▪︎☆Christina☆▪︎

You dodged not one but several accidents when one of the bikers now and then ended up fumbling because of nervousness for your supposedly reckless driving.

You were then approached by the said group of bikers at a red light. 

You and Leon thought they were about to pick a fight with you, until they hoarded around you like excited puppies— one of them has known you from your years in racing, not personally, of course.

Now you have a little- or rather not a little group of about thirteen to fifteen bikers clicking pictures with you with Leon in the background as well and taking autographs on the fuel tanks of their bikes.

And in turn you let them leave their 'cutesy little signatures'– as you called it, on the inside of one of your car doors. 

It ought to make a core memory for the group, that’s for sure.

This was one of the first times Leon experienced an adrenaline rush this crazy since the last time in rural Spain when he was speeding with Luis through underground cart tracks like a rollercoaster ride.

Never would've thought he would get accustomed to experiencing that kind of thing on a regular basis from then onwards.

Your reckless driving may or may not have influenced Leon to opt for the equally crazy motorcycle sequence in a wrecked Raccoon City later on.

RE9!Leon with a young ex-racer! Reader with whom he keeps mistakenly switching up keys with on a regular basis because your keychain gave out after so long and you just didn’t have enough time to get a new one. 

But that makes it difficult for the both of you when leaving in a hurry for an immediate mission, and you both rush to your very different parking spots in the DSO parking lot, only to have to rush back to meet each other halfway and passive aggressively switch keys or if you’re short on time you just have to toss it very far hoping the other would catch it before it goes too far.

It’s even more hilarious when your co-workers are on the side getting to just witness this happening in real time.

“Fuck.” a curse in unison across two different directions resounding through the lot before two agents get away from their car and in the same line of vision, just standing there staring at each other for a moment, making them look like two enemies standing on opposite sides for a showdown. 

For a moment it makes your co-workers sweat profusely when they witness you both just sprinting at each before pulling your hands back to throw what it looks like- fucking car keys, like they’re something to attack with, at each other’s direction, before running back to your respective vehicles.

No seriously.

It’s a problem.

An issue serious enough for Leon Kennedy to get you a keychain specifically of the band you listen to religiously. 

Like if that band had a hundred fans, you’re one of them.

If it had ten fans, you’re one of them.

If it had one fan, it’s you.

Not any keychain, by the way.

A limited edition merch which even you didn’t know where they sold it.

“Got it from a store on the way.” he claims.

“Care you give me a name for this ‘store on the way’?” you squint your eyes at him.

“...I forgot, I'm getting old.” 

Welp.

It’s only fair that you get him a perhaps matching but distinct one too, right?

RE9! Leon with a young ex-racer!Reader, because of whom, he spends almost no percentage of time driving his own car.

Getting your keys mixed up?

Can’t possibly mix it up now if you both just use the same vehicle for transportation, right?

Now. He can go on without a bug inside his brain itching him and telling him to drive his beloved vehicle into doing fucking parkour across seven states of whatever-the-fuck may the country be. 

You can’t.

And he doesn’t trust you with his car. 

Nope.

So naturally, your car is the one more suited for fuel and time efficient transportation.

Emphasis on the time-efficient part.

The only time his car gets a glimpse of the light of day is when your car is roughed up after a gruelling mission.

Of course, you ask to drive his car.

And of course, you’re met with a slap to the back of your head.

And of course, you never ask to drive his car again.

RE9!Leon with a young ex-racer!Reader, who takes Leon to the race track they hang out most of the time when there’s no missions or simply when they’re slacking off.

It’s about 3 a.m. when you and Leon steer clear a stakeout-gone-wrong mission in a suburb near DC, and you drive right past his apartment complex.

“You crossed my place.” he doesn’t look back, he knows you did it on purpose.

“I know.” 

“Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see.”

Leon isn’t surprised when you pull up at the nearby race track, with music and cheers that can be heard from the outside as you parallel park your car with a single-handed swerve. 

When you two go inside, you are immediately jumped upon by whom Leon would assume are you close friends. He stands there observing the chaos for quite a bit before he’s finally noticed like a dinosaur in a kid’s playground.

“Who’s that?” your friend currently on your back hugging you like a koala hugs a tree branch, asks, voice not bothered to be not loud. 

“Oh? Him?” you strut over to Leon with your friend on your back and the other two following you as well.

“This is Leon, he’s my colleague.” though the term sounded like an utter understatement as compared to the strange back and forth bond you share with the older man, who despite looking like he’d rather be anywhere else did very little to not humour you and is still standing here regardless.

“Hi.” he just gives a small wave of his gloved hand.

“Since when did you start bringing colleagues here? Never have I ever heard of such a thing happening when you are involved.” yeah.

They knew. Your friends looked at you weird the moment you said colleague.

“Oh please. He’s my work partner, that’s why we’re always together. Don’t think too much about it.” that’s what you say but the way your voice wavers close to a stutter wasn’t lost on either of your friends nor Leon.

Your friend gets off from your back and flicks your forehead, while the other two drag your still defensive ass to the race track, getting you to join in the preparations for the next race. 

Leon, not knowing what else to do, just shoves his hands inside his jacket pockets, watching you get shoved inside one of the cars while you were still in the midst of bickering to prove some non-existent point only you could find in your voice.

The participating drivers line up their cars in the pit, and with the wave of the green flag by the starter, the cars speed off. Your car being right at the last of the line-up because you’re too good at this because of your prior experience and that’s why you have to be 'nerfed' in some way, apparantly.

You started with only one hand on the steering wheel, and Leon knows you will continue like that even if there was a mutated elephant chasing you….he definitely did not witness that happening, by the way.

A small smile made its way up to Leon's lips, seeing you so in your element, casually speeding past the rest of the cars eventually in a manner he thought was only possible in a video game until you parallel parked your space in his life amongst other things.

He could sense your friend from earlier standing beside him, observing the pit lane along with him. She was more invested in dissecting the way his expression softened when his eyes followed the motion of your car, rather than the race itself.

And then somewhere in the middle, the gnawing question nagging at the back of his mind finally made its way to take form on his lips.

“Why did [Name] stop racing?” 

He saw from his peripheral vision, how your friend tensed up at the query. He doesn't understand, and then he realises how little he knows about your personal life, not that he was supposed to be curious about it, considering you two are just colleagues in the sense.

But that’s just an excuse he was deluding himself with until your friend spoke.

“Why don’t you ask [Name] yourself?” 

“Is it that sensitive of a topic?” he glanced at her.

“I guess..? It’s sensitive enough for anyone here to know better than to ask [Name] to come back to the racing industry.” 

“What happened?” his head is fully turned towards her in curiosity and in slight concern.

What could’ve happened for you to choose risking your life everyday being a government pawn than doing what you clearly love with a passion. 

Racing is fairly much more safer and fun as compared to being an on-field agent having to witness gore on a daily basis.

“An accident.” she bluntly replies.

“...with [Name]?”

“Not really. Someone close to [Name].” she glanced at the worried look on the older man’s face before adding,”You really should ask [Name] about it.” 

Leon recollects his expression back to a near neutral one,”...that won’t be necessary-”

She clicks her tongue.

“You think you’re so tough, huh? I’m creating an opportunity for you two to bond and you’re just throwing it away, geez.” she interrupts him, "I thought old people were supposed to be more mature than that.”

“...” Leon just isn’t sure how to correct your friend’s assumption of you two having something going on because seeing her confidence in her assumption is making him lose confidence in his potential claim of not having anything going on with you.

…

Yeah sure, he travels around in your car more than his own personal fucking Porsche Cayenne, which is either in the parking lot of the DSO collecting dust or at the mechanic because it collected too much dust. 

And sure, your car’s passenger seat is basically his second office in all but in name. The files stacked in the backseat, all in range of his access while he works in the passenger seat, occasionally pressing a sticky note on the dashboard, something you had objected to at first until Leon replied with, “I’m pretty sure your car suffered worse from you than a few pieces of paper from me.” as he proceeded to stick another one, a pink one, without even waiting for any further arguments from your side. 

Alright. Fair enough.

What’s a racer to do but let the apple of their eye stick notes on the dashboard of their car?

Sigh.

Not only his second office, but his second home with the way he’s spent several afternoons dozing off beside you in the reclined seat. These are the times when anyone who knows your crazy bitchass driving would be beyond shocked to discover how slow you drive to not disturb the sleeping man, as you reel your car into the drivethrough of this Chinese place you both had come to frequent over your time working together.

Hell, there were times when you were supposed to drop him off at his apartment after a mission but since he fell asleep on the way, so you did not bother waking him up. You just had your car parked in the parking lot of the complex and fell asleep yourself.

And sure, he likes to fill the silence with the songs that you usually listen to, when he’s back at his place for even the shortest while. 

And sure, it’s not like he gives you a very early timing for a mission briefing in the morning which he knows you won’t be punctual enough to abide by just so he could go to your house and have your very drowsy and sleep induced voice ask his very faux-annoyed self to have breakfast with you while you stare at his face like you’re admiring every part of it.

Really, no he definitely doesn’t do that.

Nope.

But all that probably doesn’t mean anything, right?

…

Seeing Leon’s existential crisis-worn expression, your friend sighs,”You two look close, alright.”

“...i don’t think we’re that close for me to ask something so-”

“Man, you’re the first person that [Name]- who gatekeepers almost everything they love like their life depends on it- brought here ever since leaving the pit for good and you’re really expecting me to believe you two aren’t close beyond work?” She sounds irritated with him.

“...did they now.”  he mumbles in quite revelation.

“Oh. Putting me at the back of the lineup wasn't enough. Now you want someone to be a handicap for me?”

The conversation is interrupted by the sound of your voice sarcastically replying to someone else very pissed off voice and Leon and your friend both look towards the pit, only to see a crowd gathered after the race finished and you’re looking kinda very annoyed at the fellow racer complaining at your face.

You repeat in disbelief, “Oh come on, i’m gonna be driving the cabriolet anyways, why the extra weight??” 

The owner of the said cabriolet was shaking his head like he did not voluntarily offer his car for you to speed through the racing pit. 

He did, in fact, not. 

You just guaranteed to pay for the damages if any was done.

After a bit more bickering, it looks like you did manage to be convinced to get handicapped with another person’s weight, but now the very good question that your friend beside you brought up was-

“Who’s strong enough to withstand [Name]’s driving without puking?”

Your eyes automatically divert towards the very perplexed, aged, handsome man standing in the sidelines. Following your gaze, which you thought was subtle until literally everyone standing around you looked towards the direction of your line of sight, heads turning towards Leon in a rather mortifying unison. 

“What?” 

Cue to Leon now sitting beside you in the yellow open roofed vehicle with a very-fucking-done-with-your-shit expression on his face.

“You come here often?” you grin, looking at him.

“Actually, it’s my first time.” he replies with a monotonous deadpan.

The giddy smile on your face as you joked with him made you look like you could not care any less about the argument about dead weights anymore if the said dead weight handicap was Leon. 

I mean, why would you? 

This was an average Tuesday 3 a.m. for the both of you except the difference now is that, you get to flex your pretty big guy visual therapy privileges to your peers.

You have been grinning ear-to-ear ever since people’s attention turned to Leon and the way he spoke with that seasoned gravel that immediately turned them into swooning teen girls.

Men, women, and anyone else alike. 

They wanted you to have a dead weight? 

You got the most premium one beside you 24/7. 

Hot. Old. With unfairly perfect muscles that could put you in a headlock, the gaze with the prettiest blue eyes that make you shy if he stares at your face too long, with wrinkles on his face and voice that makes him sound like he could fix whatever the fuck is wrong with you.

He could.

And did I mention hot?

“We’re going home after this, alright?”

“Awww… can we go after doing a drift race first? I really wanna do that. Please????”

He just sighs.

“Love ya.” you lean over to press a kiss on his shoulder over the leather jacket.

“I’ll literally get off, [Name].”

“Won’t happen again!!!” 

Oh it definitely will.

Just as the green flag waves with a follow-up whistle, your car, of course, is the first one to bolt as it already crosses five out of fifteen other cars in the line-up.

Nothing’s going to stop you from winning this one as well now that you’ve got the best cheerleader on your side. 

Even if he looks like he’d rather go to another back-to-back mission than be your fucking passenger princess right now. 

Yeah sure, it’s a different topic if the car breaks down midway.

But hey, you don’t work for a notorious government organisation for a few pennies, right?

Amongst tires screeching and the smoke coming from the cabriolet that you’re abusing right now, the wind blowing past both of your faces, and you don’t think that anything can slow you down now. 

Until it does.

“Why did you stop racing?” 

The way your other hand comes up to join your first one to handle the drastically slowing car from crashing is like the visual representation of how hard you fumbled on that question.

Especially because he sounds like he knows more than the surface you would’ve told him otherwise.

You don’t stop the car but keep driving it at a relatively slow rate, the others behind you catching up fast at the chance, as you glance at him cautiously.

“...what made you curious?”

Instead of staring at the rest of the cars speeding past putting you both at the last of the line-up once more, he looks back at you, almost contemplating whether he should just address the elephant in the pit.

“...i’ve been curious a long time, actually.” 

His gaze falls to your hands on the steering wheel.

You never bother to drive with both your hands.

Yet now you are?

Now that’s a new nervous tick he’s discovering right now.

Then he adds, looking across the green space surrounding the pit lane, “your friend said it was because of an accident. Would you want to tell me about it?” 

All he gets back is the low hum of the car engine, the distant roaring of the other cars that were already way ahead in the track, and the night wind blowing past his face.

“It’s fine.” a pause, ” I didn’t intend to make you uneasy. I just wanted to know you better and-” he turns his head towards you. 

You were already looking at him.

And his voice quiets a bit as he finishes the sentence, “--why you are the way you are.” 

Then you look away.

So does he.

He could feel the stiffness in your posture.

The silence lingers.

Maybe he shouldn't have asked. Maybe it wasn’t his place to be curious about after all.

And maybe-

“...damn.” a laugh, almost like a breath that you were holding in.

And then your posture settles back to something more of a manner more eased, one hand falling to the gear stick to pull it back and set the car onto a speed more suited for a slow long drive.

“I knew that the question would come eventually..” you huffed, “but i still hoped that it wouldn’t.”

“No, it’s fine, i was just-”

“No, I want to tell you.”

Then your other hand comes to join your first on the steering wheel, again. He notices, leaning back in his seat.

“...okay.” he nods, “take your time.” 

You drove for a bit more in the silence, before starting, “...the racing industry could get a bit ugly.”

He looked over at you.

“So could any other industry. But I knew that when I was joining.” your voice sounded neutral as of now, like you were blankly recalling distant memories.

“So yeah, it got ugly.” a pause, “My friend.."

You almost hesitated, the words bitter on your tongue.

"...my friend died in a crash that was meant for me.”

"..."

You looked at him and he held your gaze, “Why do you think it was meant for you?”

“We had switched up our cars last minute because of a bet.” 

Oh. 

“My car was the one that was tampered with.”

He knows what that waver in your voice means.

“Someone died in my stead.”

He’ll recognise it anywhere.

“...and I couldn't do anything about it.”

Survivor’s guilt.

You looked away, eyes back on the track. That familiar dull ache forming at the back of your throat. His hand reached to pull one of yours away from the steering wheel and held it. The warmth of his palm seeping to your very cold one.

“...when I started racing, I didn't have any high expectations for myself.”

You let out a wry laugh. You didn’t look at him. But you didn’t pull your hand away either.

“Hell, I didn't even know much about cars. I just had the thought of it being cool and a dream. It’s something I did for fun, because I liked it. I loved it.”

“[Name].”

“But why did it have to be the reason for someone’s death?”

“[Name], you didn’t know.” he squeezed your hand.

“But it was my car. I should’ve realised it during the testing before the race when I-”

“You didn’t know.”

“But I was supposed to! It was my car- i- I didn’t mean for anyone to die!” the car screeched to a stop, you turned your head towards him, pulling your hand away.

He held it back, blue eyes almost glaring at you for putting yourself at fault.

Oh, his eyes. 

The small speck of white dancing in the blues.

They look like they’re reading you.

Understanding.

“That’s right. You didn’t know.”

And oh, his voice. 

"...you didn't want anyone to die."

The way it softens for you. Like he wants to take away whatever reason it is that’s hurting you.

Like he didn’t suffer from the same thing not even until a few months ago and maybe even now in some rotten dark corner of his mind.

Survivor’s guilt.

You swallowed down the urge to just lean towards and into his arms and just drown out everything else.

The past. The future.

But the present.

“...doesn’t mean that I'll ever go back.” you mumble to him before retracting your hand back.

Before starting the engine again. The silence weighed heavy between the both of you the entire time that you were speeding off to the finish line.

Standing last.

But that was the least of your worries or amongst things that you cared about.

“What’s wrong, why’d you slow down all of a sudden back there?” 

Naturally, your car was surrounded the moment you screeched it to a stop, the question directed at you. 

You smiled, getting out as he does too, “My partner was feeling a bit nauseous, y'know? Long day.” 

That made some of your peers approach Leon in concern, “you alright, sir?” 

“‘Sir’, huh?” you raise a brow at the buttery polite tone, teasing.

“Shut up, [Name].” your friend glares at you.

You raise your hands in mock surrender, “Alright, my bad.”

Some people laugh, but it doesn’t lighten the mood for Leon as he nods at your friend, “i’m good now.”

You clap your hands, “Alright, gang, we’ll be leaving now. Got an early meeting tomorrow.” you nudge Leon as he heads towards the exit.

“You’re leaving already?”

You shrug, “Duty calls.”

Your friend nudges the other, “Be understanding, [Name] came here with…the partner, and is now leaving with him.”

“Hey! I HEARD THAT!” you flip the pair off, heat crawling up your neck, before scurrying towards the exit with Leon, laughter roaring amongst the group as you toss the keys of the yellow cabriolet to the owner before heading out.

.

.

.

The car ride is quiet. It was an uneasy silence. 

You felt on edge. So did he.

Another beat.

“You said you were gonna do the drift thing before leaving.” he comments, looking out the window.

“...it’s been a long day so i thought you’d be tired-”

“Is it because of what we talked about?” he clearly doesn’t buy it.

“No it’s not!”

“So it is about that.”  he just calmly states.

You screech the car to a halt at a traffic island, the streets surrounding are vacant except the lights of the billboards around, blurred and blended into the air in between you two.

“Roll down the windows.” you stare at him.

“Why?” he quipped back in the same serious tone you were using, not bothering to follow through what you said.

You look at him in disbelief at the imitation and then laugh.

“Okay-” you take a deep breath. 

“Listen, I like driving cars around,” you start, “regardless of a crowd there to cheer me on, and we did not leave early because of what we talked about, so you better roll down the windows and enjoy the night air because I'm about to do exactly what I was planning to do before leaving.”

“Oh.” he scoffs. 

“Okay, if you say so.” he still sounds unconvinced, before rolling down the window on his side, although the small smile threatening to pull at his lips saying otherwise, only if you notice it. 

He’s glad that he was successful, one way or the other, at getting you to not cut down on enjoying what you love for the sake of reminiscing the old unwanted past.

Passive-aggressively slamming your foot down on the gas pedal and pushing the gear a hard forward, the car accelerates, the tires screeching as you bring it around the traffic island.

The wind blows in from the rolled down windows, adding to the saltiness forming on both of your skins now that the air conditioning was switched off. He didn’t hold onto anything for support. 

That’s how used to he was with your antics with the car. 

That’s how much he trusts the glimmer in your eyes when the city lights blur around the two of you while you bring your car around in circles, with that smile that always reaches your eyes when you're doing what you love.

“I was feeling 'nauseous', huh?” he pokes at the irony of your statement to your peers back at the race track. You look at him in surprise at the comment before a laugh bubbles out from your lips.

“What else was I supposed to say? That you startled me so much it turned me into a responsible driver in a goddamn racing pit?”  that earns you a rather lighthearted chuckle from him, much to your surprise, the sound so musical to your ears that it just makes you smile wider before his hand comes up to your face to flick your cheek.

“Hey! That’s abuse!”

“Oh. So you’re one of those kids.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Amidst giggle and laughter and the relief of the atmosphere between you and Leon easing once more without lingering tension, a distant police whistle nearing closer draws both of your attention.

Well shit, the curling smoke from your car must’ve caught the attention of the local police. 

Shooting each other a knowing look, you swerve the car right back into one of the roads and just speed without looking back.

“Really? A federal agent getting chased by the local police?”

“They’ll let it slide once they know I'm a good driver, trust.” 

“I have issues with that last term.”

“...” 

You just shoot him a glance that makes it seem as if he offended your entire bloodline.

…

When you finally pull up in front of his apartment building, it’s about almost 5 am.

“You’re really gonna drive all the way back to your place?” he asks, stepping out of your car, “what if you doze off while driving?”

Yeah. As if. You could have your head drowned in alcoholic daze and still parallel park without touching the curb.

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll-”

“[Name]. I’m inviting you over.” 

“Huh?-”

Take a hint, dumbass.

“Come up.” he’s leaning his arm on the roof of your car, his head ducked just enough to talk to you. 

“Rest up and have breakfast with me before leaving in the morning.” 

You get so confused at times like these when he acts like a very caring parent, because you can't tell whether it’s his default setting which if it is, it would put you in whatever zone he puts everyone else in, or if he’s flirting, it's just him being a the trusted adult they talk about informing.

You blink before a smile pulls at your lips. 

Oh well.

Here you go, again.

“Where am I gonna sleep, silly?”

He frowns, “I have a couch that doubles as a bed.”

“Awww, we aren’t gonna cuddle-?”

“Or maybe you should drive back, after all.”

“Funny story. I have a keen preference for convertibles, you see. Whether it’s a car or a couch.”

“Good to know.” closing the door, he steps aside for you to park your car in the building’s lot . You could almost hear the smile in his gruff huff, making your own grin wider.

So cute.

…

Cute, huh?

Now you’re the one in one of Leon’s shirts which, unironically, was large on you. 

Of course, it’s not your fault that he’s just very fucking muscular about just- everywhere.

To add to that, the small cut on your cheek which you had gotten on the stakeout was now covered with a fucking sanrio band aid. 

You got sanrio-themed band-aids for Leon, on purpose,  that one time he got countless cuts on him from shattered glass.

He didn’t use any of them at the time but one for the cut over his eye and that too, because the blood trickling now and then from the cut reopening was bothering his vision.

You wondered what he did to the rest of them.

You thought he either threw them out or gave it away.

But no.

The old man actually kept them.

And now he’s using the abundant stock of sanrio themed band aids to cover any and every visible cut on your skin while you're sitting on his kitchen counter with the pillow he gave you to sleep with, hugged to your chest.

You hadn’t suspected a single thing when he urged you to get freshened up and take a goddamn shower. 

Not realising that the moment you get out, you’re going to be made to sit with your legs folded upon the marble counter with your fairly aged, handsome partner would be dressing up your cuts with cute band aids, that you got, for him.

You may have complained.

But you didn’t.

How could you?

Getting a close up view of Leon Kennedy and that too, like this, is something of a fever dream that makes you stare at the wall for hours, after you wake up from it.

Good thing it’s happening to you in real time.

It gave you more time and an excuse to let your eyes observe all the tiny details on his face which you couldn’t before for the sake of professionalism. 

His damp hair, streaks of gray along dirty blonde, the slope of his nose, the salt and pepper stubble coating his jaw against which you would just like to press your own face and feel the way it scrapes against your skin and spend the day away like such, the lines of age that only ever make him look all the more attractive for no explainable reason. 

Even though he’s wearing a very loose shirt, there’s no way you wouldn’t notice the form of his muscles underneath.

His eyes, blue, and so dedicatedly focused on something as silly as putting cute band aids on your cuts as an act of getting back at you for getting them for him in the first place.

You wouldn’t deny that the thought of just pressing a quick kiss to his cheek didn’t cross your mind. 

It did. It definitely did.

But you didn’t want to risk the chances of miscalculating how he might react and how you might handle it while being tired like you were right now after the shower.

So you didn’t.

Maybe another time.

Definitely another time.

After he's done dressing your cuts, you just slump onto the couch, now expanded to a bed, groaning into the pillow as the ache of the entire day finally settles into your bones. You feel a blanket drape over your back, warm and soothing to your exhaustion as he switches off the main lights.

You barely manage to turn on your back, your eyes falling shut fast with the weight of sleep.

“...Leon?” you call out, voice stringing together as you make out his form turn to look at you.

“Yeah?’ he responds, watching you unable to say anything further.

You muttered something he didn’t catch, so he approached beside you, crouching to hear you better, “what’s up?” 

You were already dozing off. 

But somewhere, in the depths of your slumber you did feel the soft touch of someone’s lips pressing to your temple. You were so sure it was Leon.

By the time you felt it, however, the line between dreams and reality blurred to the point you wouldn’t be so sure of yourself in assuming if it was the real life Leon actually kissing you good night or one amongst your very vivid dreams that make you end up feeling extremely homesick for a place that you’re not so sure if it exists, when you wake up from it.

“Good night, [Name].”

________________________________________________________________---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

RE9!Leon with a young ex-racer!reader, who asks him how did he recognise them as the same driver as the one that ran the red light, almost running him over... as if your car wasn't wrapped in a wrap so fucking iridescent that you might as well be driving a fucking mini-sun through the streets.

He might as well have mistaken the flash of light bolting at him for the grim reaper in broad daylight. The idea of your car itself was probably invented before the word flashy was ever thought of.

If Leon's weapon was a hatchet, yours is your fuckass car, no shit.

It's no wonder you had to get it wrapped so frequently after almost every mission. Your driving gives him more grey hairs than age ever did, regardless of whether he's inside it while you're driving or watching from the outside.

RE9!Leon, who after getting rescued from the debris of the fight with Victor Gideon, had sent in a request for a search for you, only to be informed that you had been using the Raccoon City Crater as your personal racing pit. You got bored while waiting for communication from his end, apparently.

What about the zombies that may have possibly swarmed you, someone may ask?

Ran over flat.

Your only complaint was the carcass of the undead staining your newly polished car. 

Your ‘poor baby’, you said.

RE9!Leon with a young ex-racer!reader, who flirts with him shamelessly despite the visible age gap between you both. It's hard not to notice your knack for playfully pining him to the hood of your car at every damn opportunity you get.

Initially always met by a pinch to your cheek or a flick to your forehead, you'd laugh it off, his face holding a disapproving look. Until the day he actually teases back. 

It's not much, just the slightest tilt of his head and a slow smirk, and that's all it takes for you to get flustered and fumble over your words and not meet his gaze for the next three days.

RE9!Leon with a young ex-racer! reader who uses the roof of their car as a flat surface for keeping their drinks. Not even a can or a cup of coffee, no. A fucking wine glass and that too, just parked outside the DSO headquarters.

With the car door on your side open, one foot on the pavement; music blasting loud from your car’s sound system while you go through case details, occasionally take the wine glass to take a sip of what it appears to be is wine. 

Unless it’s not.

“What are you even doing?” Leon sounds so done, but moreover confused but not really surprised with your shenanigans anew. He had gotten a call from the chief saying nothing else but ‘Kennedy. It’s your partner again.’ in a very exhausted tone. 

And that leads to him standing on the footpath, hands tucked inside the pockets of his jacket, looking like a single mother having issues understanding their emo kid.

There are onlookers who glance over at you in your very flashy car in front of a government building.

Not that you care.

You thrive when kids passing by nudge each other fawning over how cool you and your car are.

“Drinking on the job and right in front of HQ is not a really good choice for your profession, agent.” not like he didn't drink on the job about a decade back or anything, definitely.

You look up at him,”It’s pomegranate juice.” you stare him dead in the eyes.

“What.”  he blinks.

“Yeah.” you hold out your glass of red swirling liquid towards him very slowly with a goofy smile.

He takes it, not believing you and sips from it, actually surprised that it is, in fact, fucking pomegranate juice.

Which doesn’t make you any less weirder but difference is, now you have your mentor, old man Kennedy, occupying the passenger seat of your car right beside you, another wine glass of pomegranate juice on the opposite side of the car roof, one foot placed on the concrete ground and the other leg folded onto the seat with the case files scattered in his lap.

He wouldn’t admit for his life that this is therapeutic.

Ridiculous.

But therapeutic nonetheless.

The chief was, so about to resign his post after this.

RE9! Leon with a young ex-racer!reader who embarrasses themself big time by getting into the wrong room.

You were told by this dear colleague of yours that in the midst of the Chief taking a break, they go into the sound proofed briefing room opposite to the chief’s office to scream out all their frustrations as a way to cope and vent.

So you do so.

You go very smartly, nonchalant in your stride, with your above mentioned colleague hyping you up from his desk. And the next thing the entire floor hears is a loud scream of-

“OLD MAN KENNEDY IS SO FUCKING HOT OH MY GOD RAHHHH-”

When you get out, everything is dead silent.

Except for a crouching Leon who choked on his coffee at Sherry’s desk and the sound of your dear colleague’s chair scraping against the tiled floor as he makes his way to you, holding your hand and shaking it, followed by a pat to your shoulder, “Thank you." he affirmed, "for voicing out everyone’s thoughts here. That was NOT the briefing room, by the way.”

You blink at him and then look at everyone else’s faces at the back, heat creeping up your neck as a tight smile stretches across your lips.

‘Fuck me.’

You didn’t know which was the Chief’s office and which was the briefing room as you never went to either of the two rooms since Leon would be the one to be making those trips while you would be slacking off in the meantime. 

‘You’ll regret doing that one day.’ he once said. 

He was right.

And now there’s not only a single solid security camera recording of you screaming about how hot Leon Scott Kennedy is right inside the Chief’s office. But now there’s at least fifteen different recordings from fifteen different angles of the office with your voice booming across the space along with everyone’s reaction.

“uh…Kennedy, sir!!!” your voice came out a bit too squeaky.

He had been staring holes into the mahogany of the desk at Sherry’s workspace, and then his gaze turned to you without actually lifting his head.

Okay.

You were a bit scared.

Just a bit.

“....I’ll go get the files i left in my place and meet you at the suspect’s location, yeah?” Having said all that rapidly you didn’t even wait for his approval or disapproval before bolting out without a second’s delay…only to have to come back in and quickly make your way to Leon and pluck your car keys from the pocket of his jacket. You had given him your keys before entering the HQ building.

Nobody dared to laugh outright but the way how the hardened agent Kennedy had never looked so mortified in the office space ever before, wasn’t lost on anyone sitting there.

Your blunder had gotten so famous that even the BSAA commander Chris Redfield, the next and very first time he saw you, came over, laughing uncontrollably at the sight of your face as he swung an arm around your shoulders, teasing you about it. 

He got to hear about it on his last mission from the rescue chopper pilot. That ended up with his entire fucking team who were currently worrying whether or not they’d make it past the next obstacle without casualties, laughing hysterically through the forest as they run from a hoard of mutated animals. Your blunder being used as a shot of encouragement to fuel soldiers to safety.

At least it saved lives, unironically. 

“You’re so hot, old man Kennedy.” smugness dripped from Chris’ tone, his arm still around your shoulders as he shot the blue-eyed man a teasing look.

“Claire’s gonna hear about this.” 

“She’s gonna join in, trust me.”

“...”

Hey.

At least someone gets a good laugh when they hear about it, right?

RE9! Leon with a young ex-racer!reader who appears out of literally nowhere at the worst or the best possible timings like a goddamned movie star.

Leon is surrounded by the undead, ammo running out fast like flowing water, and he can’t reach you over the comms. The last time he had any contact with you was when you stayed behind in an abandoned garage to get the busted tire of your car changed and to find fuel as well. The comms cut off midway when going back would only make him deviate from the fixed timing for rendezvous with you at the agreed point.

And to top it all off, the sky is overcast, a storm brewing right at the horizon.

Great.

This mission couldn’t get any fucking worse.

And he was right. It couldn’t.

It got better, though.

He’s in the midst of reloading the last magazine of ammunition he has when he hears the familiar static over communications.

“[Name]?” with a hand to his ear, he calls out.

A distant thunder roars in the sky, followed by the choppy lyrics of song you’ve had on repeat so often that it served as your character song right now, over the comms, as he hears the loud booming of your car nearing, the distant song playing more clearly than ever in his ear as he glances in the direction of the ear deafening volume of the song, which he would usually grow tired of hearing, but now sounded like living another day without getting bitten to death.

There you were.

One hand on the steering wheel, head moving to the rhythm, your voice singing along, not really caring to harmonize with the beat, speeding straight ahead at the group of infected, previously surrounding Leon now turned towards your bolting car because of the loud sound. 

“What does the boss need?” you yelled over the song, making Leon hold his ear piece a bit away from his ear.

“Ammo.”

“Magnum or rifle?”

“Requiem.”

“Shit. You’re wasting requiem bullets on these puny creatures? Not so ethical, boss.” you tut, shaking your head.

“It’s for your car.”

You gasp in offense, “how could you!?”

“Turn down the volume.” 

Hitting the group of zombies turned towards your car, you swerve, tires screeching, the vehicle pivoting around and at a safe distance from Leon, knocking over the wave of undead like dominoes, painting the road beneath in blackish red.

Smoke curling in a circular formation in the midst of the abandoned city square, and in the middle of the circle, Leon Kennedy, who didn’t even finish reloading the last magazine of his gun. 

He just didn’t have to. 

With you doing the work for him, your car drifting around him as he only occasionally turned his head to look at you comfortably performing your expertise.

You did look cool doing so.

Not that he’d admit it to your face.

Clearing out the last remaining infected with a sideways hit with the rear of your car, you steer it to a stop, the light from the prolonged flashes of lightning in the sky bounced off the dichroic film of your car, making flecks of light scatter across and land around at least at a 20 feet radius of your car.

How pretty.

Swinging the door of the passenger seat open for him, volume of the sound system down to a level of his preference, and the bag of ammunition laying open on the centre console.

“Pick your poison, partner.” you present, however, holding up the box of requiem bullets and toss it right into the backseat, “Not for my car, though.”

Taking off the rifle from his shoulder and shaking his head with an exasperated huff that was close to an almost affectionate chuckle, he settles into the passenger seat, pulling the door close.

He noticed the two cans of pomegranate juice casually resting in the beverage holders- since when do they sell pomegranate juice in cans?

RE9!Leon with a young ex-racer! reader who runs late once more but this time way past when you were supposed to arrive in the HQ for the next mission briefing which he finally thought he’d convinced you to attend after that last mishap.

But no, apparently not. 

This time he took it upon himself to find out your address by making Sherry track your phone after you didn’t pick up his call.

And now, standing outside the door of your house, he was surprised he still had the patience to ring the doorbell like any civil person would.

You opened the door, squinting at the brightness of the outside,”...Leon?-”

“You were supposed to be at HQ two hours ago.”

“WHAT-” your head snaps towards the clock, cursing at the time, and look back at him in shame, as you step aside for a very annoyed Leon to enter the threshold. You don’t question how he had your address. Like you had any right to question him after being so unpunctual.

Leon didn’t expect in any form or way for your house to be ordinary considering how out-of-pocket you are, but that doesn’t mean he hoped to see a fucking car casually parked beside your living space. This is his first time seeing someone having an attached garage that is just casually joined to the living room without any further partition.

Any normal person after being woken up would probably go crash on their couch to reel out their sleepy daze.

But not you, though.

You just stretch your arms above your head and the first thing you do is go over to your car and open the door, settling into the seat like that’s your personal couch, one foot on the cemented floor, head slumping against the headrest as your hand reaches to turn on the speaker, volume of the music much more civilised, a record for you than any other degree of volume he had ever witnessed you putting on.

He would have went ahead and sat down on the couch to begin lecturing you about punctuality but seeing you not even consider going to the couch, he too, goes to the other side of the car, occupying the seat beside you in the same manner, burning holes through your skull with how hard he’s glaring at you with those pretty blue eyes of his.

You turn your head to meet your gaze, a slow smile pulling at your lips, the same one he recognizes, that appears when you’re about to pull your worst attempts at flirting with him.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ll fall in love.” 

The disappointed sigh leaves from his lips the same time the words from your mouth do.

But the way the furrow of his brow softened ever so slightly along with the edges of his features wasn’t lost on you, before he turned his face away to flip through the mission folder he brought along.

“Leon,"

He pauses onto a page before turning his head slowly to look at you, "I’m sorry.” his eyes are searching yours, trying to assess what that look on your face means, your gaze tracing over the features of his face.

“For being late. It was irresponsible of me to not show up when you were waiting on me.” you added, voice without any tone that suggested jests.

He doesn’t know what to do with that soft tone of yours, slightly hoarse after disuse, but unmistakably gentle, especially when it’s directed at him.

He just gives a small nod, looking back to the folder in his lap, “Yeah…just try not to do it again.”

You click your tongue.

“Come on… that’s the best shot you got at being strict?” you roll your eyes at him.

“...what do you even want me to say?” he furrows his brows in confusion.

“I don’t know… whatever like- maybe scold me?-”

“You’re a grown ass adult.”

“Okay then maybe threaten to cut off my pay?"

“We literally have the same damn employer.”

“Okay then do anything else other than saying ‘try’” you air quote.

“...” he literally has no idea what is the point you’re trying to make here.

You throw your hands in the air dramatically, reaching for a water bottle from the backseat ”you’re so fucking soft and cuddly, gosh.” you sound annoyed.

“Cuddly?”

“Yeah.” you deadpan, chugging water from the bottle, “Cuddly.”

He looks perplexed, again in the sense of a single mother not knowing how to understand their emo kid.

“...why are you so fixated on getting lectured? I thought you hated that.” he shakes his, glancing back at the case folder for the third time- or maybe fourth time- who knows, since he sat down beside you.

“I hate lectures in general, not the ones you give.” you don’t even stutter over a word, staring at his even confused face.

He’s such a cute old man.

“...that makes no sense.” 

“It does, I like hearing your voice. It makes me happy.” 

This must be the generational gap issues that people talk about having with their younger colleagues.

“...o..kay?” he narrows his eyes, trying to understand the intent or the sentiment behind the words leaving your mouth.

You reach over to quickly pinch his cheek.

You couldn’t help it.

“Man, you’re so oblivious.”

“No, I'm not. You’re just goddamn weird and keep speaking in anything but in direct context.” he peels your hand off his cheek with a gruff scoff.

....

________________________________________________________________---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You’re so fucking smug about it too, “Aren’t you gonna scold me? This isn’t too inappropriate for you now, is it, daddy?” there had been a grin pulling at your lips the whole time as you kept spurring him on and on. He can’t even speak with the way he’s trying to not let out a moan that’s too loud and too fucking obscene for someone at his age. 

Your hands, though.

Fingers nimble and just barely calloused as compared to Leon’s aged and rough ones, and adorned with a few rings. You dragged them up from his abdomen towards his muscular chest, covered with a thin sheen of salt and pepper hair, brushing against his nipples, making him shudder from the overstimulation from earlier when you had sucked them.

Your gaze, bordering on obsession that would be creepy if he didn’t know you better, trailed over him, making him more aware of his mess of a state as he laid there, panting.

You sighed, ”Leon,” your eyes snapped to his aged handsome face, which you found so fucking pretty. 

“Please talk to me, I like your voice so much.” Talk? He’s so fucked out and flustered that he can’t even think of where to begin as your teasing remarks pursue, which should have annoyed him by this point, only if your voice didn’t sound so fucking sultry while you looked at him all heart-eyed and lovestruck.

He really can’t take it, he doesn’t know what sentence to even put together to direct at you when all you’re doing is turning his mind to mush.

All he can muster up though, is a “shut up.” voice all hoarse and used up from moaning into your shoulder, and he’s tugging you close by that silver chain hanging around your neck to just smash his mouth to yours to shut you up. Although he knows he’s going to be overwhelmed by the sheer fervour you kiss him with when your lips press together. You fucking laughed when he pulled you in like that, so victorious and delighted with yourself.

What a brat.

His words. Not mine.

Your tongue stroked into his mouth like you couldn’t be bothered whether you have enough air to keep you going. Your cock still buried in him as you let him recover, while he kissed you, or rather– while you were devouring his mouth.

You found it absolutely adorable that he tried to keep up with your pace and be overwhelmed by it, so you slow down. Slow enough so that your lips move in sync and in rhythm. Slow enough that your scents mingle together into an addictive musk you could get high on.

Slow enough that you don’t end up scaring him away with all that eagerness when you worked so hard to get him to just admit his feelings.

Stupid boy.

As if you could scare away Leon Scott Kennedy.

His hand that was earlier gripping a cushion so tight that it definitely did tear at some point, now coming to hold the back of your neck, fingers tangling into your hair as he pulled you in closer, if that was even possible.

The tip of his nose pressed against your cheek as you angled your head to the side. The feverish warmth of your body seeping into his bones, an odd source of comfort he didn't think he's find this far in life when he'd long stopped hoping for any normalcy.

His hand that tugged you by your silver chain, now wrapped around your shoulder blades in an embrace. The pendant with the lily engraving dangling from the chain around your neck, that dragged over his torso so torturously each time you hovered over him while thrusting into him earlier, the same one you held between your teeth to avoid it hitting his face, all while your eyes screwed shut, face contorted in pleasure above him; now lay pressed between your chests as he held onto you like a vice. 

Though you were the younger one, and supposedly the more vibrant one, even you didn’t simply have the capacity to break out of Leon’s grasp, not like you wanted to anyways, you had spent too many anxious nights and days managing to get in his arms in the first place.

When the need for air did make you pull your lips apart, but just enough to catch your breath, your eyes roamed over his face, taking in the way his pupils dilated slightly as his own gaze roamed your features and it was all it took for you to soften around the edges as you lean forward to press your lips to the furrow of his brow, then to his eyelid and that very specific wrinkle below his left eye. 

And then you nuzzle the tip of your nose against his, making a small smile bloom on his kiss-swollen lips as he let out an exasperated huff, his hand on your back gently rubbing over the scratch marks he just knows are present, which he caused, “What are you? A puppy?” he says that, as if he isn’t just treating you exactly like one with the way his fingers in your hair previously now ruffling it up.

You press your face against his, stubble scratching your face, failing to stop you from rubbing your cheek against his,”Be grateful that I didn't lick your face.” 

“Yeah but you did lick me though-”

“Oh. So now it isn’t inappropriate to say those things out loud, huh?”

“You did rail me, i think we’re past th-”

“You seem pretty energetic to me. Up for another one, good sir?”

“...” 

“...”

“...I’m too old for this.”

You snort, before burying your face into his neck, blissfully aware of the fact that he had bruises of love blossoming across the expanse of his skin.

Bruises that didn’t stem from another mission that made you worry till you were sick to your stomach, even though you knew that he’s perfectly capable of handling it.

It didn’t seem like that for some time though, when not even barely a week ago he still had that blackish disease marking him from the palm of his hand up to the side of his throat. Now, replaced by the proof of your adoration, that's a disease of its own.

With a final breath of his scent into your lungs, you try to pull yourself off him, in the plans of getting the both of you cleaned up.

However, you underestimated the overstimulation that follows after edging yourself almost the entire time just to make him finish first, with you climaxing at the very last round. 

Just as you tried to tried gain stable ground on the couch to place your knee to support your weight on, you miscalculated and stumbled forward, hand gripping the armrest on which Leon’s head was lying on, a stuttering sob, much to your surprise and his, of course, left your lips, along with a shiver that ran up both your spines as his walls squeezed around your already spent cock that was still inside him.

Leon looked up at your face, concerned, your pendant dangled right close to his face. Your arm trembled as you held yourself above him. 

He tried to get up to help you, only to be pushed back against the couch by a shaky hand to his chest, “Don’t move.” Your voice cracked as you looked down at his face, suddenly feeling light-headed from your oversensitivity right now, a tear slipped down your face and onto his cheek as he blinked up at you in surprise, hands coming to hold the sides of your neck to turn your attention to him, “..hey, what’s wrong, why are you-”

He’s interrupted by a stuttering moan leaving his lips when you subconsciously rock your hips up into him, your own eyes closing shut, a broken sound close to a whimper leaves your throat. Your forehead falls to his, as you mewl something about him feeling too good around you, his arms wrapping around your shoulder blades to hold onto you, his own body overstimulated, age not wild enough to extend his sexual stamina, right after another stressful mission too. 

“...do you feel like coming again?” he grunts beside your ear as you sloppily rock your hips into him, whimpering into his shoulder, as you nod, resisting the urge to bite down onto the flesh of his already marked up shoulder to shut yourself up. You can’t stop yourself from babbling into the side of his throat, ”can i please come, just one more time, please?” 

You poor thing.

His sweet, beloved boy.

Your moans muffle against his skin as he lets out a breathy approval when you ask that, his toes curling once more, head leaning against your own as he feels that one spot being hit again and again one more time. 

He feels that you’re close as your pace stutters, almost to a stop until he’s bucking up his hips in one snapping motion, making you come once more with a broken cry leaving your lips, your body recoiling into his, in the hopes of riding out your high. 

You were heaving, trembling, in his arms, breath moist against his shoulder.

“...zero pull-out game, by the way.” he’s breathless himself, yet, still capable of one-liners that either don’t hit, burn, sound ridiculous as hell or hit so much you could die from asphyxia because you laughed too hard.

Anyways.

You can’t believe you cried from pleasure. You pull out, chest heaving as you sat up, looking down at his pretty face.

Leon Kennedy, who just made you fucking cry from pleasure without even meaning to and let you relieve yourself even though he was way past his point, himself.

How can you not just fucking adore him? 

And there you were, once again, looking at him, awestruck like he brought down a piece of your favourite planet for you. His own lashes were damp, tears sticking to his waterline as he looked up at you, done with you, in the best possible way.

“What are you staring at?” he huffs out, raising a brow. You intended to reach for him to kiss him until he stopped you with a foot to your torso, shaking his head, “I swear if you come any closer to me, I'll kick you off.” he runs a hand through his hair, damp from sweat.

You laugh again. Your hand comes to take a hold of his ankle as you bring it more up to your chest, right over where your heart is. Any kind of insult from him sounds like affection to you, because right now, it is.

He furrows his brows in utter fucking confusion at why the fuck exactly does your face looks so fucking smitten with him when he's literally threatening to kick you off. Not really, though.

He thinks you’re the only person insane enough to do all kinds of nasty and downright filthy shit with a man as old as him and behave like it's the most romantic shit that’s ever taken place in this mortal realm.

But he doesn’t mind it, not at all. How could he? When your feverishly warm hand encircles his ankle to bring it onto your shoulder, your cheek pressing against it as you look down at his face like a puppy. 

So innocent.

Like you weren’t just fucking him a few minutes earlier, till his back became sore altogether on the behalf of all the times age couldn’t do shit to affect it.

“You really are just like a dog, huh.” that only just earned him a grin wider from you, like you already have a reply ready.

Which you do.

“Why? Wanna walk me around like one?” you tilt your head just the slightest, watching his face flush a bit more from your words rather than the already lingering high from before.

“I feel like you’ll like it a bit too much, if i did”

“We won’t know until we try it, right?”

Oh.

How cute.

You’re jerked forward by your chain catching around his ankle as he yanks it, holding you there, “Like this?” 

You huff out a chuckle at the sudden move, eyes twinkling with a playful glint.

A smirk pulling at his own lips, amused at your hopelessly smitten stare at his face, and then he moves his foot a bit to the side, pulling you along that direction, “or... like this?” he voices it out in faux contemplation, the dim lamp light dancing in the baby blue of his eyes.

You couldn’t help but wonder how pretty the silver chain looked around his ankle, almost like an anklet.

Oh.

An anklet.

Yeah. He could tell you did not give two fucks about being treated like a dog or whatsover, your mind engrossed in a whole another thought train as you kept glancing at him and the way he had you yanked forward and hovering on your knees. 

“Considering it, are you, rookie?” he placed his foot right back onto the hard plane of your chest to get your attention.

“Yeah. I am.” you reach out to hold his foot against your chest, rubbing your thumb over his skin.

“Considering what, exactly?” he suspected it wasn’t at all what he was spouting on about.

“Putting an anklet on you.”

“Excuse me, what?”  he paused, really fucking paused.

“Please? Pretty please?”

Just when Leon thinks he had figured you out to some degree, you never fail to surprise him. Really.

An anklet?

Yeah. Unheard of for such a conventionally masculine man like him to be wearing an anklet, right?

He just stares up at your face, gaping, as you try to give your best puppy-eyed pleading look you can muster up.

“If you’re trying to act cute, it’s not working.” he deadpans, a smirk threatening to pull at his lips despite how unbothered he’s trying to sound.

Bringing his foot to rest upon your shoulder once more, you press your cheek once more,”Please? I swear I'll kiss it every night.” saying that, you turn your head just enough to press a slow kiss to his ankle where the anklet placement would’ve been, eyes not leaving his face even for a second.

Oh yeah.

It’s working, alright.

He actually sat up, foot off your shoulder before grabbing you by the chain around your neck with his hand instead, tugging you hard towards him until your lips are just hovering right above his, breath fanning over yours, your throat bobbing as you swallow from the sudden proximity.

His voice, hushed and hoarse from all the pretty sounds he let out beside your ear in the past few hours, now a low gravel against your lips, “Cheeky bastard. Think you’re so smart, huh?” there’s no actual bite in his voice despite how it sounds.

Doesn’t ever fail to make your ears heat up, though.

You grin against his mouth, leaning a tad bit closer in hopes of closing the little tiny gap between your lips, which he intentionally doesn’t let you close, his other hand sliding up your chest to hold the column of your throat. 

“Me? Never.”

Yeah. Cheeky? Maybe not. 

You’re a fucking brat, though.

With an exasperated chuckle and shake of his head, he shoves you back against the cushions, hand still around your throat as he presses his lips onto yours, the only method effective against you constantly spouting your infuriating bratty nonsense.

Your own hands resting above his lower back, massaging the area, in case it hurts, even in the midst of kissing, even with your eyes closed, you thought of him first. 

How come it’s something so natural for you to care for him?

He doesn’t know. 

Did it scare him that it may involve some ulterior motive the first time you started acting so careful around him? Definitely.

But he learned. Over time. Still is. Maybe he’ll learn enough until you being so damn fixated and doting on him would become the new normal in his life.

When he pulls apart just enough to look at each other’s faces, you ginger;y kiss the tip of his nose, “is that a yes, then?” 

You’re so relentless. 

He doesn’t get it.

Really.

What’s so special about the idea of some accessory as delicate and flowery sounding as an anklet being worn by someone so gruff looking like him?

….he can humour you for now, he supposes.

“It better not make a fucking sound when i walk around.”

“Yayyyy-” you try to kiss him again only to be shoved back by the hand to your throat.

“Gross.”

You look so offended.

“After all that?”

Really, though.