#sassy reader

Leon grunted as you dug around the meat of his shoulder with a pair of bullet forceps in search of the small projectile, the blond gritting his teeth harder around the ragged strip of his ridiculously tight shirt that you had been forced to cut off him in order to gain access to the injury, sweat beading on his forehead as you pushed the long metal rod deeper.

“Mmph, fucking hell!” The blond growled out between clenched teeth and you shot a glare at the blond when he spat the spit-soaked fabric out of his mouth with a harsh laugh, the weak grin he had plastered on his face twisting into a grimace after a particularly rough jab. “You ever think about switching careers? Because your bedside manner makes me think you'd make a great dentist. You've already got the sadism part down.”

“I always thought I'd make a pretty good butcher personally.” You shot back without even bothering to look away from the bloodied mess in front of you, your lips pressing into a thin line of concentration as you pulled the rod out a bit in order to readjust the angle before slowly pushing it back in.

“Jesus Christ. If you –ah– if you pull this off without killing me, I'll buy you a damn gift basket. Or a card. Take your pick.” Leon promised roughly, the blond flashing you a pained smirk when he noticed you glance at him from out of the corner of your eye. “But if you keep treating me like a goddamn pincushion, I'm telling command you're the reason I always go through my painkillers so fast.”

“You're such a baby.” You muttered, your eyes narrowing for a brief moment when the tip of the forceps scraped over something metal, before a wide grin spread across your face. 

You placed a steadying hand on Leon’s thigh to keep him from flinching and fucking up all the progress you’d made as you shifted closer –all but straddling the blond's thigh– wasting no time latching onto the slippery metal with the little teeth at the end of the rod in order to carefully extract the elusive bullet.

You held it up in front of you as soon as you dragged it out, turning it this way and that in order to examine the projectile, before blowing out a near silent breath of relief once you determined that it was –thankfully– still intact so you wouldn't have to worry about any fragments, which would’ve definitely complicated matters and further hindered Leon’s recovery.

“There. Done.” You said as you unceremoniously dropped the bullet and bloodied forceps into the cracked bowl you'd found in the dilapidated kitchen of the safehouse that you and your chatty partner were currently occupying. 

You moved toward the two medkits you’d ripped apart for supplies so that you could begin the tedious process of cleaning and bandaging the wound.

“Finally. I was about ready to brain myself against the wall if it meant getting a break from being carved up like a piece of meat.” Leon grumbled as he watched you grab some alcohol wipes as well as the small bottle of vodka you’d used to sterilize the bullet forceps before using it, the blond remaining tense as you collected what you’d need and turned your attention back to his shoulder.

“Hilarious.” You deadpanned as you placed a hand on Leon’s chest in order to push him back into the dining chair as you leaned closer to get a better look at the wound, ignoring the choked off sound that Leon made when he was shoved against the slat backrest. 

You moved to pull away but paused when Leon’s hand darted out to grab your wrist before you could finish the movement, his face screwing up in pain as he exhaled shakily, his grasp loose enough that you could infer that he was just floundering for a way to ground himself as opposed to trying to restrain you or something. So, in a moment of weakness, you allowed his touch to linger without a word of protest, giving him a much needed moment to pull himself together. 

You kept your hand pressed flat against his chest for a moment, counting his abnormally fast heart beats and his purposefully measured breathing until his body calmed, the blond releasing your wrist with a look you would describe as ‘sheepish’ if you didn’t know any better.

“You know, I don't even know why I put up with you.” Leon sighed while pouting like a petulant toddler as he slumped back into the chair, obediently relaxing his left arm as much as he was able to when you tapped your finger against his bicep twice in a wordless command.

“You mean you don’t keep me around for my sheer animal magnetism? I’m shocked.” You snorted sarcastically as you ripped open a new packet of alcohol wipes and began carefully wiping at the drying blood surrounding the bullet hole.

“Oh, right… your animal magnetism.” He replied dryly, wincing when the cool wipe brushed across a particularly sensitive area. “How could I forget?” Leon scoffed, his bright eyes watching you as you tossed the blood covered wipe into into the trash and opened a new one, slowly but efficiently mopping up the mess until the swollen, irritated skin surrounding the wound was visible

“Alright. I got good news and bad news.” You stated as you threw away the fifth and final alcohol wipe you’d opened, rubbing your hands down with some clean water from your own bottle and shaking them dry before dumping the remainder of the vodka shooter onto your hands in preparation for what you had to do next.

“Gimme the bad news first.” Leon cut in before you could finish your thought and you rolled your eyes but still ended up humoring him.

“Bad news is that you’re gonna die if we don’t slow the bleeding down, quickly. The fat layer under the skin is exposed and I don’t have any dissolvable stitches on me, so I can’t properly close it. Oh, and it’s pretty much a guarantee that it’s going to get infected.” You listed off your concerns as you dug the combat pill pack out of the emergency supplies that the safehouse was stocked with, quickly locating the bottles of Moxifloxacin and Meloxicam you were looking for and shaking out one of each into your palm.

“Great. And the good news?” Leon asked as he took the offered dull red and bright yellow pills with his good hand, popping them into his mouth and washing them down with a few long pulls from the bottled water that you also handed him.

“Good news is that your injury is located at a junctional area which, while not ideal because I can’t use a tourniquet, I can pack it with gauze before wrapping it up to make sure you won’t bleed out on me. It should hold up until we can get you to a hospital for proper treatment.” You said as you set all the supplies you’d need on the dining table, picking up the bottle containing a plain packing strip and breaking the seal before shifting closer to Leon, kicking his legs further apart so you could step between his thighs.

“Sounds fun. Come on, let's get this over with.” Leon sighed, already sounding resigned as he shifted around in his seat, the blond only settling once you braced your knee against the chair between his legs, holding carefully still as you positioned the end of the strip against the hole in his shoulder.

You glanced up from his wound in order to check if he was ready, doing a rapid double take when you caught the dazed look on his face as he stared up at you looming over him, his piercing blue eyes half-lidded. 

You initially thought that shock was finally setting in –which would make sense with all the excitement– but then you shifted your weight and you were made painfully aware of just how intimate your current position was. Your eyes widened as you watched Leon’s pupils dilate in real time, the blond staring up at you like you were a piece of art to be admired, able to practically hear his thoughts enter the gutter with an audible clatter with how close you were standing.

“You know… for someone who claims to only tolerate me, you sure do have a soft spot for patching me up. You always seem to volunteer to be the one to play nurse when I’m injured.” Leon said, a hint of amusement creeping in his voice, and you rolled your eyes before abruptly beginning to push the cotton strip deep inside his bullet wound with your thumbs.

Leon grit his teeth and let out a sharp, guttural cry as he threw his head back, the tendons in his neck straining with the need to move, to get out from under your steady hands and away from the pain.

“Well, if we're going by that logic, you seem to enjoy playing patient with how often you get injured.” You shot back without pausing, your eyes flicking up from Leon’s shoulder once to glance at his face before dropping back down when you made sure that he was still conscious.

“God damn it.” He cursed, panting and groaning in a way that sounded far too suggestive, the sounds coming out of him as you methodically packed the wound more fit for the bedroom. "You could have warned me, you bastard.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” You responded as you reached the end of the roll, keeping firm pressure on the raw wound to hold everything in place as you snatched the gauze pad off the dining table, tearing the wrapper off one-handed and placing it over the injury site. “Hold this.” You commanded firmly, impatiently waiting until Leon raised his good hand and put his palm over the gauze before letting go in order to reach for the roll of bandages.

“If this is your idea of fun, I’d hate to see what you’d do on a date.” Leon grumbled, his brows furrowing as he watched you open the packaging and begin meticulously dressing his wound, the blond moving his hand out of the way without you even having to ask as you wrapped the strip across his chest and around his shoulder repeatedly before tucking the end under the edge of the bandages to keep them from unraveling.

“Is that an attempt at asking me out, Kennedy? Zero out of ten, no way you’re getting any with weak pick up lines like that.” You quipped, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling when his eyebrows shot up to his forehead in surprise, his expression rapidly flicking through several different emotions before finally settling on embarrassment, his cheeks turning a bright, flustered red.

“I’m not– I wasn’t–” Leon spluttered as you stepped away and grabbed your own canteen in order to wash your hands over the bowl containing the bullet you’d pulled out of Leon –along with the forceps you’d used to do so– before mentally plotting where to begin cleaning up the mess you’d left on the table, as well as the ground surrounding the chair, while treating the blond.

“Uh-huh.” You said dismissively as you repacked the two well-stocked medkits –both the one you always brought with you when you were sent out on a mission, especially if Leon was your partner, and the spare that you’d found already in the safehouse– putting everything back into its rightful place. “You’re not exactly subtle, you know.” You continued casually, shutting the kits and securing them with a click before glancing at Leon, who had stiffened in his chair.

“Projecting much? I’m not the one with a staring problem.” Leon snapped back defensively, his tone holding a surprising amount of vitriol, and you paused in the middle of turning to put your medkit back into your bag to shoot him a dirty look.

“Hypocrite.” You hissed as you pulled a spare shirt from the bag you were crouched over and aggressively threw it at his bare chest.

“Brute.” Leon immediately snapped in response as he caught it and shrugged it on, his angry movements slowing when he had to maneuver his bad arm through the corresponding hole.

“Whatever.” You sneered, shooting him one last glare before pivoting in order to follow through on shoving your medkit back into your duffel, giving yourself a much needed moment to calm the petty anger that had sparked in your chest at Leon’s rude response to your harmless teasing. Talk about an overreaction…

You glanced back at Leon once you were feeling a little less like biting his head off, only to have the irritation that you had spent the last several minutes breathing through make a swift return when you saw him poking curiously at his injured shoulder, wincing when he occasionally hit a sore spot. 

You immediately stalked back over to him and smacked his hand, Leon snatching his stinging appendage away from the bandages like he was worried that you would break his fingers if he didn’t move fast enough, looking all to the world like a scolded child who’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t have as he placed his hands into his lap.

“Don’t do that.” You warned with a disapproving frown, eyes scanning over the wrappings to make sure that he wasn’t about to start bleeding through his bandages. “And you know what –while we're on the topic of what not to do– no removing the bandages, no getting wet, no lifting heavy objects and no strenuous activities. That includes jacking off by the way.” You lifted a finger for each rule you listed, staring Leon down to make sure he knew you were being dead serious. 

The absolute last thing you needed was for him to permanently mess up his shoulder because he did something stupid.

“How charming, I’m swooning.” Leon said as he placed his hands onto his knees and pushed to his feet, his face blanching of all color and leaving him looking more like the B.O.W’s that the two of you fought on the regular once he was fully upright. 

Thankfully for Leon, you were already reaching for him when he took a stumbling step forward, so you managed to steady him with a hand on his hip, wrapping your other one around his forearm before he had the opportunity to take a nasty spill.

“That’ll be the hypovolemia. Obviously.” You responded sarcastically almost on autopilot, the concern you were feeling at seeing the guy you’d personally witnessed walk off insane blows –ones he for all intents and purposes definitely shouldn’t have– struggling to just stand seeping into your voice without your say-so and taking the bite out of your words as you watched him sway in place like a drunk. 

Your hands lingered on Leon even after he had regained his balance, your fingers absentmindedly flexing around his impressive bicep as your eyes ran up and down his body, eagerly taking in how the shirt hugged every dip and curve of his muscles.

Leon cleared his throat and you blinked rapidly –feeling like you were coming out of a daze– and your gaze darted away from his chest and back up to his face, your eyes widening as your cheeks heated when you saw that he was wearing his signature cocky smirk as he watched you all but feel him up. 

You jerked your hands away from him like you’d been burned and quickly turned away so your back was facing him, ignoring the soft laugh that Leon breathed out at your expense in favor of sweeping the last of the discarded wrappers littering the table into the trash can.

"It's a good thing you're pretty, cause you're dumber than a box of rocks. Standing up so quickly when you've lost as much blood as you have. Moron." You grumbled to yourself in an attempt to hide how rattled you were at getting caught ogling Leon fucking Kennedy of all people, who was the most insufferable, egotistical, attractive, loyal… protective… 

You quickly shook your head before your thoughts could derail completely, as if that would get rid of the little voice in the back of your head –the one that was gradually getting louder every time you worked with him– that pointed out all of Leon’s positive qualities, which far outnumbered the less favorable aspects of his personality. 

“You sure know how to sweet-talk a guy.” Leon said with his usual level of smugness, the grin that you just knew he was sporting audible in his voice, and you valiantly resisted the ever-growing urge to either punch him in his mouth or kiss him stupid in order to wipe that infuriating look off his unfairly handsome face.

“Go lay down, Kennedy. Get some rest.” You sighed –sweeping your gaze across the dining room to make sure you didn’t miss any wayward pieces of trash– before checking your side arm and dragging one of the three intact wooden chairs over to the front window in order to sit down. It gave you a nice view of the snowy front yard and the long, winding driveway that led up to the cabin which gave you the advantage of spotting anyone who tried to approach the safehouse before they even knew you were there.

“Fine, fine.” Leon muttered, the blond giving an exaggerated sigh as he ran his hand through his hair before turning to unsteadily make his way over to the ratty couch that was shoved into the corner of the main room and –in a move that was very uncharacteristic of him– gingerly lower himself down onto the shitty cushions. “But don’t blame me if I get bored and start bothering you again in five minutes.” Leon added after he’d carefully stretched out across the couch, taking up almost the entire length.

“Goodnight.” You said pointedly without looking away from the window, watching as the previously peaceful snowfall outside gradually picked up into a full-blown blizzard, your gaze straying from the white tundra outside when you caught sight of Leon in the reflection of the glass. 

He had unholstered his own sidearm and rested his hands –gun and all– over his sternum and closed his eyes, the blond only managing to remain still for a few seconds before he was wiggling around again, the telltale shift of fabric accompanying the movement, as he attempted to get comfortable on the narrow couch.

You waited him out, knowing that it was only a matter of time before the potent combination of the drugs, pain and blood loss caught up with him and knocked him the fuck out, and you were proven right when you heard his breathing even out into sleep only a few minutes later.

Finally.

Leon was good at hiding it, but he desperately needed the rest –especially when he was in as rough shape as he was right now– and you were determined to make sure that he got it, partly because he needed to heal but mostly because you didn’t feel like listening to him whine about how he needed his beauty sleep for the next several hours if he was woken up too soon.

You waved from the back of the room, holding a sparkly pink notepad and a tiny USB mic. “Hi, I’ll be documenting the emotional depth of local B.O.W.s today. Technically, that’s not in the mission brief, but Wesker didn’t say I couldn’t. You know, for science.”

HUNK tilted his head half an inch. “You’re joking.”

Wesker wasn’t.

“And don’t lose her,” he added coolly. “I’ve got a bet going that she’ll outlive the Lickers.”

HUNK said nothing, but you were 90% sure that was his version of swearing internally.

Day One – 07:42 Hours

You were crouched behind a flipped ambulance, holding the tiny mic up like it was a sacred relic. “Excuse me, Mr. Licker, what does love mean to you?”

The Licker shrieked and pounced. A bullet cracked through the air. HUNK dragged you by the back of your vest like a misbehaving puppy.

“Target was hostile,” HUNK muttered, voice clipped, as he adjusted his grip on his weapon. A twitch of his gloved fingers was the only hint of the adrenaline spike he’d just ridden through.

“Yeah, but nonverbal,” you huffed, brushing glass off your sleeves. “I think we were getting somewhere. It twitched when I said ‘vulnerability.’”

HUNK didn’t respond. He just checked his gear. You noted he reloaded like it was an act of vengeance.

A second Licker hissed from a distance. You raised the mic again. “Sir, follow-up—do you feel misunderstood in a world that only sees your claws?”

Another shot rang out. You sighed. “Dramatic silence. I’ll allow it.”

You spent the rest of the day interviewing a rat. “Do you fear assimilation or celebrate mutation?” It squeaked and ran away. You nodded solemnly. “A true minimalist. Speaks volumes.”

Day Two – 15:19 Hours

Mr. X stood towering in a hallway like the world’s grumpiest bodyguard. You stood below him like an entertainment reporter at the Oscars.

“Sir,” you said with a dramatic flourish of your mic, “who’s your hat inspiration? Be honest—are you more of a bold accessory king or subtle fall layering enthusiast? Would you ever consider a scarf for fall?”

He blinked slowly. Then reached for you. HUNK’s boot collided with Mr. X’s ribs mid-grab. “Tyrant engaged. Extraction now.”

“Wait, I didn’t get his skincare routine—” you cried out, half-reach still extended toward Mr. X as you were yanked back like an unwilling correspondent mid-broadcast.

“You’re the extraction,” HUNK snapped, his grip firm and tone flat—though the barely concealed exasperation in his body language said he was regretting not just the mission, but every life choice that led to it.

“He has zero pores,” you muttered as you were yanked backward by your collar. “That’s not natural. I demand answers.”

You glanced over your shoulder just in time to see Mr. X pick up your mic and crush it in his hand like a soda can.

“My tiny mic!” you whimpered, hands outstretched like you'd just watched your firstborn get snapped in half. You dropped to your knees like a fallen soldier. “She was so young.”

“I brought backups,” HUNK said. You blinked. Did… did he plan ahead?

Later that evening, you crouched beside a cracked pillar, whispering into your mic, “This is ambient B.O.W. tension, take three. Very post-apocalyptic. Subtle dread.”

Suddenly, a guttural snarl echoed above. You looked up and saw a Hunter descending like a nightmare ballerina. You shrieked. Loudly. Your mic caught all of it in high fidelity.

HUNK blurred into motion, tackling the creature mid-air in a perfect arc. He slammed it to the ground with practiced ease and pinned it with one boot.

He turned his helmet your way, voice laced with dry fury. “Stop narrating your own death.”

Still breathless, you sat up, checking your recorder. “But it’s for the behind-the-scenes footage. The drama sells it.”

HUNK wiped gore from his visor and muttered something deeply judgmental into the comms.

Day Three – 23:04 Hours

You were pinned against a sewer wall while G-Virus-William stared you down with way too many eyes.

“Hi!” you chirped. “On a scale from 1 to ‘deep internal trauma,’ how would you rate your mutation?”

A tentacle shot forward. HUNK caught it mid-air and launched a flash grenade. “This isn’t an interview. It’s suicide.”

“And yet, somehow, I’m thriving,” you muttered, recording everything on your tiny mic.

“I swear to god if you try to rate his aesthetic—” HUNK growled, his voice nearly drowned out by another roar from William.

You didn’t even blink. With a flick of your wrist, you angled the mic toward the monstrosity and smiled brightly.

“Actually, I was going to ask if he regrets not moisturizing pre-transformation.” You gave a dramatic tilt of your head, like a talk show host pivoting into a deep question. “Because that forehead is doing a lot and none of it is exfoliated.”

Another tentacle slammed into the wall beside you. HUNK fired three precision shots and pulled you back just as acid splattered the cement.

“I am filing this under ‘survivor’s guilt journal entry #27,’” you said. “That’s a thing, right?”

“I’m requesting a transfer.” HUNK didn’t shout, didn’t growl—just muttered it with the numb exhaustion of a man who’d fought monsters, wars, and bureaucracy… but nothing like you. His visor tilted slightly upward as if appealing to a higher power that could make it stop.

As you were dragged to safety, you looked over your shoulder. “He didn’t even blink. That’s inner peace. Or rage. Maybe both.”

Day Four – 18:30 Hours

You found a lone zombie gnawing on a car bumper.

“Excuse me, sir, you’re on live audio,” you announced, stepping forward like a roving journalist with a death wish.

It moaned, lifting its head slowly, chunks of metal still wedged between its teeth.

“Do you have any thoughts on capitalism?” you asked with wide, journalistic sincerity, leaning forward like the zombie might have something meaningful to add. “Or perhaps the ethics of viral-based bioengineering?” You tilted your head, like this was the most natural small talk in the world between two intellectuals. The zombie groaned in response, tilting its jaw, which you interpreted as 'deep disapproval of corporate greed.'

It lunged with a guttural snarl. HUNK didn’t look up. His arm moved like muscle memory—one clean shot to the forehead. The body dropped.

“You’re asking philosophical questions to corpses,” he said dryly, voice edged with disbelief.

“And you’re expecting progress from bullets,” you replied, undeterred, wiping blood off your mic with a tissue printed with little skulls. “We all cope differently.”

“I’m asking the real questions,” you added, turning your mic back on with a click.

Later, you stood before a broken vending machine, one hand on your hip. “Mr. Machine, how does it feel to be the unsung hero in apocalyptic morale?”

The lights flickered once. Nothing dispensed.

“You’re losing it,” HUNK muttered behind you, voice muffled by sheer disbelief.

“I was never holding it,” you beamed, scribbling in your notepad: "Snack dispenser: emotionally unavailable."

Day Five – 13:45 Hours

You crouched beside the Cerberus, holding out a sparkly band-aid with a smile like you were offering candy to a toddler.

“Easy, buddy,” you cooed, crouching low and extending the band-aid like a peace offering. Your tone was soft, coaxing, like a kindergarten teacher talking to a tantrum-prone child. You gave a hopeful grin. “Let’s address those anger issues constructively—maybe with fewer teeth?”

It barked. Then bit your arm.

You screamed. “Rude!”

“Wow, so aggressive,” you muttered through clenched teeth, inspecting the bite. “We’ll circle back to trauma later. This feels unresolved.”

HUNK tasered the creature without hesitation. The Cerberus collapsed with a loud thud, still twitching. He turned and glared at you, his stance taut with disbelief. “You waved at it.”

“It wagged its tail!” you argued, holding up your now-bleeding forearm like evidence.

“That was bone displacement,” HUNK added flatly, eyeing your enthusiasm like it was a contagious disease. He didn’t even bother to look at the wound—his entire stance screamed “I told you so” without saying another word.

You huffed. “You say tomato, I say emotional wag.”

Day Six – 12:00 Hours

Wesker’s voice crackled through HUNK’s comms like static-soaked sarcasm.

“Sending additional reinforcement. Codename: Nemesis.”

HUNK froze.

“That’s not reinforcement. That’s escalation.” HUNK’s voice was tight, jaw grinding audibly through the comms as he stared into the middle distance.

You perked up instantly from where you were organizing gummy worm rations by emotional color spectrum—pink for betrayal, green for envy, blue for seasonal sadness. Your eyes lit up with manic delight. “Wait—Nemy’s coming?!” You scrambled upright, nearly knocking over your chart. “I need to find his loofah!”

Fifteen minutes later, Nemesis stomped into the ruined parking structure, dragging a rocket launcher and blinking affectionately. You waved. He blinked again. Then crouched down and pulled something out of a pouch. A mini scented candle. Lavender.

“He remembered!” you gasped, clutching your mic.

HUNK stood off to the side, arms crossed. “You have a history with this thing?”

“He’s emotionally complex,” you said proudly, lighting the candle. “Also, he likes cucumbers and pink bath bombs.”

Nemesis grunted. “STARS.”

You handed him a fresh mic with a glittery sticker on it. “Want to co-host?”

He accepted it gently between two claws. HUNK visibly aged ten years.

Two hours into the mission, Nemesis had carried you bridal-style across a collapsed fire escape, intercepted a Licker mid-air with one hand, and body-blocked a flaming truck for you.

HUNK, panting and covered in soot, stared at the two of you. His helmet slowly tilted upward, as though looking to the sky and asking whatever gods were out there, “Why me?”

“You were supposed to be bait,” he muttered, voice raspy with smoke and barely-contained despair.

You patted Nemesis’s arm with affection and placed a party hat delicately atop his head, the elastic struggling to stretch under his mutated chin. “He’s my emotional support weapon,” you declared, as if that explained everything.

Nemesis gave a low rumble, the kind of sound that could collapse drywall—but this one somehow sounded pleased.

HUNK’s arms dropped to his sides, as if the sheer absurdity had sapped the last of his will to fight. “You’re both banned from field operations.”

You blinked innocently. “Wesker doesn’t have that authority.”

“He made the authority,” HUNK replied, with the bitterness of a man who once believed rules could still protect him from madness.

Final Log – 04:01 Hours

You and HUNK sat in silence, bloodied, burnt, and absolutely done. He stared ahead—posture rigid, visor dark, as if reliving every explosion, scream, and unsolicited interview question from the past six days. You sat next to him on a broken crate, legs swinging idly, sipping juice from a Capri Sun like a child on a field trip.

You side-eyed him. "You know, you could’ve let me die."

“I tried,” HUNK replied, his voice tired and gravel-worn, like the statement cost him something personal.

“I know. I appreciate the consistency,” you said with a nod, as if he’d handed you a bouquet instead of a confession of attempted negligence.

“…You’re out of mic batteries,” he added after a beat, already bracing for the answer.

“I have more in my sock,” you replied cheerfully, pulling a triple-pack of color-coded backup mics from your boot like it was a clown car.

He didn’t even flinch. He just sighed. Loudly. Visibly. Existentially.

“I named your rifle,” you said softly, as if confessing a deep, emotional truth. You looked at him with all the sincerity of someone unveiling a masterpiece, eyes wide with pride and a hint of chaos.

HUNK finally turned his head toward you with slow, aching deliberation. “What.”

“Baby Boomstick.”

There was a beat of silence so heavy it could've been listed as a combat hazard.

“You’re insane,” HUNK muttered, almost admiringly, like one might describe a wild animal that knows how to open jars.

“Emotionally enriched,” you corrected, sipping your Capri Sun with serene finality.

He stared into the abyss. The abyss stared back. You offered it a sticker.

Post-Mission Debrief

Wesker reviewed the footage: Lickers shrieking. Mr. X walking away in visible confusion. William growling into a mic. Zombies moaning under poorly timed interview attempts. Nemesis lighting scented candles. HUNK exhausted. You giggling.

He threw the tablet across the room. “She’s still alive.”

Moments later, another report pinged in. Wesker squinted at the monitor, pinching the bridge of his nose. He didn’t even open the file—just sighed like a man who had lost a chess match to a pigeon.

“I should’ve sent her to Antarctica.”

“Subject attempted to interview T-078 Tyrant with the phrase: ‘You strike me as a misunderstood romantic. Thoughts?’”

Wesker groaned into his hands. “She’s still alive and spreading quotes.”

(Interview rating: 10/10. Would annoy again.)

You sat by your window, waiting.

Law had called you thirty minutes ago, saying he was almost at your house.

Your nerves were trying to psych you out.

You knew exactly what Law drove.

A black Mercedes with his stupid but cute spotted white leopard printed decal or painted on the side. Of course, he did. You watched him pull up and stop in a vacant parking spot, turn off the engine, and step out of the car. He held something within his hands.

Needless to say, you were more than pleased with Doctor Heart Steeler's date night out outfit. There was absolutely no way Law wouldn't get lucky and paw at, if you let your inner fangirl out of the bag. Law looked as if he'd just walked away from a professional photo shoot. You couldn't help biting your lips as you drank him up to your greedy hearts' content. Damn, the date hasn't even started, and he's already made you nearly want to drop your lace panties for him. Let alone make your heart race for a different matter.

Black blazer, yellow dress shirt, buttons unbuttoned to his breastbone, revealing a teasing and mouthwatering view of his muscled, tanned skin and ink. White slacks, black dress shoes. The Surgeon glanced down at his black smartphone watch as he approached the door to your shared apartment.

You didn't give yourself a second glance. You rushed out of your room, grabbed your phone, purse, and jean jacket, slipped on your black knee-high chunky high-heeled boots, well, more like hopping into your boots one leg at a time without flipping yourself over the couch. Your heart was running a mile a minute as you opened the door, slightly out of breath. "Hey, doc." Dammit, you've called him that nickname for too long, it practically slipped out of your mouth. "Ah, shit." You cover your blushed face. "Sorry, Law."

His eyes gleamed with amusement. "It will take a while before you break that habit, isn't it?" He lowered his gaze to give you an appreciative glance and assessment. "No uniform or your lounge wear, that's good."

You stared into Law's vivid gray eyes, his tanned and inked skin as he stood before you, hatless. His thick, unruly jet-black hair appeared fluffy and slightly soft, falling over his forehead. You had to stop yourself from physically suppressing your thick thighs together as you peered through your fingers. Then, of course, Law had to rile up your sass and temper. "Hey, the hell is that supposed to mean?" You huff, popping out your hip and crossing your arms over your chest. The belle sleeves on your pink gothic lace mid-thigh length dress flying around with your movement for a more dramatic flair. Maybe I should have listened to Nami and worn my little black and red dress. You inwardly sweat drop. Well, it's too late to change now. Then again, you had been dying to wear this one out since you got it. Tonight seemed a perfect excuse.

"Never took you for the goth type," Law commented, tilting his head.

"Is that a problem?" You did give yourself a classic black and pink smoky eye and a red lip, giving yourself a natural look with a hint of shimmer eye shadow on your eyelids. "I hardly believe that you didn't have an emo boy phase as a teenager." In fact, you know he did.

"Yes, I did." Law replies, shifting his weight to fully lean into the door frame. "Want to go down memory lane and swap polaroids?" His quicksilver and intense gaze doesn't leave your flustered and starstruck face as you look at him, as if he'd just give you a million dollars. "Or are you ready for our date?"

You opened your mouth, then snapped it shut. "Uh... sooo we can't swap polaroids then?" Why did you say that out loud?!

Law didn't roll his eyes, like you thought he'd do. No. Instead, he snickers, then tries to cover it with a cough. "That's all you heard?" He raised a brow, took something out of the crook of his arm, and handed it to you. "Here, Happy Valentine's Day, Y/n." He muttered, cheeks pinking.

Your brows burrow. "It isn't Valentine's Day."

Law blinked. "Yes, it is." Straightening his posture. "What day do you think it is?" His poker face is slipping back.

"There is no way." You took the big box of fancy Godiva chocolates, an amazon gift card, and one for Barns and Noble. You stared at the heart-shaped box. "Oh, shit, it is." You pulled out your phone, unlocked and stared at the date. It was, in fact, Valentine’s Day. "Our first day on Valentine's Day? Seriously?" You lifted your gaze to meet his smug smile.

"Would you rather I take the gifts back?" Law asked, nonchalantly, offering to take them off your hands. Of course, he wasn't going to take it back, even if you did try to shove it into his chest. He couldn't help but find your reactions cute. The offendment on your face was adorable and priceless. There's his stubborn nurse. Once you got something in your hands, it was yours and no one else's unless you wanted to share it, which you would, if he'd asked. He’d seen sharing candy and gum with nervous kids waiting in the waiting room or lobby of his hospital.

"No." You hold the gift cards and chocolate close to your chest. "It's mine now." You give him a light glare.

"Calm down, it's yours," Law replied coolly, turning and offering you his arm. "Ready?"

Curse stupid Ace, stupid Luffy, and stupid gluttonous Sabo for making you paranoid about anybody trying to steal your food, which Luffy would. He learned the hard way when you stabbed his hand with a fork or put habanero and ghost pepper hot sauce on your sandwiches, which you made for Ace as a prank. Needless to say, Luffy didn't learn his lesson. Even after he drank a mountain worth of ice cream and milk. "Yeah, I'm ready." You give him a smile, fishing your keys out of your purse, which Law took from you to lock your door, then wordlessly handing them back to you. "Has anybody told you that you have controlling issues?"

"Correction, I'm being polite and a gentleman." Law nodded his head and led you towards his car.

"Whatever you say, Cap." You smirk softly.

He huffed out an amused breath, rolling his eyes. Law opened the door for you; his hand slipped down your arm to lock your hand with his as he helped you sit down inside. He didn't let go of your hand. He kissed the back of it, keeping eye contact with your flustered face, blushing ever so prettily. "If you let me, Y/n." He mutters, lips smirking against your skin. "I'll treat you like a queen as you deserve, remember that." He said in a drop-dead, silky-smooth drawl.

You slowly took your hand back, swallowing thickly as your panties became wet. Loser Law is actually secretly a smoothie, I repeat, he's trying to make you break on purpose! You can't think of anything witty and sassy to say. You are speechless, trapped in a daze as he rises and gently closes the door to round the car, opens it, and sits down in the driver's seat. Acting as if he did absolutely fucking nothing.

You put your seatbelt on, body traveling on autopilot, then set your gift cards into your purse and chocolates into the floorboard.

After taking another steady breath, she lifted her slightly shaky hand and answered the phone. You could hear your heartbeat thudding hard in your ears as you tried calm down. "Keep talkin' like that n' you won't make it out of the driveway." You accidentally muttered out loud.

"What was that?" Law hummed, leaning his arm behind you as he stole a glance at you, then glanced behind his shoulder to look out for incoming cars after starting the engine and putting the car in reverse.

"N-Nothing!" You stammer. "That was just the wind! You heard nothin'."

Law stares at you for a moment before facing forward and shifting his weight back into the correct driving position. "Has anyone ever told you that your southern accent and drawl become more pronounced when you're acting all cute and brazen?"

"Oh, shut up." You fire back.

"Unfortunately, for you, I won't." Law shrugs in response, shifting the manual care into drive and drove off.

You tried not to focus on his hand placement. One large, tanned, inked palm on the middle of the stirring wheel, his other lying lazily out the window. You noticed the small smile gracing his mouth. His silver gaze was focused, concentrated, and cautious on the road. You quickly shook your head and in shifted your gaze to outside the passenger side window. The black leather was pristine, golden edges and seams gave it a more personal touch that fit Law's astatic. Goofball certainly has both good taste and a unique fashion sense. Makes you wonder if his adoptive father or uncle had a hand in it?

Within minutes, Law's eyes kept flicking over to you. He didn't say anything at first. His grip on the steering wheel tightens. Dammit, did he take his teasing too far again? Had he made you uncomfortable? Law usually loves silence. Peace and quiet. He hates small talk. But he wants to hear you talk. Talk about your day, anything. Anything to soothe over this unbearable, awkward, silent treatment? Inwardly sighing and deciding to bite the bullet, Law asked, "Do you have any idea what you want to spend the gift cards on?"

"There have been a few things on my wishlist." You reply softly, unknowingly unaware that your voice was soothing his own nerves and tension building within his shoulders.

"Clothes, makeup, snacks, or smutty books?" Law really couldn't help himself; his lips quirked high when he noticed you straightening your posture and how red your cheek had gotten. "Maybe a sex toy?" You turned even redder.

"That is none of your business." You did not want to admit that what all Law had said was true.

"What?" Law raised a brow. "You are a fully grown adult and have every right to experience sexual pleasure and relieve on your own time. It's natural." Law wouldn't admit that he thought long and hard about getting you one for Christmas as a secret Santa gift after he heard you and members of the female staff talking about it in the breakroom as he stood outside trying not to choke on his coffee. It did not contain the excitement growing and twitching hot and harder within his pants, or stop him from blushing and thinking about watching you use said toy on yourself to get yourself off and ready for him. He'll bring that up when he reaches higher in the boyfriend stage of the relationship.

"You make a fair point." You admitted, trying not to curl your hands in your lap, instead you cross your legs, resulting in your dress rising higher along your thigh.

Law caught that from the corner of his eye. His grip tightened on the steering wheel as he swallowed dryly. If he were your boyfriend. Law would spread your legs and shove his hand between your gorgeous, thick thighs to tease your inner thigh, then stroke you through your panties with his fingers. Tease you nice and slow, searching for every note of pleasure as he learned your body. What made you squirm? What made your pant breathlessly? What made you needy, whining and screaming, begging him not to stop? Begging him to feed your hot pussy with his fingers. Law inhales a deep, calm breath as his own fingers on the wheel twitched and curled on reflex. Jesus fucking Christ, it's been so long since he's been this obsessed and horny. Not to mention being in love with someone on top of it.

He's trying to be all that you need and deserve. He couldn't get that kiss or the view of you stripping out of his head last night when he went home. He was embarrassed by how hard and feral you made him. How much of his own essence and semen he had ejaculated to the perfect image of you stripping for him, climbing on top of him, and bouncing in his lap. Giving absolute control. Watching you grinding on him, chest heaving and bouncing in his face to palm and knead every delicious and beautiful curve from your fantastic breasts, swells of your hips, your stomach, and the meat of your ass and thighs. All of your insecurities were beautiful to him.

Law had to shake his head furiously and return his focus to the road. Law was not a holy man, or man of faith, but he'd bet even if he had been... he could be too bashful as a schoolboy if he had to admit his sinful, lustful thoughts about you to a priest.

His vision moved from the road to his gps on the phone stand. "I figured you wanted to get something to eat, then go book shopping." Law noticed you perking up, eyes widening a fraction of surprise and excitement.

"Really?" You faced him after what felt like forever.

Law stopped at a stoplight. "What do you think I gave you that gift card for?" He tilted his head in your direction to meet your eyes, the red hue reflecting on his face, which turned his molten silver gaze into a more intense and electric shade of lighting and storm. Beautiful and hypnotizing, then the sun hit his iris. Changing his eye color again to an amber, honey, or golden shine.

Dear god, if we have babies... You think to yourself, completely lost in his soul-piercing stare. I want them to have his eyes. You were inwardly shaking yourself, screaming and cursing your hormones again. I must be ovulating, if I'm this horny, right? You didn't want to chop it off, as you and Law had actual chemistry. Which was getting harder and harder not to believe, given yesterday.

The light turned green, Law focused on the road again, switching the turn signal, then placing both hands on the wheel to turn in the direction of the restaurant. He shut off the gps, having already known these roads and streets by heart now. "Where we are going is my favorite restaurant." He informs, waiting for your answer.

"Oh? Where?" You were excited to learn more about Law. Maybe more than you were willing to admit.

Law drove forward and parked the car; he turned off the engine, silently signaling with the wave of his finger. "See for yourself."

You turned your head. You could not believe where he took you. The restaurant was high class, but not too high prices. Okay, pricy and way above your budget for a regular date night out. If you wanted to spend your book budget money on someplace to eat, which you only did for your birthday. So, this place was reserved for a rare occasional spot, but always busy and jam packed. The restaurant's full name was "Rosé de Heart" or "Rosé" for short. "Rosés?" You spun around fast, making yourself lightheaded as you unbuckled your seat belt, only to discover Law had already unbuckled and opened your car door, offering to help you out. "You're kidding!" You exclaimed, practically bouncing in your seat.

"Why would I lie and flaunt it in your face, if I wasn't going to take you?" Law quipped, giving you a hint of a smile.

"Rosé's is way out of my price range." You admitted sheepishly. "I've never been." You tilted to the side to try to hide your embarrassment. "Now, I feel underdressed."

Law's smile softened. "We'll have to fix that." His silver eyes are assessing you again. "And for the record," Law hummed, gently bending down to lean down, grip your hand and pull you up, then grab your purse for you. "You look beautiful. No matter where we are or what you wear." He squeezes your hand in reassurance, bring it to his lips and kissing it again, then raising his head and kisses your cheek. "It is your inner beauty, stubborn, spunky attitude, and smile I'd rather see." He whispers, the coffee and mint of his breath fanning your heated cheeks. "You are perfect the way you are, curves, extra pounds, and all, Y/n-ya."

Your breath catches. Your heartbeat quickens. Now you feel like a perv ogling him and thinking dirty thoughts when he was being all sweet. "Thank you, Law." You murmur softly, turning your head, your lips brushing along the side of his jaw, staining his tanned skin. Your breath is hot and triggering goosebumps and shiver down his spine and along his tanned skin beneath his cloths.

"You're welcome," Law cleared his throat, his hand twitching as closes the car door behind you, locked it, and stuffed his keys into his pants pocket. He begins to lead you towards heavy traffic and across the road and sidewalk, waiting in the semi-long line. "It's just opened, so we've caught the busy dinner rush." He comments, keeping his attention forward, keeping his hand intertwined with your own before wrapping his arm around your middle, securing his fingers on your love handles, and gently tugging you closer.

You noticed the smudge of lipstick and gloss on the corner of his jaw. "Oops." You bite your lips to hold back a laugh.

"What is it?" Law asked without meeting your gaze. He raised a brow; he knew that tone. You found something funny and were about to burst out into a fit of laughter.

Should you tell him? It made you wonder how would Mister King of Poker faces react if you simply left it alone for him to find when he goes to the men's restroom. Then you thought better of it. "You... uh..." You began to dig into your purse for makeup remover wipes. "You accidentally have lipstick n' gloss on your face, Traffy."

Law's brows furrowed in confusion. "How?"

You pulled out a wipe, grabbed his chin, and scrubbed his face in smooth yet rough strokes without being too harsh on his skin. "I think it's when my lips made contact." You giggled to yourself. "Well, I suppose it could have been worse."

You were unaware of the attention you were drawing to yourself. Men and women were staring at you. Men glance at your dress and curves in silent appreciation and appraisal. Oh, Law recognized the envy and jealousy, or snobbish behavior, that every insecure, skinny, model-shaped woman was giving you. It wasn't just your curves they envied. It was him on your arm, basking in your attention. Law felt himself smirk smugly, just a tad.

Law couldn't help himself, snaking his arms closer around you, pushing you flush and closer into him. A soundless and unspoken signal that you were his and spoken for. He did not like the elder gentleman and drunk greedily, gluttonously, and shamelessly, eyeful of your breast or your rear. Or the obvious cheating bastard drooling over you with their girlfriends or side chicks hanging all over their arms. Any one of them who dared sneak a glance, then make the mistake of meeting Law's eyes were met with a seething, ice-cold, stone-hearted warning glare. He bit back a heated curse and grinding his molars until it was their turn in line.

Law made a mental note to leave earlier next time, so you and him would be the first in line.

He didn't give a damn if he had to look like an asshole and cut to the front of the line.

You were squished against his side. Which you couldn't really complain. You snuggled into his warm embrace and leaned your head into the crook of his shoulder. This is nice. You think to yourself. I could get used to this. Then again, if you didn't know any better, is Law being a little too handsy and territorial? You opened your eyes as you and him stepped forward. You couldn't lie. It was kinda hot.

"Trafalgar," the head chef greeted warmly on his way toward the kitchen. An elder man with light blonde hair, with a prosthetic leg and a beard, a mustache that extends into twin braids, and tied with two blue ribbons.

He looked familiar. You couldn't remember why. You watched the chief offer his hand to shake, which Law accepted with a hint of a smirk. "Zeff."

Oh! He's Zeff! Sanji's boss, adoptive father and trained him since he was a kid. But wait, doesn't Zeff own The Baratie downtown? Your confusion must have been showing.

Law chuckled and explained. "Zeff is an old friend of the owner of Rosés; he and Sanji train the newbies or run the place whenever the boss is away." He gestured towards you. "Zeff, this is my date for this evening, Y/n L/n."

Zeff shifted his blue eyes to you. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Young Lady." The blonde takes your free hand and shakes it, a sturdy and strong grip, then raises it and kisses the back. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to call my name."

Your mouth fell open. Was this why Sanji is so flirtatious? Or was he always like that?

Law clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Are you trying to steal my date, Red-Leg?" His gaze hardens.

Zeff chuckles, scoffs. "You and that brat are both too young to be taking me on, Doctor."

You bet that brat is a certain overly flirty, blonde-haired, curly-browed chief, Sanji.

"Sorry, but if you want a date, you will have to get your own," Law replied coldly, as one of the waiters led you two away.

You glance behind you, smiling and waving.

Zeff winks and waves. "Don't let that little shit bully you, belle." He calls out, smirking when Law's hold on you tightens, knowing the black-haired surgeon is grumbling up a storm. "His words are harsh and overly critical, but he's a big softie at heart."

Oh, you know. You know, Law is a big softie indeed after you get past his mountains of impenetrable walls of cold iron and icy exterior. "Thanks for the advice, Zeff." You reply back, raising your voice.

Then Zeff heads back towards the kitchen.

The waiter leads you to your table, Law helps you into your seat, and pushes you in.

"You don't have to follow that old man's nonsense." Law huffed as he rounded the table and sat down.

"It can't be helped, can't it?" You tease, you giggle, noticing his face is already a light shade of pink.

Law opened his mouth to retort when a blonde waitress approached the table.

You could understand that with the restaurant just opening, it tends to get busy from open to close. Usually, staff have to bounce around all night going multiple tasks from training, busting tables, dish washing and, delivering room, manning the front desk, answering the phone to writing down take-out orders. You've had to work your own share of waitressing jobs back home with Ace and Sabo. Luffy didn't last a day. The poor air-headed, StrawHat wearing teen kept eating orders, breaking dishes, and was bad, like really bad at taking orders.

He looked up from his conversation with you, already irritated. "May I help you?" he asks flatly.

"Yes, you can." The blonde waitress purrs, batting her lashes and giving him a seductive smile. Completely ignoring you. "What can I get for you?" Pouring a glass of wine for him, pouring it slowly, making a show of it to stall for time.

Law raised a brow. "You weren't the waiter who led us to our table." He gestured towards you and him. "Nor did we order this wine." His gaze focused on the wine "Nancy" was serving. It was an expensive and aged vintage. His anger was rising. He didn't want to look like too much of a jerk in front of you, but this woman was pushing his buttons in all of the wrong ways. He wanted to order a wine or a cocktail of your choice. Not whatever this annoyance shoved in front of their faces.

Law knew, if he let good wine go to taste his adoptive unlike would curse, give him a cold, smile and force him to drink the whole bottle. The black-haired surgeon shivered from that unwanted and unpleasant memory.

"Nathan's busy at the moment," she said smoothly. "I'll take over, if you'd like?"

Oh, this bitch. The corner of your lips twitched, narrowing your eyes. You knew Law was handsome. Knew he wouldn't have to walk too far to have both men and women flocking towards him. You seen it time and time again at work. Woman fake fainting and swooning like some Victorian era debutante to try to attract Law's attention, which he'd see right through and order another staff member to tend to them.

She pours your glass of wine with less grace, a more rushed and served type of pour. "Here you go, miss?" She flashed a fake assed closed eyed smile.

"Thanks." You reply out of courtesy's sake.

She acted like she didn't hear you. She kept her attention on Law. "Are you ready to order?"

Law picked up his wine glass, brought it to his nose to smell it before he tasted it. His brows furrowed in concentration. "We have not." He replied dryly. His eyes were closed, tilting it to his lips and tasting it, savoring it. He didn't see her moving closer towards him. She leaned in close, too close, too close for both yours and Law’s comfort to whisper into his ear. "Or can I have your number?"

Law's eyes snapped open as he swallowed his mouthful of wine way too soon for his liking.

You saw Law's jaw clenched and grind. His whole body stiffened and tensed as she pulled away. Oh, he's pissed. His silver eyes grew dark and stormy; the flickering of the candlelight made them appear harsher, colder, and arctic. She cannot read people for jack shit. You thought, picking up your glass of wine.

You watched as Law's grey eyes turned steely as he interrupted the waitress. "I don't believe asking for my number is part of your job, now, is it?" His voice was calm yet hard as his polite smile flipped into a scowl as his inked hand tightened on the wine glass.

The blonde’s eyes widened, the complete look of shock on her face as if she wasn't used to hearing the word no or being rejected often. "No." She replied, sounding unsure.

He'd raise one eyebrow, shift in his seat, and lace his fingers. His golden hues were sharp, cold, and calculating. He didn't raise his tone, but the authority and commanding presence he demanded within the room spoke volumes. Relaxed Law was gone, and his doctor persona had come out, his professional mask of stone walls and hard edges. Years of medical practice at looking stupid people in the eye and trying to walk all over him. It didn't work. This clueless blonde didn't realize how scary Trafalgar Law could be.

You were shocked, flattered, and in awe. Law was standing up for you and flat-out rejecting this woman's advances. You grabbed your wine glass to hide your smile and the heated blush growing on your face.

"Good." He gave a curt nod. "Now, leave the bottle and leave before I call the manager." Law tilted his head, smirking as a hard gleam sparkled in his eyes, as he waved her off with his free hand.

The blonde jumped as she nodded her head and bowed in apology. "My apologies, sir." She left the bottle and speed walked away.

Law clicked his tongue, sipping his wine as he muttered. "Idiot." Some of the tension left his shoulders.

You lowered your wine glass and snickered, trying to hide your smirk with the back of your hand, but Law noticed. "Damn, Doctor Heart Steeler being all cold and overprotective of me? Talk about making a girl feel special, Law."

Law's lips twitched, forming a small smile. "I meant what I said, you know." He met your gaze, lowering his glass and reaching for your hand. "My eyes are only on you, Y/n," he explains as he pours two more glasses full of wine and hands one over to you.

"You never made a move until yesterday." You muttered shyly, fighting with all you might not to glance away.

He tucked a loose lock of hair and threaded it back behind your ear. "You're the one who wasn't paying attention, Y/n-ya," Law replied, leaning back into his seat, shifting his gaze away as he noticed the manager hauling ass towards your table.

"I apologize for Kandy's rude behavior." The restaurant manager apologized profusely and handed each of you a menu. "As an apology, I'll throw in free dessert whenever you are ready, and I'll give you a discount, sir."

"Of course, it's the misspelled version of candy." You scoffed beneath your breath. "Barbie lookin' assed, preppy, thin girlie didn't grow up out of her high school phase." Dammit, it's like high school all over again You thought to yourself as you took another sip of your wine.

"Thanks," Law waved him off. He noticed your displeasure throughout the whole rude exchange. He found your brattiness and show of temper amusing at work, yet right now you two weren't at work. You were on a date. You getting upset made him upset.

Silence filled the empty space for a moment as you both tried to relax and return to enjoying the pleasant and welcoming atmosphere.

You knew it was cliche but decided to break the ice first.

"Do you come here often, then?" You ask, taking your menu and glancing over it. Oh shit. You were right, this is fancy. Oh, steak... but... holy shit.

"Don't give me that look." Law spoke simply without glancing away from his menu.

"What look?" Your cheeks heat from the back of your neck to your face.

"That pout on your face you make when you think nobody is looking." Law raises his gaze to meet yours. "It's my treat, I asked you out, and I'm paying." His firm lips quirk higher into a small smile. "Order whatever you want." His brow twitches as irritation flashes across his face for half a second and then leaves. "Just..." He sighed and returned his attention back to his menu and added, "Don't feel embarrassed if you order too much and pack it all away."

Your pout rises into an appreciative smile. "Thanks, Law."

Law's face grows flustered, which is noticeable since he isn't wearing his hat. "The steak is worth it, by the way." He clears his throat, coughing into his fist awkwardly. "I recommend the cheesecake and chocolate overload for dessert, if you are interested."

Your eyes sparkled; you knew Law had said the magic words. cheesecake and chocolate. "How could I possibly pick just one?" You flip your menu to the last page and see both pictures staring right at you. Tempting you. Teasing you. And looking absolutely fucking delicious.

Law inwardly chuckled to himself in amusement. "We could get both, or you could, if you want." There's his happy nurse.

Your eyes snap to his. "Can I really?" Your eyes were hopeful, sparkling beneath the lower candlelight, and Law felt his own heartbeat skip and pound within his chest.

"Of course, you can." He muttered as if you had placed him under a trance. Completely lost within your eyes and spellbound. The Surgeon blinked, lips curling into an amused and challenging grin. "Alright, since you are so worried about the cost, no matter what I say." He tilts his head in the sexy, cocky, and arrogant way of his. Law sets his menu aside and interlocks his inked, tanned hands together. "If you get the steak and eat it, I'll pay."

You opened your mouth to protest, he knew from the way your body straightened and the high notch in your chin.

Law raised a single finger, silently signaling for you to let him finish. "Let me finish, please," he pressed, waiting for you to challenge him. Smug smile growing. "If you don't, then we will split the bill." He nods his head, pleased with himself. "Fair enough?"

You muttered over the deal in your head. The steak did look so good, but you really wanted the pasta. Oh, the crab carbinara delicious and comforting. You stared at it. Did you really want to take Law's deal? Such a generous man. You thought to yourself, inwardly fanning yourself. Standing up for me and doesn't care if I pig out? You didn't think this was how your first date with Law was going to go at all. Seriously, where the hell has he been all your life? If Law had become your boyfriend sooner, would he still act the same? Would he have noticed you in high school? A quiet, bookworm-loving, chubby teenager who adored him from afar? Your heart swelled and ached all the same. You can't change the past, but you can look towards the future, right, Lu?

Law hated that you were quiet. His heart sank and felt heavy within his chest. Did he overstep? Did he fuck things up already? He wasn't teasing you. He was being earnest. He didn't want you to go home hungry. Money was no issue. He'd gladly buy out this whole restaurant for the rest of the night, if you wanted. Screw the other customers. "If you don't want to, you can-" Law's eyes soften as he spoke, meeting your eyes.

You stood and focused on Law's expression.

Law's eyes widened, inwardly panicking that you were getting up and demanding he take you home. End the date so soon. "W-Wait..." He stutters, setting the wine down harder than necessary and nearly tipping over the glass and chair as he began to rise. "Y/n-ya.."

You don't say a word. You leaned over the table, your breasts pressed together, nearly spilling out of your dress, as your soft, manicured hands gently grabbed his face within your hands and kissed him. You had only meant to shake him up. Cause his composure to slip, but you stayed there. You heard a soft audible gasp and intake of breath leave The Surgeon's lips as he returned the kiss. Instead, you decided to tease him a little. Maybe show Kandy or whoever was looking at Law, that he was yours. It felt as if a possessive, greedy succubus was clawing its way out of your skin and attaching itself to your doctor. Inwardly, hissing that he was yours. Decided to give a show, you drag your lips from the corner of his mouth to press into a firmer, possessive kiss.

His own large, tanned, tattooed hands, shaking as he pulled you closer, or as close as he could with the damned table in the way. The kiss was slow and tender, then became hotter and more passionate. You moaned, and he groaned.

Your own pulse is skipping and jumping fast beneath your skin.

His thumb brushes your cheek, slow, delicate, and sensual as if he's familiarizing himself with the shape of your face. His mouth opens and parts, daring to slither out and dance along your lower lip. You moan breathlessly into his parted lips. His own liquid fire and need are growing hotter. His arm around your waist, tightened, blunt nails digging into your dress. Oh, you weren't playing fair. You can't just play with his heart and feelings like this. You can't. And he lets you. His own heart thudding harder within his chest, aching for you and tempting him in maddening, sinful ways.

Law forced himself not to drag you across the table and force you into his lap. He gave a quiet, frustrated huff. "Careful," he muttered softly, "If you tease me and test my patience too much, you might not like me afterwards."

You pulled away, face flushed. Lipstick and gloss smeared and smudged, but you didn't care. "It's a deal, doc." You muttered softly, pulling away and watching his eyes slowly open, dark, heavy-lidded pools of melted silver meeting yours.

Law's face had become flustered. Breathless and panting. "Y-You are a horrible tease and bad influence for my heart; do you know that?" Law asked, a slow, amused chuckle escaping him. Observing you sitting down gracefully, smirking as if you did not just steal another kiss from him.

"Had to get you back for yesterday, is all." You shrug, curling a lock of hair behind your ear. God, that simple gesture looked sexy. "Now, would you please sit down, Law?" You leaned your chin in your hand. "People are staring."

Law immediately sat down; his face, his ears, and the back of his neck were beet-red. "Dammit." He cursed beneath his breath, once again remembering that he couldn't hide his burning face beneath the hat he did not have on his person. "Could have started off with that." He grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest.

Here's Mister Grumpy's famous pout. You giggle to yourself, covering your mouth with your hand and trying not to laugh too loud, but you can't help it.

"What's so funny?" Law raised a brow, confused. His frown deepened.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Your shoulders are shaking. Your eyes are stinging with tears from laughing too hard. "Law, you are such a brat."

Law's face and mouth soften. "Takes one to know one, isn't that the saying?" He fires back.

"I regret absolutely nothing." You wipe your eyes, noticing you had left red gloss and lipstick on his mouth. "Whoops, here." You reach between your legs beneath the table to pull out your purse. "You... ah." You pull out your hand mirror and some makeup wipes. "You got gloss and lipstick on your face." You point at your own mouth for reserve.

"Oh." Law blushes, taking the offered items. Opening the mirror and gazing at his reflection. "It does look like someone's lips fell and stuck to mine." He paused and added, "Again."

"Why did you have to bring that up?" You gave an exasperated sigh. "That wasn't my fault. Bepo ran into me."

It happened a few months ago at the Valentine's Day fundraiser and annual blood drive.

People of all races and species can donate blood and give to charity.

You wore a cute black halter dress with red hearts. A simple, but cute dress. After dragging Nami and Robin along, you made your way to the buffet table. Food, drinks, and sweets were everywhere, and you wanted to sample everything. You were about to grab yourself a plate when Bepo accidentally bumped into you, bowling you over as you fell. You closed your eyes, bracing for impact, when no direct pain came, and you landed on top of something. No, someone. You felt something soft. Warm and pleasant. Something tickling your chin.

You crack open an eye.

You landed on Law.

What's worse?

You were straddling him. Your pink, lacy panties were pressed against his crotch, and your thick thighs were snug and plush against his waist. "Oh god, Law." Shit, that came out wrong. Your voice was low and breathless. It sounded raw and dirty.

Law's own heavily flustered, tanned face and wide silver eyes met your own. He couldn't move. Didn't want to focus on your lower warmth and heat, meeting his pelvis. Law couldn't breathe. He quickly became hazy from lack of oxygen. He had to stop himself from gripping your waist. The seductive way you said his name. Not his title, nickname, or last name, but his first name. So sexy, so breathless. He's not going to be able to get it out of his head now. Goddamn, his adoptive father's curse was rubbing off on him; he knows it. What's worse is that he knows both Rosinante and Doflamingo will ask him questions. Tease him. Ask him if you are his girlfriend and pester him to no end. "Be more careful." Law managed to choke out. "Now, please get off of me." He tried not to stammer. Ignore your heat, the weight of your body fitting perfectly and pleasurable against his own, or the scandalous hint of lace.

"Yes, sir." You quickly scramble off of him without flashing him.

He could feel Bepo, Penguin, Shachi, and Ikkaku staring at him.

Then, as he rose, he saw two familiar pairs of tall figures in iconic twin feathered coats, one pink and the other black.

"Oh my god, Y/n!" Bepo rushed towards you, helping to brush you off. "I'm so sorry." He was fretting over you by the minute. Bursting into earnest and big fat tears.

"Bepo, Bepo, hey, hey." You call out to him gently, motherly and affectionate, as you tilt your head back to meet his dark eyes. "It's okay, big guy." You offer him a smile. "I'm not hurt. Law caught me." You wince. "Well, more so I landed on him, but it's fine."

"Are you sure?" Bepo sniffs, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah," You smile again, patting his shoulder. "No harm done."

Law slowly stood to his feet. Hints of jealousy flaring. "Bepo, shouldn't you go check on the patient in room 204?" He scowled.

"Yes, sir!" Bepo gave a salute and ran off.

A series of low murmurs and heated whispers simmered and flew through the room.

Law didn't crumble. He stood his ground, fixing his professional glare on everyone who met his gaze. "Shows over everything. The raffle for prizes will be drawn in twenty minutes; you have until then to submit donations. After that, everything is final." He didn't meet your gaze.

Your cheeks heated, strolling over slowly and grabbing your plate and began filling up with everything you wanted, then briskly back to the table where Robin and Nami were waiting.

Yes. Law remembered that night.

That god forsaken holiday focused on couples or men giving tokens of affection towards the woman in their lives. Someone they liked or loved. Lovebirds and lovestruck fools everywhere. A day dedicated to giving flowers and chocolates, professing their love and asking their wives, girlfriends, and lovers to become theirs again. Flaunting their lovers on their arms. Kissing them. Hugging them. And God forbid, make them more hormonal than love-drunk teenagers. Law remembers celebrating it with his parents and Lammy as a kid.

But he never wanted to celebrate it as an adult.

Not until he met you. He didn't know what to get you. Would you have accepted it? He couldn't very well give it to you at work. He could ask Ikkaku to sneak it into your locker, but then you'd probably think it was a prank. Ugh! He wanted to shove his own inked hand into his chest and pull out his own heart, then shove it into a safe. What if I found an actual heart-shaped mold? Filled it with chocolate, painted it accordingly and then give it to her?

That's when Law saw Bepo knock you over. Law's body moved on pure instinct. He ran towards you, shoving people out of his way, or they saw him and jumped back. He caught you. Resulting in you practically pinning him down and landing on top of him.

Law half turned, watching you go. His heart continued throbbing hard and stuck within his throat, squeezing impossibly tight. The impulse to immediately chase after you. Drag you to an examination room to explain to you himself for any injuries. He noticed a slight limp. You had twitched your handle. Dammit. He turned his gaze away, jaw clamped tight, covering his mouth with a hand and his free hand clenched. I wasn't fast enough. He continued inwardly cursing himself.

A familiar black feathered coat blocked his view of you when he turned again. "Is that the cute little, stubborn nurse you keep bringing up, Law?" Rosinante asked, smiling down at him.

Law lowered his hand and sighed, running his inked hand through his unruly raven locks. "Yes." His face softening into its usual mask of indifference, yet the ache and pain, disappointment within his eyes were bright enough for his adoptive father to see.

"Don't give up too soon before things even start, Law." Rosinante advised gently, placing his large hand on Law's shoulder.

Law wanted more than anything, but to retreat into the quiet and comfort of his office. However, he couldn't leave everything to his staff. He would have continued hosting this event, even if he knew his adoptive uncle Doflamingo would be more than happy to slip into the role of host. "You make it sound easy, Cora," Law grumbled.

"Well, well." Another familiar coat-wearing giant appeared. "Isn't she a cute little treat for the eyes?" Doflamingo's gaze went straight for your figure, trying to appear small while eating a handful of big, red, juicy-looking strawberries after dipping it in whipped cream. "Have you bedded her Law?" The giant sunglasses-wearing blonde practically purred as he shifted his hinted gaze down to Law.

"Don't even think about it, Doffy," Rosinante warned, narrowing his blue eyes, his tone hard. "You have plenty of girls in your endless harem of entertainment to control your monstrous appetite with, don't you?"

"Yes, but I haven't tasted her." Doflamingo's ever-present smile widened as he laughed, noticing how tense his adoptive nephew had become. The little snow tiger was all but seething and hissing, threatening to sink his teeth into his neck and rip his throat out.

"I don't see how that's any of your business?" Law glowered.

Doflamingo laughed that ridiculous "fufu" laugh of his. "I'll take that as a no, then." He shrugged his shoulders in his deep red and black suit. "Oh, I remember now." He hummed, swirling his glass of primrose wine and taking a large gulp. "She's the cute one who dressed like Santa during your Christmas party?"

Damn him. Law thought to himself. Of course, Doflamingo would notice.

"Doffy, I think your dates are calling for you." Rosinante pointed in the direction of the three women his brother had brought along with him to the event, getting drunk at their table from the jello shots, margaritas, and whatever alcohol free at the bar after Doflamingo had left a more than generous fat stack of bills on the bar. Rosinante wrapped his long arm around his brother's shoulder, guiding him back. "Come on, I'm sure they would love to hear all about the time you fell into a dumpster after losing your money clip." He teased, glancing back to give Law a wink and a smile.

"Oh no, you don't." Doflamingo's voice lowered, a challenging hiss. "If you dare bring that up, then I'll make you when you broke moms very expensive bottle of perfume playing with it because you thought it was pretty."

Law felt he could finally calm his breathing after getting himself a shot, well, two shots of whiskey. He sighed, leaning back against one of the walls. His black raven locks covered his eyes. He could still feel your touch. You skin on top of his own. Oh god, the heart patterns. Those stupid heart patterns that was everything, on everything like the plague was clinging so beautifully on your goddess-like figure and curves. At must as Law hated the holiday. He adored those patterns. A weird habit he inherited from Rosinante. You in those patterns, stole his breath.

He ran his hand heavily over his face, trying to erase the images still burning behind his eyelids. You bend over him, straddling him, your lower half touching his own. Awakening his own repressed desires and lusts as he tried to think about anything else. Anything to stop his libido from rising and poking you with it. Your full, beautiful, red, painted, and glossy lips pressed against his own, and your chest squished tight against his. He should not be drinking. Knew his emotions and thoughts would run amok. His professionalism and sanity, control would slip.

Law shook his head and raised his gaze. There you sat. Happy, smiling, so full of life. Surrounded by your friends, Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi. A picture-perfect sight. A smile he never wanted to see became dim and dull. A smile he wanted to protect. Someone he wanted with all of his heart and soul, yet was too scared to reach out and fully grasp. Not yet. He thought to himself. "Not yet."

"If you wait too long, she will become out of your reach," Rosinante muttered, brought a cigarette to his lips, and lit it.

Law hadn't realized he'd said it out loud. Then again, he wasn't surprised his adoptive father had snuck away from his nosy giant flamingo of a brother. "I know." He sighed, shoving his hand into his pocket where the small pink and red envelope sat, his long, inked fingers brushing the paper. "You'd like her, I'm sure, Cora." He muttered out loud, bumming a smoke after Rosinante had lit it. He knew it wasn't good for his own health to smoke, but he was stressed, and he often smoked when he drank. Which is why he doesn't drink, but once in a blue moon. If he doesn't drink, then he doesn't smoke. To vises broken and curved out of the way.

Law adjusted his posture, continuing to stare in silence. Welcoming the rare moment of peace where he could just fade into the background and not think. The heavy burden and weight he carries become nothing. Why would you fall in love with someone like him? Then again, whenever he looked at you. He'd become lighter. The blood that often marred his hands, his unclean, surgical hands, didn't feel like a curse. A slow tired and torn smile curved his lips. Yes, Law saved lives every day. He left a trail of blood out in the field and on the surgical tables, blood that wasn't his own. Blood of his patience. The people he swore an oath to heal and save.

But whenever he meets your eyes. Law swears he finds new ways to fall in love with you again. Yes, he saves lives. But you save him. Save him from his inner, darkest thoughts, memories, and miseries.

"A little bit longer," Law whispered to himself. He hadn't noticed Rosinante had left without saying a word.

You raised your head, and your eyes met.

Law left the electricity and heat your gaze to surge, red hot within his gut and throughout his body. His heated skin, already flushed and warm with alcohol, becomes hotter, scalding, hot, too hot. Too warm. A deep, searing flame coiling and tightening around his strong, broken, beating heart. He wonders if it's a fever when he mindlessly checks his own wrist, his thundering heartbeat drumming loudly within his eardrums.

You wave and smile in his direction.

He can't help but copy the gesture. You have him under a spell. Your eyes are bright and beautiful beneath the moonlit sky and fluorescent mood lights. He wanted nothing more than to grab your hand and slip away into the darkness with you. Stare at the moon and stars outside and ask you to become his Valentine. Tell you how you had become his moon, his stars, his love, his corazón. His hand tightens around the envelope once you've turned your dead away, noticing you, Robin, and Nami had gotten up and made your way towards the bathroom.

That's when Law made his move.

He set the card down right in front of your plate, his gaze shifting to his colleague and friends who pretended not to see. Instead, shifting their gazes toward the stage. Law slipped something else out of his pocket and set it down beside the card and left. His face a darker shade, shoving his unfinished cigarette into an ashtray along his way and downing his drink. He needed water. Ice-cool water would help cool him down.

You came out of the bathroom. Confused when you found a pink and red card with hearts on it and a stuffed pom pom in the shape of a heart, it looked like a snow leopard pattern? "Who put these here?" You question out loud. Searching Nami's, Robin's, Penguins, Shachi's, and Bepo's faces. "Did any of you see who-"

A chorus of nopes or no's answered.

You weren't convinced. "I'm not bringing anymore of my no-bake cheesecakes or sweets to our potlucks ever again, if you don't tell me who." You huff, sitting down in your seat a little too hard, plopping down.

That got their attention.

"No!" Penguin and Shachi yelled.

"Please, oh, please don't stop bringing your cheesecake and treats!" Bepo nearly yanked you out of your chair as he hugged you tightly in one of his polar bear hugs.

Nami and Robin stared at the snow leopard, heart-shaped, pom pom keychain, their eyes searching and scanning the crowd for a certain inked, moody, and grumpy doctor. He was nowhere to be found. How convenient.

The redhead and black-haired women giggled to themselves.

"Sometimes, I worry about her, you know," Nami whispered to Robin.

"It's endearing, really." She grinned. "At least, he's trying, which is a good sign."

Law blinked when your steaks and shrimp carbonara arrived.

He gave you back your makeup wipes and hand mirror. He watched you set your purse on the table, and that's when he saw it. The silly, little snow leopard printed, heart-shaped pom pom keychain, right there, on your purse. Law closed his eyes for a brief second. Law managed to control that constant fluctuation of a heartbeat, now skipping a beat and fluttering deep beneath his inked skin, flesh, and bones. "You kept it." Law found himself muttering, his voice a quiet whisper compared to the busy, loud noise of the restaurant, workers, and customers.

Everything became silent, background noise.

You paused, flickering your beautiful eyes and lashes at him.

Shit, he shouldn't have said anything.

Each moment of silence suddenly became unbearable, digging a terrifying, shadowed, black knife into his heart.

Law found himself foundering. Should he lay it off? Pretend not to notice, it's too late now. He did notice. He swears you did it on purpose. Dammit, he blames his big mouth on the wine. He shouldn't have had two glasses. His own breathing became too loud. The silence was too heavy and choking. He opened his mouth; he had to say something, anything. Nothing came out.

"So, it was you." You smiled. Your eyes twinkled with amusement and mischief. "Who else would give me something so cute and cheesy than you, Doctor Trafalgar Law?" You giggled, oh so cutely. Your chubby cheeks are flushed and rosy from the wine. "I'm glad. I like your snow leopard stripes, you know, doc." You pick up your fork, stab into your pasta, twirling it around until you make a perfect bite full, bring it to your mouth, and bite it.

Law swallows thickly. "Yes." He crocked, his in a trance again. One of his tanned, inked hands fisted the tablecloth beneath the table for dear life, white-knuckled. He reached for his glass of lemon water and drank half of it. He's too hot again. Dying of thirst. It doesn't help when you moan how delicious it was. God, you are trying to kill him. If you make that sinful noise after taking a bite of pasta, how much louder and more lewd was your voice going to become when you dig into your big, fat, thick, juicy steak? "Ikkaku recommending something travel size and something..." He answered, panting and gasping after drinking half his glass. "Something meaningful that would make you think of me."

"It does," You admit, licking the creamy, white sauce from your lips. "Well, anything snow leopard and heart patterns make me think of you now."

That calms his racing heart down. Lessens his anxiety and fear. The shock, thunderously drumming, calmed the storms raging within him. "I'm pleased to hear it." He said, taking a deep breath.

"What's wrong, Law?" You set your fork down, reach your hand out, and interlock your hands with his own. "You've been too quiet."

Suddenly, the silence eased. The noise came back. The candlelight bathed you in its light once more. "You look beautiful, Y/n-ya."

Your frown and look of concern rise into a bright smile. "Thank you, Law." You squeezed his hand, giving a reassuring squeeze. "You've already said that, but a few more certainly wouldn't hurt now, would it?"

Law found himself smiling along with you. "I suppose not." He guided your hand to his lips and placed a chaste kiss. "Are you trying to distract me from losing the bet?" He gave a teasing smirk.

"Of course, not." You shake your head as he releases your hand. "Don't make yourself suck, now, doc."

"That's my line," Law replied, cheekily. He raised a brow. "Can't have my date become sick on me."

"I'm not backing down." You puff out your chest, smirking. "If you thought Ace, Luffy, and Sabo can pack away food, then you haven't seen anything yet, mister money bags."

Law's smirk widened. "You're bluffing."

"Am I?" You kept your gaze locked on Law as he dug into his steak with a steak knife and fork. Well, shit. You didn't think he'd make eating look hot. You blame it on that stupid, impish, sexy ass smirk of his. You can't deny him anything when he looks at you like that. Challenging you. Prideful. The King of Kings of his own story. You shake your head and cut into your own steak. Your eyes widened as soon as you took the first bite. "Holy shit, it's soo buttery, tender, juicy, and melts in your mouth." You were practically bouncing in your seat, moaning in delight from the piece of meat.

Law's face bloomed a hard shade of red. Fuck, he knew it. Of course, it wasn't just Law paying attention to your food orgasm and blissful expression. He noticed the other men tried to sneak obvious and purposeful glances, eyeing your food, then your almost erotic expression, the drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth, or how your fully, supple, heavy breasts were bouncing up and down. You were scarfing the slab of meat now. A sense of deja vu hit Law. You weren't kidding; you really could pack it away. Ravenous, vigorous as if it were your last meal, and the waiter or waitress would snatch it away if you didn't inhale it.

Law narrows his eyes at the onlookers. They shifted their lustful and envious gazes away. Look all you want. But you can't touch. The surgeon thought to himself, a dark gleam in his eye. He can't let you win and pay, can he? He was going to regret this later. Law stubbornly matched your pace. He didn't touch his butter and garlic green beans or mashed potatoes until after he'd devoured his steak like a starved man. Law had the advantage. His mouth was bigger. His talented, trained, long, strong fingers cut the steak with medical precision. The steak knife was practically a scalpel with teeth; it didn't matter. He was going to win. He knew his adoptive father and uncle would scold him if they could tell you paid on your first date. Hell, he's sure Pen, Bepo, Shachi, and Ikkaku would scold him harder.

Law didn't care if everyone in the restaurant glanced at you two in disgust or awe. Was it wrong of him to admit he's having fun? Years of stoicism and professionalism were completely shattered. Freeing. Law felt his chest ease for the first time in a very long time. Here he was witnessing the same starved and gluttonous devotion he'd seen from your childhood friends. The childish side of you they had seen, grew up with. He could picture a childlike version of yourself, whacking the troublesome trio if they tried to steal anything from your plate.

Before Law realized it. He had already eaten his slab of meat, green beans, and mashed potatoes when he reached for the bread by mistake and nearly took a large bite out of it if you hadn't stopped him. He jumped, the last mouthful of green beans slid down his throat and tried to come back up against as he coughed, then reached for his lemon water. "W-What's the matter?" Law asked, confused, brows furrowed at your shocked expression.

"Damn, Law." You panted, smiling. Sauce running down your lips and chin as you snickered.

He didn't like being left in the dark. "What?" Law repeated.

You let go of his wrist, pointing out your observation. "I don't think you wanna eat that, Law." You snickered harder in between cleaning your face.

Law blinked. He followed your gaze to his right hand. He paled. Inwardly freaking out. His hand flew back in reflex, dropping the piece of bread as if the loaf was cursed or burned him. He swallowed, nodding his head in understanding. "Thanks." He blushed a dark shade of rosy hue. "I don't like bread." He muttered, pushing the little white basket of bread rolls as far away from him as possible. He glared at it as if he mentally declared vengeance on every single piece of bread in existence.

You cleared your throat after recovering enough to speak. "So, I've heard." You returned to eating the rest of your pasta and sides in peace.

"Pen and Shachi?" Law, asking, raising his voice enough to be heard over the loud noise of the dinner rush crowd coming in.

You hum in answer, drinking more mouthfuls of wine.

"Of course, it was those two. Nosy busy bodies." He grimaced, rubbing his forehead and exasperated with a handful of swears.

That got a smile out of you.

Before you could annoy and tease him more, the waiter, Nathan, arrived. "Would you like dessert?"

"One cheesecake and one chocolate overload, please?" You asked sweetly.

The waiter blinked, shifting his gaze to Law. "What about you, sir?"

"Cheesecake and coffee." Law relied, then added. "Black."

You glanced at the special menu. "Oh, can I have an espresso martini?" You glanced at him, that excitement and sheepish expression peering into his eyes.

"If you take your time with it." Law straightened, his face impassive as he asked for the check. "I win, so I pay." He replied with a triumphant expression marrying his features. "No take-backs."

---- end of chapter 9 -----

Sorry for the long wait! I was stuck how I wanted the date to go, then it was between the house to the restaurant. Happy Valentines Day, my lovelies and Traffy! I hope you love the extra cheesy goofy and hints of raw sexual want and attention between mc and Law.

I can't help, but at more teasing scenes with Law. Yes, I broke the date into 2 parts!

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