your neck to your cheek, and it just rests. «Are you?» He knows you well enough to know this is not a throwaway line; you actually expect a response. «I am.» «Good, then I’ve been okay with this for months.» This time it’s your turn to jump him. Quite literally, filling the inches separating you two with thrown arms around his shoulders and on tiptoes that barely makes you tall enough.

The fire lights back up. And it’s with such ease that you kiss him that his brain doesn’t even go into performance mode. It just lingers in a blissful state of want and warmth. He’s pretty sure he’s the one who hoisted you up, but you might as well have been the one who decided to climb him like a fucking tree. He’s not sure anymore; he just knows his hands are suddenly full of you, and he’s pressing your body on the kitchen counter, mouth on yours and your soft noises buzzing in his head.

God, you sound divine, wrapped around him and kissing him like that.

There is a certain abandonment in you that urges him on, the way you cling to his shoulders, hands raking through his hair, kissing his worries away, one soft lick at a time. «Can we— bed… Now… please—» You don’t even let him finish, nodding against his lips, awkward and hurried, bumping your nose on his. He lifts you higher, tossing you up without really thinking of it, simply wanting a better grip on your body. Your leg clenches, your arm tenses up, and an almost- squeal flees your lips. «Jesus Christ, Leon, how strong are you?» What? For having caught you mid-air? «We can test it.» It’s so fucking stupid the way you mouth “Oh my God” as if he wasn’t there to judge you, sliding your hands from clasped behind his neck to his biceps, softly squeezing over the oversized sweater. You’re so odd, so silly and stupidly you.

The walk to the bedroom is quick; he’d throw you on the bed if he didn’t adore you the way he does. But for how much he wants to absolutely wreck you, he wants to appreciate you the way you deserve. So you get softly laid on your bed, tantalising exposed skin and mussed hair. And when he retreats, stalling just a second, he finally allows himself to fidget. The hem of his shirt being the closest thing he can put his hands on. «All good, Leon?» «Yeah. Just— a bit spooked, I guess.» It’s actually surprisingly easy being honest with you. It comes without a pricetag, just something he has filed under “normal” and has kept acting upon. «Okay. Nobody’s testing us; we can do what feels better. That includes stopping, Leon. For whatever reason.» He knows, he can feel the softness in the air. Still, your attentiveness pulls at his heartstrings. «You’re stealing my lines… You know it works both ways.» Your smile mirrors his, small, persistent, shared. «I know.» You do. He can see it in your eyes, the complete trust you put in him. And to look at you from so high up feels weird, so he puts his palms beside your thighs on the mattress and bends until he can kiss your lips once more.

When he’s back up, the shirt comes off almost instinctively. He’s ruined, he’s marred by scars, but he’s utterly yours, and the sudden feeling of belonging makes him think you can’t hate him all that much if you’re willing to keep him regardless.

You hiss, your eyes dart across his chest like magnets. «I know. It’s—» «Hot. Oh my God, Leon, you’re so fucking gorgeous.» Had he been younger, he’d be blushing. «You’re just humouring an old man.» Your eyes zero in on his, and it’s impossible not notice how dilated your pupil is. You look ready to devour him. «Am I? Do you wanna prove it?» It doesn’t land immediately. He’s still taken aback by such a blunt display of desire that his brain has to reload, then you part your legs slightly, and lift his old shirt enough to let the low light of the room catch a glint.

You’re soaking through your panties.

The knowledge lands like a slap, hard, physically painful, so devastating he falls on his knees. That’s for him. You’re like that because of him.

His hands are on you the second he can get his brain into motion, maybe even before, attracted by your flame like moths to fire. They look for your thighs, for the strap at your waist, tugging, begging. «Please— Can I—» «Yes.» It’s barely more than a hiss, sharp, breathy. His effect on you. His. «Please, you can do whatever you wan— please, Leon… Just touch me.» And he does. Gripping your thighs and dragging you closer to the edge of the bed, tearing your underwear, ripping them clean off. You have time for a single, soft yelp before his lips land square on your core, dead centre. He’s too damn old for teases. The air in your lungs hitches, his tongue darts out; a long, flat strip of spit gets dragged up. «Fuck—» The word stutter, his mouth gets to your clit, and he sucks. Your hand flies to his hair, and the other one lands on your mouth. Hiccups smouldered by your knuckles, as if you were biting down on them. He doesn’t know; he’s in too deep to check on your volume management.

It’s funny, actually. To your moans, he would have liked to be woken up.

The fact it has been a while since he had indulged in intimacy doesn’t mean he’s green. But the sensation is certainly new. It’s not a means to an end, eating you out. Be it taking the edge off or keeping you satisfied. It’s… really fucking hot. There are no other words for it. It’s just really turning him on.

His thumb hovers over your clit, not yet touching, not retreating either, a threat, a promise. His tongue dips lower. You’re so wet he can feel the slick running down his chin, soaking his short beard. Fuck that’s hot, and that’s for him. Because of him. Your moans turn higher, squeals bordering on high-pitched yelps. The perfect moment to add his fingers to the mix. And see what other pretty sounds he can drag out of you. His tongue flattens and swipes between your folds. Then his thumb settles over your clit and circles it with precision. The sound you make should be recorded— no, engraved in his head forever; they should play it in his ears instead of the rush of his blood every time he stands too fast. Just to make his ageing softer. Better.

He’ll have to settle for branding it to memory, trying to capture every dip and high in your cries. Your fingers clench; he didn’t even know it was possible. The soft sting of pulled hair a constant reminder of your grip. «Fuck, Leon, I’m close.»

Your warning means nothing; the absolute abandon with which your orgasm hit you renders it useless. Your legs lock, keeping him there, the hand in his hair tightens, and loosens in spasms that scream of barely held together concern, and your whole body shakes. The moment your body snaps over the edge is loud. Your back arches in a delicious curve, creaking ominously, as if threatening to break. A gush of slick wetness suddenly rushes down his chin as he desperately tries to swallow as much of it as he can. Greedy. It lasts minutes, and when you finally slump back, he’s tempted to follow you for a second round. He almost does, succeeding only in one good kitten lick over your pussy, but the tug in his hair stills him. «God, please, up— I want you inside.» The need to just ignore you and just keep feeding his own wants is strong; it shows its ugly head in a low growl, and very poorly disguised self-control. He’s so hard in his pants. It hadn’t even occurred to him. «Talk to me.» Your voice is a lifeline, a life jacket thrown into the abyss of his desire. «I- I just really fucking want you.» He does, he really does. With all his heart and all his body. «You have me. Up now. I wanna see you naked.» The hand in his hair, that had just been resting at this point, slithers out of its previous grasp. You regain a surprising amount of grace for someone who had just had an orgasm as you shimmy upward into the still-too-small bed and settle against the headboard, throwing his old shirt over your head and sideways. Remaining starkly naked. Ah, the joys of youth.

Your eyes glisten playfully, a tug on your lips betrays renewed vitality. «Come on, chop chop.» The belt clinks; it all comes so naturally.

«You’re gorgeous.» You murmur when he’s as naked as you are, and he believes you, it’s very hard not to, with your pupils blown and your breath shallow. «You are.» he still replies, because you are and because you deserve to know.

The edge of desperation has faded, or better, it’s still there, pulsing in his temples, but it’s background noise. You’re the centre of it. He’s present enough to remember to prepare you. An orgasm is great, but it does not work wonders; gently, slowly, until you’re begging for it and shoving the condom wrap in his hands.

Then, when he’s sinking into you. Kissing you deeply and letting you taste yourself on his tongue. He thinks this might be the only time he has fully felt himself in the last decade.

You flinch at every inch he feeds you, muttering about beard burns on your inner thighs, and hitching your breath at every less-than-perfectly-controlled thrust. It’s agonising and slow. But it’s so tenderly vulnerable that he’d rather soon cut his own hand off than speed it all up.

It makes for a perfect moment to hold you. To bury his face in the crook of your neck and inhale your perfume. You smell safe. Like the coffee you keep sharing with him and the metal of your guitar’s string. But that has to be his imagination. The lingering feeling of knowing you deeply and fully.

When you finally start to urge him further, nudging him closer and deeper. He has half a mind to deny you. Just to hear your soft whimpers once more. But he doesn’t. Because he adores you and you deserve better than a prick that likes your whining.

So he speeds up, thrusts deeper, harder, throws you around a bit to make sure to hit all your sweet spots.

«Leon— close.» Fuck, he’s too, your vicious grip really leaving him no respite. «I know—» your walls flutter tighter around him. «Fuck, me too… me too, love.» His arm hooks your leg back up, calf resting into the crook of his elbow; he hopes he’s not crushing your leg in his grasp, but the line between squishing, gripping and smashing has gone blurry a few minutes ago. He hoists you higher, thrusting deeper still, your punched-out moans filling the room. «Fu—» You come first, hard, throwing your head back, crying out the tension building in your lower belly. The sight of you is what tips him over the edge. Plain as that. His heart squeezes painfully, his leg cramps slightly and then he comes. The light coming through your curtains hits softer than the one coming through his. Leon wonders why it is so. «Good morning, sunshine.» Your voice lulls him out of sleep. It’s the first time in ages he woke up before 1 pm. «Morning, princess.» Your room smells like coffee and the faint traces of last night’s sex. Your hips sway playfully as you close the gap between where you stand and where he lies. This is a life worth living.

Your lips fall to his temple, softly, cradling his face in the cups of your hands. «To think better.» You murmur on his skin, lower, gentler still, on his right eye. A barely-there kiss. «To see better» then his left «to aim better.» The letter sits on the counter, DSO, confidential. Black skin marrying his body. You love him. You have told him so countless times, even like this, even this broken, infected version of him. But he can't stand the infection, not the idea of it, not the sight. Another nest of scars, another mark. Something that takes and takes and gives nothing back. A life he has chosen.

His lips must taste of regret and shame; it looks like you’ll have none of it, not if you can kiss that away. He doesn’t deserve you. «What is that for?» Your shoulder shakes, a shrug, normality, domesticity. Nothing is changing. He holds onto your confidence like a lifeline. «That one is for me. To keep you close.»

He’ll get back to you. To the three-room apartment, and he’ll tell you of his idea to knock down the wall separating your units and merge your lives once and for all. He’ll tell you he wants to adopt a cat and settle into your life; like he belongs. Because he’s starting to think he does. Here, with you. He will when he comes back from this “yet another” mission. His last one. He promise. «I’ll come back.» «I know.»

«I love you.» Your gaze falls softly on his. He knows you know. «I love you too.» He does come home. Worse for wear, too old to recover in a couple of weeks, but he does come back. He promised you.

You make a mess of your apartments, and the cat gets named Chad. It never fails to make you laugh, so he just relents to the name. It’s silly, it’s stupid, it’s odd, but most importantly, it’s you. And in your existence, there is that damned space you have made for him.

Let me know what you think <3 <3

And then there was the sex, or what was becoming a lack of it. After you’d first confessed your feelings to one another, you’d been fucking like rabbits. Every night without fail, sometimes multiple times a day. It was exciting, he was a little rough and loved stretching out that time with you. It slowly waned, which you figured was just a symptom of getting busy at work mixed with the relationship becoming less new. But then it was twice a week, once a week if you were lucky. And those times were much faster, less foreplay, less rough-housing. Still sweet, and still enjoyable, but it felt like he was holding himself back from you on purpose. No grabbing, no fierceness that was so present before. Now he handles you like glass, like he’s going to shatter you with his touch.

You’d almost been convinced you were imagining it, sugaring up the beginning of your relationship with rose-colored glasses. But even your friends had noticed. They had brought it up when Leon dropped lunch by your office as a surprise, and had left without so much as a touch on your back, let alone a kiss, which had been very unlike him before. Your friend had straight up asked if the two of you broke up, or if it was a fling. It tore your heart open to realize that you weren’t being dramatic. Leon was giving you a cold shoulder.

You’ve wracked your brain for every possibility, anything you could have done to lead to this. There was a close call on a stealth mission, while the two of you had been separated. Leon had pried what happened out of you during your week of rest. He knows your silences too well for you to hide much from him, anyway. He was really upset. Not at you, really; just at the situation. That’s what he had said, at least, but you doubted it was the extent of it.

Leon’s bit of a hero complex tends to rear its head when you’ve been in trouble, and it’s something you’ve learned to quell over your years beside him in the DSO. But now, all of a sudden, it seemed to be affecting him more than ever. The only thing that had changed was your relationship status.

You try to compartmentalize those feelings on your way to the briefing. Thankfully, this mission is solely you and Leon. Sure, it’s work, but you look forward to spending time with him. It’s how you fell in love with him in the first place.

And, you thought, how he fell in love with you.

Dispatch gives the two of you a quick refresher, just to re-emphasize your goal. Retrieve data, get out. Don’t worry about arrests yet. Kill any BOWs you see. Try not to die.

Business as usual.

They drop you in a field just outside of a forest, about an hour’s walk from the facility. It’s overcast, with a coming storm hanging over the sky. Thankfully, there’s a car waiting for you on the closest road, you just have to traipse through a bit of the trees to get there. Leon trails behind you as you lead the way northeast, as instructed. It’s awfully quiet, crunching leaves and snapping sticks intruding on the silence as you go. You hold yourself back from littering him with the questions plaguing your mind the past few weeks. It can wait, you tell yourself. After. Stay focused.

“Shit.”

“What?” You nearly break your neck to look at him, worried.

“Forgot my pocket knife,” he’s frowning like he’s dropped an ice cream cone.

“That’s unlike you, Mr. Prepared,” you joke. “You okay?”

“Fine,” he says it too quickly, like you’ve caught him doing something he’s not supposed to. You raise an eyebrow. He touches your shoulder as he walks past you, continuing on. It tingles, and you wish he’d put it back. “Let’s go.”

Leon’s mostly silent on the way to the car, which isn’t necessarily unlike him, he’s a true professional when he’s on the job. He knows all too well where getting distracted will land you. Even so, there’s something awkward that lingers in the air between the two of you. Something uncertain, quiet but yet so loud. Even if you’re not speaking, you find yourself spacing out.

Right as you approach the car, a fallen tree limb gets you. You’re too busy staring at the back of Leon’s head, trying to project your thoughts into his brain. It’s his turn to whirl around when he hears you swear, and watches you fall forward. The asphalt rips up the skin on your knee and you just stay on all fours on the ground for a moment. Of all the injuries you’ve acquired over the years, nothing pricks tears in your eyes the way skinning your knee still does.

Leon helps you back to your feet, and you feel more like a kid than a weathered DSO agent. He checks over your face for any scratches first, and you’re almost glad you fell. Just to feel his fingers run over your cheeks and hold your chin like he sometimes does when he pulls you in for a kiss. You miss it as soon as he looks down at your knee, now gushing blood from the scraped skin. You can feel a trickle down your elbow, too.

“You’re a mess and we haven’t even gotten to the car yet,” he jokes. You follow him to the vehicle, a sleek black SUV, and he digs around for the first aid kit. Luckily they’d been nice enough to stock one for you in the glovebox. He sits you in the passenger seat, beginning to wipe your wounds with disinfectant.

“We’re wasting time, I can do this myself.”

“I’ve got it, babe, it’s alright,” Babe. It’s been what feels like too long since that had slipped out of his mouth. He says it like it’s what he’s always called you, like you’re meant to be his babe, his sweetheart, his baby. The second he stops talking he looks like he’s a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. You see him tense, occupy himself by unrolling the gauze. You watch him with a look that must scream of longing. He begins to wrap your leg just right; secure, but not tight enough to suffocate your legs. He smooths down medical tape on the end for insurance. “Your elbow?”

“Yeah,” you mumble. He lifts your arm to inspect the injury. You already miss the warmth of his palm on your leg. “This is so stupid.” You mean to talk about the fact that you tripped, but it held a layer of deeper frustration.

“What? That you fell on your face?” You shove his chest and feel a glimmer of warmth when he laughs. It’s so light. Almost golden. “Hold still for me.” He presses more disinfectant to your skin, and you grit your teeth. He feels you tense. “You’re struggling more with this than when I gave you stitches after Vancouver.”

“In my defense, you got me drunk before you started those,” you grunt when he presses gauze to your wound.

“Hey, I took some shots, too,” he defends. 

“What you did afterwards helped more.” Leon almost blushes at your flirting. You’d been so loud the hotel called you with a noise complaint the next morning. 

“All done. You need me to kiss it better, too?”

“Jerk,” you finally retorted after too long of a pause, where you’d considered a pathetic yes.

“Buckle up, we don’t need you getting more injured.”

The facility is in some derelict warehouse, of course.

“Looks like it used to be for car parts,” Leon studies the dirty sign outside. The word manufacturing is painted in what you imagine used to be a bright red. The name of the company above it is far too covered in bugs and mildew to read. You scan the grey concrete walls. It seems abandoned. But you know that’s nothing but a false flag. You walk around the building to find a side door. Best to avoid the main entries. Leon follows you, murmuring in his ear piece that you two had arrived at the location. He doesn’t mention that you face-planted within the first twenty minutes, to save your dignity. But if you know anything about him, he won’t let you live it down for quite a while.

He turns back on his focus, and you use the opportunity to do the same. It’s relatively uneventful for the first floor. An abandoned factory, littered with stray nuts and bolts. It gets far more interesting once you open a door to find the stairs to the basement. Dread settles in your stomach. There’s never anything good in a basement in your line of work.

Leon takes the lead with you close behind. The hallway is never-ending, and you swear it takes 10 minutes before you reach the door. You quickly pull Leon against the wall when you spot someone through the window. He’s pressed against your front, and you can tell by the smirk on his face he’s holding back some smartass comment.

The two of you stay plastered against the wall as you eavesdrop. Leon’s breath fans over your neck. It’s hot, he’s close, and it sends shivers through you. It’s probably been over a month since he was last flush against you like this. His eyes drag over you and you try not to shrink under his cool gaze.

The two of your heads flick back to the door when you hear someone mention Umbrella. You listen carefully. They talk about a few suspects you’d had on your radar for a while, and you peek just enough through the window to spot a computer. Perfect.

Eventually, the workers leave the room, and you wait a while to ensure they don’t return before you break out your lockpick. Leon covers you while you fiddle with it. You let out an aha when you hear a familiar clunk.

You retrieve the hard drive from one of your belt pockets and begin to find your way into the computer. It’s a suspiciously simple system to break into. Leon keeps a lookout while you work, but you can feel the heat of his gaze return to you after every pass around the room.

The silence is almost deafening as you watch the progress bar tick forward ever so slowly. Leon’s still sweeping the area with his eyes, and you’re staring at him. As he comes back around the room to you again, he raises an eyebrow.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you shrug and adjust your holster. Shift your weight from foot to foot. You can’t stop thinking about it. About him. The absence of his touches and his flirting.

“I know you,” he tilts his head slightly. “It’s not nothing.”

“Later,” you push, before adding, “I just missed you, is all.”

Leon’s got something close to guilt in his eyes as he processes what you say. It’s not as simple as him being gone, geographically in another place. He’d been right in front of you this whole time. Just a different version of him, one that was blurred, a mere shape of Leon instead of the crisp, detailed vision of him that you had blissfully taken for granted.

You just give a small smile, tinged with a bit of sadness. He drops his gun to his side and just stands there, facing you. He looks so small suddenly. His normally hardened, steel eyes are softened by his affection for you. You fight the urge to run to him and tackle him right there. 

You glance back at the computer. 85.

“I…” he trails off, stumbling for words.

“We don’t have to talk about this right now, we should focus,” you inhale deep. Hold it. Push the feelings coming up your throat back down. Leon looks like he’s doing the same. The computer beeps at you, loud and shrill. An emergency firewall has been activated. “Shit. Someone knows we’re here.”

“I knew that was all too easy,” He’s next to you again, staring at the huge red alerts on the screen. He winces at the piercing beat of the alarm. “Can you shut that thing up?”

“Already on it,” your fingers fly across the keyboard with ease. Leon watches you and can’t fight the smile of admiration. Your brows pinch in focus, and your tongue pokes out of your mouth just ever so slightly. You’re downright cute like this. Absurdly beautiful. He gives into himself, allowing a long look, taking in the way you lean over the desk, one knee bent. Your fingertips are nimble on the keys, precise as he watches the wheels in your head spin. You’re focused and confident, and it reminds him of the way you command a motorbike. He lives in his memories for just a moment. The way your face lights up with the wind in your hair. A smile full of mischief as you rev your bike and speed ahead of him. The cock of your helmet as you look back at him chasing you. Leon’s always right behind you. He’d follow you into the pits of hell.

After a few clicks and finagling, the siren quiets and it’s all too still again. Your senses are heightened. Every creak of Leon’s leather jacket raises your hackles, like a cat ready to strike.

“I disabled the firewall. It’s downloading again. But keep an eye out, I have a feeling we’re about to have company.” Leon’s already read your mind, scanning the perimeter again. He stays next to you now, so close you catch the scent of his cologne. You wonder if it’s childish that you wish he’d hold your hand right now. Give you some kind of affection. Just a touch.

92.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop being impressed by you,” he’s said as much plenty of times, but the compliment still sends a wave of pride through you. No matter how close the two of you are, you’re a glutton for his praise. “You’re good at your job, you know that?”

“Yup,” you snort. “Don’t stroke my ego too much, we’re not out of the woods yet.” He balances out the glaze with his next comment.

“Speaking of impressive feats, how’s your knee?”

“I’m gonna strangle you, Scott.” 

You go silent when footsteps sound outside the door. You both draw your guns and close in on the hard drive, facing the two exits. A low, inhuman growl sounds from outside the door Leon’s watching.

“Looks like you have some competition.”

It bursts through the door as if on cue after Leon’s comment, and you begin to fire off rounds at its head. Or at least, what you think is its head; you’re honestly not sure. It’s a conglomerate of flesh, goopy and dripping blood. A bit of annoyance hits the back of your mind. You like the jacket you’re wearing and you now know the likelihood of it coming out unscathed is zero to none.

Leon falls in step with you just as easily as taking a breath. He fills in each space you leave, counting your own shots and covering you when you have to reload. Every grunt he makes, every shot he takes, you’re zeroed in on. It’s not until two rounds have been unloaded into the creature, and it's still swinging talons at you, that you begin to worry. A tingle starts to form on the back of your neck. This isn’t going to be as simple as a bullet to the head. 

The creature begins to close in on you and Leon, still flanking the hard drive and computer as it finishes downloading. You eye the percentage. 95, 96.

It’s not going to make it.

Leon knows this, too, He sprints across the room, shooting an entire clip into the monster as he goes to draw its attention away from you. You try to swallow your concern as you watch the download climb ever so slowly to 100. You practically rip it out once it’s finished, turning around to find Leon cornered, focusing all his energy on just dodging the creature’s swings. You tuck the hard drive securely back in your pocket and shoot the back of the thing’s head.

“Hey ugly! It’s my job to piss him off, over here!” You yell, and try to ignore the fear overwhelming you as it takes off in your direction. You manage to slide under the desk and cross the room in time to avoid a slash to the face.

It’s not until the BOW crashes into a pole and a stray piece of scaffolding pierces its eye that you figure out its weak spot. It’s screaming so loud that your ears ring. You manage to raise your voice over the high-pitched noise.

“Focus on-”

“Its eye,” Leon finishes for you. Always on the same page. “Let’s get rid of this thing.”

The debris from the fallen scaffolding has broken apart, leaving several perfectly sharp objects to stab an eyeball with. You’re not a javelin thrower, but you do your best to hit the target from afar, and you’re getting pretty close as Leon distracts it. Unfortunately for you, it’s way more pissed off at the many sticks piercing its skin. When it rears back and turns toward you, a chill runs down your spine.

You’d set yourself up behind the desk for cover, but now that cover has you trapped. And your doom is fast approaching. 

“Mother of fuck,” you scramble for your gun, and shoot at its eye as many times as you can before it’s directly in front of you. Your feet dangle off the ground and all you can do is look at Leon in terror. You take in him as best you can, trying to ignore the look of fear all over his face to let him be the last thing you see. You squeeze your eyes shut when he rushes towards you, not bearing to look at the thing that has you in its grip again. It constricts your ribs so tightly you’re sure that several of them are bruised and broken, and your lungs begin to contract violently as you gasp for air. You can’t see Leon anywhere, and you wish you’d given him the hard drive so he can run. At least then, this all wouldn’t be for nothing.

Suddenly, the creature stills and croaks. Blood explodes from its head, a pipe inches away from piercing you as well as it begins to fall over. Your vision is blurry, bright white stars littering the grey of the warehouse. You can’t do much but try to fall away from that thing as it dies. Blood showers you, sticky and warm. All you can smell is sweat and metal.

You’re coughing violently, blood coming up with some of your heaves as you manage to get to your knees. Leon’s running over to you in an instant, a look of fear and relief fighting for claim on his expression.

He hugs you so tight it hurts, saying your name over and over again. You can’t bear to have him let you go, for your own sake and his. He says your name desperately, wet with tears and worry. You’re still shaking violently from the coughing fit, and from the fear. Your eyes are wide as they meet his. They’re tinged silver with tears as he pulls you against him again. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know what to say.

You fumble at the back of your belt to check that the hard drive is still there, sighing with relief when you feel the hunk of plastic. Leon’s too busy focusing on you to worry about the mission. He clutches you tight as you make your way back up the stairs and out the exit. The men from earlier must have sent in their goon, hoping to take care of the two of you before they fled.

The clouds have opened up over the abandoned factory, and rain pours down on the two of you relentlessly as you stumble past overgrown roots and vines. Leon has you tucked into his side, which honestly isn’t making it easier to walk, but you can’t complain. The warmth is grounding, and you can tell he’s measuring his pace so that your pain isn’t any worse. 

He opens the passenger door for you, eyes trained on you as you lower yourself into the seat with a sharp breath. The same dynamic as a mere few hours ago, but this time Leon’s not cracking jokes. Something much scarier is lingering in his eyes. His hands hang at his side, still and clenched. You wait for him to close the door, but he doesn’t move. 

“We should call evac.”

“Leon, I’m fine. Let’s just go to the safe house.”

“You could have internal bleeding, I really don’t think-”

“Look,” you suck in a breath. “Maybe. But one night shouldn’t kill me. If it gets worse, you can call. I promise.” You can see him trying to form an argument in his mind. “Leon. I don’t- I can’t be swarmed by a bunch of doctors right now. Please.” Your voice begins to shake as you process your near-death experience. You reach for his arm and he lets you take it, hold it to your chest just to feel him. “I just want to be with you right now.” He’s fighting something, staring at the fresh cut on your face, the bruise on your chin. He looks like he’s the one in pain, not you. He just nods, curt, and shuts your door.

The drive back is silent. Leon white knuckles the steering wheel every time you cough in between shivers from the rain and the terror. You wish he’d put his hand on your thigh, just like he used to. Pretend everything is normal. Like you’re on your way home from work. You’d shower together, washing away the grime and muck, then you’d steal one of his shirts to lounge in. He wouldn’t complain. Then the two of you would order takeout and fall asleep on the couch together so you could do it all again tomorrow.

It takes an hour and a half to reach the safe house. The only thing that punctures the quiet is your wheezing, and eventually your body gives into exhaustion. Your head slumps against the window, and Leon almost slams on the breaks before he reaches over to check your pulse. You’re just sleeping— your heart pumps, even and strong. He leaves his fingers against your neck for longer than he should. Fingertips fall slowly down your neck to your collarbones, over the necklace that glints in the setting sun. It’s a dainty chain, with a bullet casing hanging down at the apex. It’s from your first mission together. He’d gifted it to you to commemorate your first year as his officially designated partner, which felt like ages ago. You’d not been a field agent before then; just an analyst and tech expert in his ear. Full of wit, sharp as a tack, and haunting the corners of his mind even when your voice wasn’t tinkling his ears with laughter at his stupid jokes. It wasn’t until a year or so later when you’d put in the request to change roles. 

He runs his thumb over the casing. It’s dented a little at the edge, from where it’d fallen out of his pants after the mission it came from. He doesn’t really know why he kept it. Maybe because it was his first time with an official partner, a new step in his career. No longer a lonely wolf. Maybe it was that he’d realized he liked you a little more than colleagues should; that he’d purposefully made excuses to see you in person, telling himself he wants to get to know the person who’d saved his life more than once from miles away. Wanted to commit your face to memory as more than a few pixels on a screen or a faceless reprieve in his ringing eardrums. 

Whatever it was, he’d made sure the memento was safe, tucked away alongside his father’s old lighter. It stayed there until he’d dug it out of his work pants one day, the chain beside him on his desk. A remnant of a weapon and a loop of beautiful silver shining under his lamp. He opened the jump ring with steady pliers and slipped them onto it together. The casing dangles from the necklace, swinging seemingly precariously, but he knows it won’t break. The metal links are woven together thoroughly, forged in fire and now offering a jump ring to hold onto. It’s tightened in a secure loop now; no way of separation. Like the two were meant to be joined as one.

He’d been so nervous to gift it to you, not wanting you to see right through his shield that he’d carefully reinforced the closer the two of you had become. But sentimentality had created a bridge that he knew he should burn, to keep you from the depths of his fortress of a fucked up heart, but he couldn’t bear it. You looked at him like he was something special; like he wasn’t a tired, scarred mutt.

You’d hugged him so tightly when he presented you with the gift that he wasn’t sure if his lungs had restricted because of your hold, or his heart’s rapid pumping. He’d managed to wrap his arms around you in return, and he’d relived that moment for years afterwards. The scent of your shampoo, the way you’d mumbled his name into his shoulder, your hands over his back. He’d realized then that he’s not sure he’d ever get over his dumb little crush on you. His little crush that wasn’t so little anymore.

And it was confirmed the next time he’d watched that necklace, years later, swinging in his vision as the two of your bodies melded together, your breathy moans like salvation in his ear. The way you’d desperately gasped that you loved him, had for a while, and he felt on top of the world. You’d stayed with him after, in his arms, warmer and sweeter than anything from his dreams. Caring touches tracing over his skin, his scars. No bleeding wounds, just his heart held in your strong, fierce grip. You still had it now, and he was trying hopelessly to pry it back from you. For your own safety. He wants to put the pin back in the grenade. It’s been too long since something truly bad has happened, and he’s worried you may be the next thing to be struck by the inevitable explosion. And maybe that’s why he was causing one himself.

But you clutch it, hugging it like you’re the one protecting him. He’d pulled away more and more, trying his best to get you to stand down. And yet, you were still there. And somewhere deep within him, he knows you’ll stay like that, hunched over the grenade, shouldering the shrapnel leftover in him from so many years spent worrying about nothing but weapons, failed science experiments, and loss.

As he pulls into the gravel outside of the safe house, he stares at you, long and hard. You’re still sleeping, and his chest aches at every shallow wheeze. He has to force himself to get out of the car, to rip his eyes from your peaceful form. 

You stir when he lifts you out of the car without any struggle, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“‘Sposed to be married when you do all this,” you mumble with half a smile as he crosses the threshold. Leon looks down at you with a mix of fondness and tension. You tug at his heartstrings as he pushes away a flash in his mind of your hands, adorned with bands on your ring fingers. A home, with photos on the wall and a dog sleeping soundly at the door. Something domestic and forbidden for soldiers like him. And now, likely for you, too. 

The safe house is an old cabin, tiny and rickety. It’s four walls, one room, with a kitchen just across from a bed, and a fireplace in the remaining corner. There’s a thick layer of dust blanketing just about every surface, and the smell of rain permeates each corner.

You’re placed ever so gently on the small loveseat by the fireplace. Leon checks over you for the thousandth time. You shiver under his gaze, still soaking from the rain. Your body feels like a freight train, and you just want to sleep. He presses a hand against your forehead to check for a fever, and is relieved there is none, but nearly jumps back from how cold your skin is. Your eyes are glued to him as he crosses the room to retrieve fire wood, beginning to make a fire to get you warm. It’s a methodical process, one he’s done a thousand times. The spark catches the wood and a flame bursts amongst the brick. Heat radiates and if you weren’t injured, you’d already be right next to it, greedily breathing in the pleasant scent of the embers.

Leon pilfers through the backpack of supplies next, eventually coming up with the change of clothes you had packed for this very situation. The t-shirt would do for sleep, but not so much the jeans. He sets them on your lap and turns back to dig through the bag some more.

“Shit,” you seethe in pain as you try to lift your arms to remove the wet shirt stuck to you.

“Let me help,” Leon’s voice is ginger, soft alongside the crackle of the fire. He offers his help, but when he goes to touch you, it’s like your skin is going to sting him. He’s careful to only touch the fabric, pinching at the hem of your shirt so delicately. As if he hadn’t taken your shirt off plenty of times before, touch much more open, hands wandering. You feel sick. You just want him.

“Are you going to touch me at all?” You finally say. He’s not looking at you, but he can feel how heavy your gaze is. He swallows hard, doesn’t answer. The tension between you as you sit there shirtless in front of him is thick and unforgiving. He just reaches behind you to unclasp your bra, following it immediately with the fresh shirt. After some shifting around carefully, your pants join the discarded top in a wet pile. 

Leon’s dragged out the first aid kit once you’ve settled again. You raise your eyebrow at him curiously, attempting to break the already cracking ice that’s frozen between you.

“How exactly are you gonna patch up my broken ribs, doc? Need a scalpel?”

“Stop,” he’s uncharacteristically short with you, and you frown. You’ve had some close calls before, but this one is different. There’s something lurking beneath his worried, furrowed brow. You can’t quite pin what it is.

“I’m alright, Leon. Swear.”

“You almost weren’t,” he just says, finally daring to touch you, to take your hand in his. He rubs his thumb over the shallow scrapes there from earlier, when the worst you felt was stinging, scraped flesh. Now the ache is deep in your chest. From your injuries, and from Leon.

“Yeah,” you just say. He’s not wrong. You know that. Terror sticks in your throat. You choke on it. “Yeah, I know.” Leon inspects your arms in silence, brushing his fingertips over every bruise and scratch. He comes up empty for injuries once he checks your entire body and lets out a heavy sigh. He fidgets like he doesn’t know what to do. No injuries he can fix, nothing he can make better. All he can do is fumble over his words, and try to solve this situation. Try to stop you from getting hurt again.

“I don’t…” His words are uncertain. Rare, for him. When he’s so sure about everything else. There’s a small tremor in his voice; so small you almost don’t catch it. “Maybe it’d be better if you- if you switch departments. If you go back to being an analyst. Without me.”

“What?” You’re gobsmacked. “Why the hell would I do that?”

“You- you almost died,” he says, like it’s an obvious train of thought. “I’m the one who pulled you into the field. Got you into this shit. I can’t watch you risk your life so closely like that again- I…” His hands hover just above your bandaged knee. “I can’t lose you.”

“Fuck you, Leon,” you’re trembling so hard it’s difficult to keep up your frustrated tone. “I joined the DSO to help people. You are not responsible for my decisions,” you poke a finger at his chest. “I’m here because I love my job. I’m not turning back. These are all choices I have made. Don’t you dare pretend like this is all your fault.” Tears build at the corner of your eyes, you’re angry. You’re sad. “You think I don’t think about the same thing with you? I know what I signed up for, and we’re in this together. We’re supposed to be a team, Leon. We both have a hand in this. You can’t keep putting it all on you; especially when it’s my job that I chose, and I, frankly, earned.”

“You know I didn’t mean it like that—”

“That may be true, but it’s still not fair,” you cross your arms and try your best not to sniffle. The tears are hot, fast, and angry, and have you gasping for air with your already strained lungs. “I watched the way you work, sure. The accomplishment you felt on the field. And it made me reconsider where I want to be in this department. But I did this on my own.” Even though you’re sitting, and he’s looking down at you, the fire in your eyes is intimidating. You love so fiercely, with conviction and confidence that Leon wishes he could show you. “I chose you on my own. I chose this job myself. And I’m not going back on it,” you’re breathless, and have to regulate your breathing so you don’t start coughing again. The burn of your lungs as you suck in air only makes you more passionate. This ache, this injury, this sacrifice; it’s your calling. “This is the life I picked. And sometimes it’s shit. Sometimes it scares the hell out of me. But at the end of every assignment, I’m reminded why I do this. What I fight for,” you manage to stand on your own, placing your palms flat against Leon’s chest. His eyes are stormy, conflicted. They scan over every scar, every freckle on your face. Something opens within him when you continue. “I fight to come home to you. To someone who gets it. Who wants to help people as much as I do. And I know I don’t need anything else in my life. So don’t tell me to walk away from all of this. I’m not walking away from you.”

Leon’s hand finds yours. His fingers grip yours like you’ll disappear from his grasp if he breathes wrong. 

“I don’t- I don’t want to ruin this. To contaminate you with… whatever the fuck bad karma I have. You deserve to be happy. And I just-” His eyes are glassy when they finally rise to meet your own. “I don’t want to take that from you because of all my shit.”

“I am happy,” you just say. “Because I have you. I want this,” he shivers as your hands slip up his neck to his cheeks. “I’ve got my own shit, too. You’re not the only one with a chip on your shoulder, my love,” you squeeze his face. “Life’s hard, but it’d be harder without you next to me.”

His eyes bore into yours. The fire crackles amongst the silence.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you. It scares me.”

“Is that why you’ve been so cold with me?”

“I just- I’m so afraid of putting you in danger,” he hangs his head. “I thought maybe it would be easier to see you walk away from me on your own. For a simple reason.”

“It’s too late for that,” you murmur, pushing him onto the sofa. You straddle his lap, and his hands fall on your hips, still so light it feels like a ghost. “Please touch me, Leon. I need you.” He hesitates and almost pulls away, but you press his palms fully onto you. “You can put your hands on me. Handle me. I’m not going to break.”

“I’m afraid I might,” he swallows his cry. You hold his face between your hands and wipe away the few stray tears he hadn’t been able to stop. He’s all scarred tissue and callouses, but you touch him so gently, like he’s the softest blanket. Like you want him to wrap you up until the two of you are indistinguishable. His fingers begin to dig into your hips, but the harsh contact is a relief. Your skin has begun to warm up, and he cherishes the heat against his fingers. He’d missed touching you. Holding you. Bad. He just wouldn’t let himself admit it.

“It’s okay to break,” you whisper. He sighs when you finally kiss him. It begins so chastely, yearning and full of regret for the past few months of Leon’s foolish behavior. You pull away from him and his mouth chases after you. Now that he lets himself have you again, he can’t get enough. You break from him, kissing his cheek, his jaw. “You can’t control everything. Shit happens. None of it is your fault, okay?” He shakes underneath your hands now, like a dog that’s been left out in the cold. But he’s the one who put himself there. “You can let go sometimes, baby. I’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry.” His apology is so quiet, so weak that you almost don’t hear it. But you can see the regret in his eyes, the worry swirling the blue like a hurricane. They calm a little when you put your hands on him, when you hold him like this. “I’m so fucking sorry.” You can hear the I love you in his voice, surrounding the words in concrete.

“Please don’t pull away from me again. I can’t do this without you, either, you know.” He presses another kiss to your mouth, all messy and desperate. His lips are needy, against every bit of skin he can touch. He can’t control himself around you now that he’s tasted you again; can’t control how badly he craves you. You make him feel like the world can be good again, can make him want to live again. And he feels so selfish. Ever since he was little, he’s been selfish. He has to save you, save everyone. Whether it’s from himself or the forces that made him this way. Trying over and over again to fix something that’s long been out of place in his heart. Despite it all, you love him anyway. You love him so brazenly, so easily that it makes him sick that he struggles so badly to let himself show you that he feels the same. When you’re touching him like this, he feels like maybe he is worthy of love; worthy of happiness. And that’s exactly what you’re trying to do. You want to be the one to show him that. And maybe that’s selfish, too. 

That’s the pair of you; two greedy lovers, holding onto each other to survive.

“Leon,” you breathe. He pulls back to look at you. The pads of his fingers trace over your face deliciously slow. You let him take control as he shifts and lays you underneath him now. He lowers himself onto you so gently, like the world's most comforting weighted blanket. “I need you.”

“I know,” he sighs. Your shirt bunches underneath you and he helps it further, pushing it upwards to reveal your plush thighs. Clad in nothing but your underwear below the waist. Goosebumps litter your bare skin, the fireplace not doing much to quell the way you shiver beneath him. He runs his palm over your legs to warm you up and it draws a desperate moan from you. Normally he’d make some smarmy comment about how needy you are for him, but he’s in as deep as you are. He knows he’s starved you for too long, too selfishly. “I’m here, I promise.”

You pull his hips into yours with your legs and grind. His breath hitches as you capture him in another kiss. His hips move careful and intentional, mindful of your fragile ribcage.

The desperation is too much, and you’re fumbling with his belt in less than a minute. He helps, shedding his pants and underwear and one go. Yours fly onto the floor next to them. He’s hard, red, and weeping arousal. He drops his head on your chest when you close your hand around him and stroke.

“Fuck,” his breath is hot against the fabric of your shirt. He trails his own hand down to your heat, slick coating your thighs from need. 

“I’m so wet for you,” you whimper. His finger slides down your slit so achingly slow, circling your clit just enough to make you twitch. Kisses press to your jaw, the length of your neck as he touches your pussy ever so gently, slipping a finger inside without much resistance. Your strokes falter at the pleasure. “Leon.”

“I missed this so much,” he confesses, so sweet against your collarbone. His hand is moving steadily, still slow and agonizingly shallow. You push him back on you with your legs around his waist. His cock nudges your spread thighs and you inhale sharply. You can’t wait any longer. You may die.

“Please, I need you inside me,” you’re so vulnerable, begging for him. You can’t bear another second without him as close to you as possible, completely surrounding and one with every part of you. He moans, deep and vulgar in his throat.

“Come here, sweet girl,” he slots himself behind you on the couch, an arm coming beneath you. It rests just below your breast, and the other pulls you against him again. You press your ass back into his length greedily, and spread your legs for him. He notches himself against you and begins to press in. The stretch is like heaven incarnate; hot and long until he’s fully pressed inside you, breathing heavy. He turns your head back to him so he can kiss you. It elicits a long whine from you, feeling so warm and complete. A trail of spit connects your lips as he pulls away, just enough to look at you. His hands cover your neck, without pressure, tracing over the bruises there from your near-death experience earlier. A frown tugs at his lips and he swallows the choke of a sob in his throat. You kiss the expression away, hand at the back of his neck. He keens into you like a touch starved animal. 

“I’m with you,” you breathe. His eyes are pools of rain water. The storm has passed, and now all that lingers is the fresh dew; the rising sun over the clouds. He finally begins to thrust, deliciously slow and deep. His pants are heavy in your ear. He tugs your earlobe with his teeth and squeezes your breast. You’re melting under his hands. It’s like a long-needed salve to an open wound.

He sucks at your neck like a hungry creature of the night, no doubt leaving a purple mark in the shape of the space between his lips, right between all the bruises so cruelly pressed into your skin. A stamp of his protection, his vow to never let it happen again, if he can help it.

Leon’s leg comes under yours, tangling your limbs together and spreading you even further so he can take you apart. He slips his hand down to your clit, angling his hips just so. It sends a racket of warmth up your body that has you moaning, loud and shameless. The response encourages him, and he speeds up just enough to have your legs start to shake with the impending release. You can feel his cock twitch inside of your contracting walls, fast approaching his own end.

“Just like that,” you sigh. Your hips grind desperately into his, and he’s panting into your skin. Your shirt, once fresh, is now damp with sweat. It smells of him now, and you think you love it more that way. He’s all over you, filling each sense with intense pleasure and care.

“Yeah?” He presses particularly hard against your clit and you have to hold back a near scream. “Fuck, I’m getting close, baby.”

“‘M gonna cum,” you whimper. He digs his nose into your neck, squeezing you tight against him so he can fuck his hips into you faster and faster. He hits your g-spot repeatedly, hammering into you with a determined pace. His fingers circle your clit in tandem, and you go lightheaded as the thread inside you unravels. “Fuck, oh my god, Leon.”

“I’ve got you,” he just says. And he does. He’s got you wrapped around his finger, tucked into his hold like a protective shield. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you finally reach your peak as he thrusts, so deep and so good that all you can do is say his name once, twice. He relishes in it, the pleasure in your voice encouraging his own release as he moans louder and louder, hips slapping faster and faster against your ass.

“Shit, o-oh,” you shake underneath him, but he holds you strong through your orgasm, whispering sweetly in your ear.

“That’s it, sweetheart, fuck, you’re gonna make me cum.”

“Please. Need to feel you,” you’re honestly shocked that you say it as coherently as you do. The post-orgasm haze floods over you in a radiating halo. Leon continues chasing his own end with sharp breaths. You kiss at his jaw as he cries out into your skin one last time. His thrusts turn into a shudder as he exhales all his air, a little lightheaded as he floods you with hot ropes. It leaks out around where the two of you are joined, a lewd cloudy mix of fluids. He kisses you again, lightheaded and a little dizzy from his orgasm. You can feel him pulsing within you as you turn in his arms, careful to not let him slip from you.

“I love you,” he says, so tender. Your hearts race in tandem with one another as you come down from your shared high. He pushes your messy hair from your face, damp with sweat now instead of the rain. He takes this moment in as much as he can. Your beautiful features, the curves of your bone structure and the softness of your skin. Your eyelids are lazy with pleasure and exhaustion, lips kiss-bitten and slick with his spit. He’s sure he looks similar; mussed from your touch and fucked-out bliss. Though he’s certain he doesn’t hold a candle to you.

“I love you, Leon.”

You both lay there, wrapped in each other, for a long time. Listening to the fireplace crackle and your breath even out. A sense of emptiness washes over you when he finally slips out, reaching over to his discarded bag to dig for a spare rag to clean the both of you up. The cloth is a little rough, not meant for such sensitive skin, but it’ll have to do. Leon makes the best of it he can, gentle dabs and swipes against you. He’s so careful, never once taking your show of vulnerability for granted. He just wants to be worthy of you.

If there was one thing your family LOVED to do, especially your children, it was playing pranks on your poor husband Leon and introducing him to the new trends that were taking over social media thanks to the younger generations.

Poor guy, most times you felt pity for him.

Leon was the kind of person who occasionally cracked a dad joke that no one but himself (and you 'cause you loved him) chuckled at. He never cared about news that weren't truly important; he didn't care if celebrity X had cheated on their partner or if fashion had changed from skinny jeans to baggy jeans.

He used his phone for the bare minimum; he didn't have stupid social media like TikTok that filled his kids' brains (and yours') with bullshit, and he didn't give a damn about the latest trends and challenges.

Leon was an old man.

So that's why his kids, his own flesh and blood, enjoyed making fun of him. And he just let them do it, most of the time, because he didn't care much, he was used to it. And although he seemed cold and stern, the truth was that the older he got, the more his heart softened for his family. He loved you and them with all his heart.

Leon was your old man.

"Ma, Ma"

It was a day like any other at the Kennedy house. You were in you and your husband's shared room, busy folding the seemingly endless mountain of laundry, when the voices of your son and daughter, Theo and Luna, echoed from the hallway just before they entered the room.

Theo, the oldest, let himself sit on the edge of the bed with a bounce, dangerously close to the freshly folded laundry, while his sister wisely decided to remain standing.

"Theo" you called him in that unmistakable tone that made him immediately stand up.

"Whops, sorry" he chuckled, but not entirely sorry. "Anyway, we want to ask you a favor. It's a new prank"

You stopped your work, giving him an unsurprised look. "If it involves fake blood and heart attacks, you can forget it" you said sternly.

You remember like it was yesterday when that foolish son of yours had the brilliant idea of pretending to have an accident in the bathroom, and you almost had a panic attack seeing that 'gory' scene. Theo thought he'd get a laugh out of it, but all he got were tears from you and a looong lecture from Leon.

Theo and Luna immediately shook their heads at your words, raising their palms. "No, no blood or anything this time, we swear"

You narrowed your eyes for a moment, scrutinizing him closely, and when you saw no trace of a lie, you decided to give him a chance.

"Hmm, let's hear it..." you conceded, as you began folding one of Leon's shirts again.

Theo sat on the edge of the bed again, this time making sure not to wrinkle the clothes under his butt, while Luna rocked back and forth on her heels.

"Okay, so we just watched a video on TikTok and Theo basically has to pretend to, like, snap back at you" she explained, adding even hand gestures to her words.

You furrowed your brows, giving them a confused look. "For the purpose of...?"

Theo smiled playfully, his eyes shining with mischief as he looked up at you. "Just to see how Dad reacts to it" he replied.

Your hands slowly stopped your work, your brows still furrowed as you considered his words. "What do you mean 'to see how Dad reacts?'" you asked them.

Luna positioned herself next to you, her phone already turned on in the palm of her hand and the TikTok app open, then she showed you the screen. "Look"

You shifted your gaze from Leon's shirt to the screen, watching the video. It showed a couple sitting on the couch, and the mother had asked her son for a favor, but he had responded with a snappy "Shut up, Mom!" shouted from the other room. The father had turned to look at his wife in shock, before standing up and marching toward his son, barking out a "Ayo, the hell did you just say??"

Luna turned to look at you enthusiastically. "There are so many more, and they're all hilarious! Every dad has a different reaction!" she said, scrolling each video with her thumb to show you.

You looked back at her, then at Theo, unconvinced. "And what would be, by all means, the point of this prank?"

"Oh come on, Ma" Theo rolled his eyes. "We all know Dad loves you and everything, but we really want to see how he'd react to something like this, okay? What would he do if his 'handsome and purely innocent' son talked back to his wife like that? Would he get angry? Would he not say anything? We want to know"

Luna nodded in agreement.

"Oh oh! And we'd be soo famous! We'll get tons of likes! Women LOVE protective men, i swear!"

You sighed, shaking your head in thought. "All you teenagers think about is likes and shares. I swear, you'll make your father and i go gray before we have to" you muttered, placing your hands on your hips. "Meh, i don't know..."

The two looked at you pleadingly.

"Come on, Mom!" -Luna

"It's completely innocent! And there won't even be fake blood this time!" -Theo

After a few seconds, you sighed again. These kids...

"Okay, i mean..." you conceded, waving a hand. "Do whatever you want, if you really want to. But only because it's harmless"

The two siblings bumped their fists, silently cheering, their minds already plotting how to put their plan into action. "Great"

Theo stood up. "Okay Ma, you don't have to do anything except give me a task i don't want to do, like... like cleaning or setting the table. Tonight, before dinner"

You stared at him with a lifted brow. "You don't do it even when i ask you to, Theo"

Luna nodded in agreement, and your son snickered sheepishly.

You continued. "But anyway, Dad's not stupid. It's not like you to act like this, and i think he'll catch onto this prank of yours. Are you sure it'll work?"

"Mom, please" Luna threw you a knowing look. "Honestly, i think Dad will be too busy making out with you to even notice"

And you immediately blushed a little.

"Get out of this room and let me finish my laundry"

So that same evening, after Leon had come home from work, said hi to you and the kids and taken a shower, while you were finishing the final touches for dinner, everything was ready.

Luna was leaning next to you against the counter, pretending to scroll on her phone, though in reality she had her camera ready while waiting for you and Theo to start acting. Theo was sitting at the table, playing with his phone at one of those games boys his age were obsessed with, while trying to keep a neutral but focused expression.

Leon had just arrived in the kitchen, finished his short but relaxing shower. He walked past Theo, ruffling his hair with a smile, and headed toward you.

"It's almost ready" you said, flashing him a sweet smile over your shoulder.

That wasn't fake, you weren't acting yet. Every smile you made was genuine even just at the sight of your handsome husband.

Leon smiled back as he approached you and one of his hands rested delicately on your hip, a gesture that had become automatic for him.

"Need a hand?" he asked, like he did every day, with anything. Typical of him. He might have had the worst day of his life, but he would never NOT offer to help you with something.

You shook your head, smiling reassuringly. "Don't worry" you replied, nodding toward his designated spot at the table. "You've been working all day, that's all you had to do. Sit down, we have two kids for a reason"

He chuckled and nodded, letting your smile 'command' him as he went to sit at the table. With his back turned, you glanced at both of your children, letting them know this was the right time, as you'd agreed.

Luna smirked silently and tapped the screen to start the video, while Theo continued playing.

"Theo, honey" you called, turning off the stove. "Could you set the table, please?"

Your son kept his eyes glued to his phone. "Can't you ask Luna?" he muttered as his fingers continued to tap the screen.

"Well, i asked you this time, not her" you continued with your calm voice. "Could you put that phone down for a minute and set the tabl—"

Theo then snapped as he rudely interrupted you, making the most annoyed expression he'd ever had on his face.

"Ugh, Mom, can you just SHUT UP for a minute?? Can't you see i'm playing??"

Luna covered her mouth with her hand to keep from bursting into laughter at her brother's acting.

But her smile faded a couple of seconds later, when the chair Leon was sitting on scraped loudly across the floor as he immediately stood up and your eyes widened a bit too.

Theo looked up at the sound, just in time to see his father now towering over him, and his heart skipped a beat. Before he could say anything, Leon quickly reached out and snatched the phone from his hands, clicking the screen off and putting it not-too-gently facedown on the table, making him jump a little.

"Dad—" Theo tried to justify himself, but your husband cut him off

"Is that the way you talk to your mother?" he hissed, fixing his usually kind but now stern blue eyes on his son's. "Hm?"

Theo opened his mouth, while Luna shot her brother an equally surprised and slightly intimidated look. Because even though they knew it would all go away as soon as they explained it was all just fake, seeing their father so angry was having a certain effect on them. And not in a good way.

"Wait Dad, it's just—" Leon cut him off again.

"I know for a fact that i didn't teach you that goddamn tone in this house, buddy, so either you apologize to your mother and do what she asked, or—"

"Leon, honey, wait"

Leon stopped when he heard your sweet voice calling him back, followed by your palm on his arm, and he turned to look at you.

"It's just a prank, love" you reassured him, rubbing your palm gently over his bicep. "Just a prank"

Leon furrowed his brows, his shoulders unconsciously relaxing under your touch, and his features softened. "What?" he muttered gruffly, turning to look back at Theo, who nodded frantically.

Luna, pleased with the video's success but still worried about the 'danger' her older brother was about to face, quickly added her own.

"I-It's a prank, Dad, we swear!" she said from behind you. "For uhm... for TikTok..."

Leon seemed to realize after a few seconds and let out a heavy sigh.

"Jesus, kids..." he quietly cursed, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head. "What kind of prank is this?"

Theo and Luna lowered their heads a little embarrassed, while you gave him an exasperated smile of your own.

"I told them it didn't make sense" you said, glancing back and forth between brother and sister. "But hey, at least no one had a heart attack this time"

Leon shook his head again, but his lips still curved upward, and he crossed his mighty arms before looking at Theo. "Why did you want to stage this stupid thing, hm?"

Theo shrugged. "We just wanted to see your reaction to us talking back to Mom. It was just an innocent prank" he confessed.

Leon scoffed, almost amused by the reasoning. "Innocent, yes, but still stupid. Like all the other pranks you've played"

He then reached out, gently flicking your son on the forehead, which made him squint.

"You don't need to make a video to prove to those 'social media' of yours what you already know" he said as he looked at both kids, calmer this time, but still serious. "If there's one thing i won't tolerate in this house, it's disrespect for your mother, my wife. Especially if it comes from my own children. So, if you don't want to see me really angry, you'd better not do something like that again. Am i clear?"

The two nodded simultaneously, mumbling "Yes, Dad" under their breath.

Leon observed them for a few seconds, making sure his words had stuck before nodding. "Good. Now set the table. Both of you. I'd appreciate it if we could eat now"

The two siblings nodded again, moving to set the table. And as they did so, Luna gave Theo a silent smirk, satisfied that she'd recorded everything, especially Leon's protective lecture.

Oh, TikTok would go crazy.

You watched them move around the kitchen with an amused smile. You had to admit, even if you weren't a fan of your kids' pranks, seeing your husband react like that and defend your honor gave you butterflies. Like almost everything else he did.

You patted his arm a few times to guide him back to his seat at the table, but before that he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against his side for a moment.

"You gotta stop encouraging them with these things, hun" he commented, leaning his face down to speak against your temple, and you giggled, leaning against his lips.

"Well, as long as they don't hurt themselves or anyone else, i'm willing to let them do it"

Leon sighed again.

"All for those stupid 'likes.' They're gonna post that video anyway, aren't they?"

And immediately, your kids' voices echoed in the kitchen in chorus.

"Hell yeah!"

A few days later, Luna was ecstatic to see that the video of the prank on their father had achieved the success she'd hoped for.

And the best part was reading the comments.

COMMENTS:

user: i'm sorry but whose DAD is that???

user: *sticker of cat with tongue out*

user: no violence, no belt or screaming. Just a father making sure his son is treating his mother with respect. That's a dad!👏👏👏

user: can your mother fight??

user: i need him, respectfully🎀

user: the way he immediately stood up *sticker of girl biting her nail*

user: no because, can we talk about the little speech he made with them??

user: frr man said "She may be your mom but she's MY WIFE first of all and you brats need to respect that"

user: he was so gentle too🥺

user: he's not a green flag, he's a whole green forest!!

user: ugh, i love protective pretty husbands😩😩

user: bro is so done with gen z tho'

SO GUYS, I WANTED TO TRY A NEW MODERN LIKE-SERIE WITH OUR FAVORITE OLD MAN

The Way He Loves | @multific

Leon does not deliver grand speeches about love. Instead, he shows it through action.

The Scar Count | @/multific

You like to trace and kiss the scars that mark Leon’s body, wanting to know and love every part of him.

Birthday Boy | @bumblebeesfromvenus

Your need to spoil your boyfriend on his birthday with an elaborate celebration results in a misunderstanding with hurt feelings on both sides. But the pure love the both of you hold for eachother finds a way to mend all tears in the end.

PERSISTENT | @angelicsoka

three times leon has asked you out and the one time you said yes.

HADESTOWN | @/angelicsoka

leon kennedy didn’t believe in love at first sight. he couldn’t, not with his line of work. that is, until he met you. you were everything he was not. you looked for the light in the dark, so innocently positive. you hadn’t seen the horrors he has. maybe that’s why he fell so hard. it was nice coming home to someone who saw past the brooding, moody persona he held. everything about you was perfect and he selfishly wanted you all to himself. he married you quickly, he knew from the moment he met you that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. about a year into your marriage, leon comes home to find you gone and the house trashed, as if you fought like hell. desperate to find you and bring you back to him, leon is more than willing to travel to the ends of the earth to find you. he is willing to risk it all, for you.

Sunshine in the DSO | @deathbyapril

Leon Kennedy, the hard and stern DSO gets a visit from his sunshine and rainbows wife who brings him lunch and many are surprised to see him soften.

Leon Kennedy x wife!reader | @/deathbyapril

You interrupt another woman flirting with your husband Leon Kennedy at a bar.

Hope | @/deathbyapril

Leon Kennedy takes Grace back to his safe house, which just so happens to be where his wife lives.

Undercover Heat | @/deathbyapril

Leon Kennedy and his wife go under cover at a fancy party and she must pretend to flirt with someone else to get information and Leon gets very jealous.

re9! Leon | @cummingprincess

re9 leon as a husband  | @lilacgrayskies

making out with rookie!leon | @/lilacgrayskies

once a mom, always a mom | @aurorak28

you became a mother back in 2006, having three attached, clingy, and young children along with a husband that cannot leave you alone— does not give you much space.

THIRTY YEARS LATE | @viktateapot

Thirty years after the fall of Raccoon City, you and Leon return to the ruins of the police station. While searching through the debris of your past, you find something you thought was lost forever—a gift you had prepared for a rookie officer named Leon Kennedy on his first day. A gift he never received. Now, in the place where your nightmare began, you finally get to give it to him. Better late than never.

CERTIFIED GIRL DAD | @rednnedy

Having a daughter who's 4 means being asked questions all the time and all type of them... including when are you going to give her a baby sister

FIRST MORNING HOME | @/rednnedy

You and Leon just had your first baby, and while all you want to do is cuddling with your little girl after a very bad first night at home, you end up finding out she's cuddling with Leon... who says "skin to skin" is very important during the first days of life

THE WEDDING CHRONICLES Series | @/rednnedy

After leaving Raccoon City for a second time and, finally, having some time for himself, Leon has definitely his ideas in order, and one thing he wants to do with you as soon as he can is getting married

Get in line | @frogglezzz

the tutor in dorm 24B | @sweets3rial

you have no choice but to go to your math professor for help in the class. unfortunately, he can't help you. but he knows a certain blonde that can, top of his class, perfect scores on everything, just the tutor for you.

drabble | @xoxomaeby

“happy first day, officer kennedy” | @/xoxomaeby

Talk To Me | @forgetminot

You have been trying your best to avoid Leon; Ignoring his questions and running off into danger. What happens when he confronts you about it and you have nowhere to go?

i keep crawling back home. | @old6urgundy

Leon vs. Superglued jar Challenge | @breathings-of-the-heart

A Place that Stays, part two, part three | @/breathings-of-the-heart

you've recently joined the force as a forensic analyst, with the same bright-eyed enthusiasm that reminds Leon of his own rookey days. Unfortunately, your fast-moving, efficient brain tends to falter when faced with a work crush-- and you're not as invisible to him as you think.

Imagine | @saintlea

Leon, who immediately after being cured of the T-Virus, showed up to his ex-wife’s house.

Voicemails | @messenger-of-babel

When complications arise on his mission, all he has is one phone call back to you. 

That fucking quarter-zip shirt | @girlwithadragonheart

Two Ghosts | @tearsof-scarlet

Rural Spain was the last place you expected to see Leon Kennedy. He isn’t the rookie you left in Raccoon City, he’s colder, sharper, and harder to walk away from a second time.

Stay Close, Rookie | @/tearsof-scarlet

You’re the no-nonsense top officer at Raccon Police Department who swore off training rookies, right up until Leon Scott “golden retriever” Kennedy gets assigned to your hip.

Tactical Restraint | @/tearsof-scarlet

After surviving the horrors of Raccoon City, Leon S. Kennedy is recruited by the U.S. government to begin training as a special agent. The program is brutal, relentless, built to break even the toughest. You're one of the elite agents assigned to oversee his development. He reports to you, follows your orders but he can’t seem to stop his interest towards you.

Re9 Leon Kennedy x DSO agent | @leavemealoneplzs

Re9 retired Leon Kennedy | @/leavemealoneplzs

welcome leon | @heartyluv

re2!leon boyfriend hcs | @lac3angel

Masterlist | @leonsleatherjacket

salt & pepper, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 | @/leonsleatherjacket

you had worked in the dso for almost a year now doing logistics and communications. you preferred the quiet and being behind a screen. however, sherry believed that working as an assistant for leon would benefit not only you, but him too.  so you were now assigned as leon s. kennedy's assistant. both of you had your own problems, and it was only a matter of time until either one of you was going to crash.

there she is | @/leonsleatherjacket

recently, things have gotten worse and you struggle to leave the bed. your husband, leon s. kennedy, worries about you.

waiting for you | @/leonsleatherjacket

you have been leon's partner for 15 years, and your love for him never grows old. after so many years of breaking down those stubborn walls around him, he still finds it hard to understand that someone wants to take care of him- instead of vice versa.

wife! reader x husband! RE9! Leon | @/leonsleatherjacket

you have been leon's partner for 15 years, and your love for him never grows old. after so many years of breaking down those stubborn walls around him, he still finds it hard to understand that someone wants to take care of him- instead of vice versa.

A Soft Spot for You | @leonw4nter

Leon Kennedy Headcannons, Pt 2 | @cherryredstarz

Sleepy Mornings | @/cherryredstarz

Masterlist | @millimeraki

BRINGING HOME HOPE | @/millimeraki

You’re waiting for the call that will make you a widow. And then the front door opens.

Training Center | @/millimeraki

Within government service, you transfer to the DSO. The training is brutal, but the new job definitely has its advantages.

his eyes all over me | @familyvideostevie

I’m home, baby | @prsleysbabe

Leon comes back home after being away dealing with Victor Gideon and having to revisit his past… Raccoon city. With Leon’s infection, he thought he that was it for him, that he would never see you again. Luckily, Grace found the cure for Leon and now he’s better than ever and all he wants is you.

Take All My Love | @plutotheplum

to your chagrin, you get partnered with an irritating DSO agent who happens to take an interest in the case you’re working on.

You still married me. | @khonsus-heart

Chris’s team found Leon and the missing FBI agent he went looking for, so when you get the call that they’re alright. Nothing's stopping you from seeing for yourself.

You’re stuck with me | @/khonsus-heart

Leon has spent a lifetime saying goodbyes at doorways, in passing, and over distance, always promising he’d come back. But when the life he’s built finally stands on the edge of being taken from him, he’s forced to confront a truth he’s avoided for too long. Some goodbyes don’t wait for you to be ready.

You said you’d fix it. | @/khonsus-heart

When the memory of his former wife comes to haunt him and a long-buried infection resurfaces, Leon is forced to confront the one thing he’s always avoided...his own problems. As his daughter begins to show the same signs that took her mother, Leon races against time to fix what he couldn’t before. Because this time, he’s not just fighting to survive. He’s fighting to come back.

That’s my little missus, she’s my number one | @simping-for-joe

Leon isn’t shocked to see you demanded to see him. The other people around you are shocked to see his sweet soft wife suddenly on a rampage.

slice of life | @myfckintruckwontstart

short windows into your life with leon.

He's Safe | @softkammi

WELCOME HOME, MR. KENNEDY?, Part 2 | @konalis

Leon Kennedy's always survived everything. But being a dad? That's what really scares him. Twelve years of trying, a daughter on the way, and the T-virus threatening to steal the future you spent so long building.

Leon kennedy (re9) x fem!reader | @whohurtyouxoxo

A oneshot where Leon Kennedy (re9) comes home to his darling wife after a long struggling mission, however his wife has struggles of her own …

Day in the Life as Leon’s Wife | @coralreefqueen-ao3

snippets of what it is like to be the wife of the legendary Leon S. Kennedy. 

Come back to me | @midnightcrw

Leon calls you before returning to Raccoon City.

Thoughts of You | @glader13

Masterlist | @belovedcloud

One Bed | @/belovedcloud

who knew saving the president's daughter was so tiring? only you and leon knew the treacherous steps towards the hotel room that was supposed to rejuvenate you both. only for him to open the door and to see one bed.

“Re9 Leon Headcanons” | @danytar

PEACE WAS A LIE | @/danytar

Better Than Ever | @f41ryb0nes

comes home feeling better than he has in ages, and he knows just how to show you.

sad beautiful tragic | @totallynotmina

re4r!leon x fem!reader | @your-s-truly

re4r!leon x president’s daughter!reader | @/your-s-truly

YOU'VE DONE ENOUGH | @ceceisdownbad

it's been a long time since you've heard from Leon, all you could do was wait

his first and best | @kyougan

you feel that? | @/kyougan

you’ve earned it | @/kyougan

Just one more minute... | @shycloudkitty

Your husband has to leave for yet another mission but he's not quite ready to let you go yet… So he just savors…each… moment…

leon kennedy… as your husband. | @duckewrites

Eyes on You, Part 2 | @vickyminajj

A skilled intelligence agent is assigned as the partner of Leon S. Kennedy for a series of bioweapons investigations, and their partnership starts off tense as both expect the other to be difficult to work with. After several missions together, their constant banter at the agency slowly shifts into obvious flirting. As Leon begins finding excuses to stop by her desk and spend time with her, the growing tension between them finally leads to him asking her out for dinner, outside of a mission for the first time.

Let Him Go, Give Him Back | @monomyth-scribbles

Leon can tend to his own injuries. Sometimes, he prefers not to. After all, nothing compares to his wife's touch.

husband leon  | @harpsinfinity

You really like them a lot, don't you ? | @ninibeingdelulu

You just love your boyfriend’s arms

NOT EVEN THE GODS ABOVE CAN SEPARATE THE TWO OF US | @niki-phoria

leon can't bare the thought of losing you for a second. so what happens when you disappear for four hours in a haunted, monster-filled castle?