ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: Trying to advertise your bakery is particularly difficult, especially when no one seems to want to try anything new lately, still stuck in their old ways. Thankfully, a particular masked man is also particularly fond of the tea you make along side your signature pastries.
ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི WC: 2.5k
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You’ve grown up in Wales nearly your entire life, living not too far from a fresh farm and yet so close to a little town you call home. The weather is typical for Britain, always a little dreary though sometimes the sun would shine so bright the grass on these hills looked like those in the movies. You’d run up those hills as a child, laughing as the sheep would make noises after your every whim.
Today was particularly dreary though; the sun struggled to peek through even with the large gaps between each cloud, only leaving behind a desolate grey on the town. It was your turn to take over the shop for the day, seeing as your parents were out of town on business details. A few named your shop to be ‘the littlest around’, since it wasn't exactly the biggest area nor did many know of it. After all, it had only opened recently after the last owner left their business to rot out. It took practically months to renovate the dusty walls of this shop even more so that your family were on a tight budget. However your parents believed in it and so did you.. or you thought you did anyway. Maybe you had watched too many movies as a kid because this business was definitely not booming, infact you had spent the majority of the past week trying to advertise the best you possibly could.
Either way, it was bound to be quiet today so you decide you may as well use it as a testing day. The menu was finalised already however you were eager about one thing to add, a selection of freshly brewed teas. It wasn't the most viable since it required a lot of customers at the same time in order to taste the actual freshness— otherwise it’d just go cold and icky. Placing the portable burner down— something you picked up since most days used to be spent in a caravan— you place a pot atop and light the flame. You had not travelled very far, but due to your grandparent who was particularly interested in plenty of cultures, you picked up a few handy recipes for delicious teas.
Unfortunately, you didnt have much on you today after using your last stock on the small opening party. So, you’d have to make do with what you had. You hum as you boil the water in the pan, before slowly adding the milk and some spices— cardamon and cinammon to be exact. It’d make a rich flavour which was perfect with the right amount of sugar, and so, you let it brew as you hummed, debating whether you were allowed to play your favourite tunes here or not.
Seeing as no one had showed up in a while, you plug your phone into the speaker system, letting a soft song play throughout the little patisserie as you grin and nod your head along. What you hadnt expected was the bell above the door to jingle, heavy boots dragging against the wooden floor as they grow louder. You snap your head up, looking a little startled before you quickly stand infront of the counter again, putting on your best sheepish smile.
“Welcome! What can i get for you today?”
The strange man wears a balaclava over his face, his eyes showing and a few tufts of blonde peeking out the back as he bends a little to look over all of the pastries available. Eventually he stops, pointing at one the sausage rolls, before his gruff voice finally breaks his silence. “Two o’ these.”
You nod quickly, grabbing a paper bag before carefully placing the two pastries inside and sealing the bag.
“Actually, since it’s a weekday, all the pastries come with a dessert or drink. Is there any one you would like?”
You tilt your head, as you place the bag on the counter, already tapping in the current bill. He pauses and glances over at the sweeter desserts, but even you could tell just from his appearance that he doesnt seem to be too fond of them. Instead, his height allows him to easily peek over the counter and he can instantly smell the pot of rich cardamom tea brewing. “Is that for sale?” He raises an eyebrow at you, and you can only tell from how the mask lifts a little. You pause, wondering if you really should be giving them out to customers just yet.
“It’s a taster really.. would you like to try?” He lets out a grunt in agreement and you walk back over, ladeling a creamy cup of the tea for him before stepping over to him once more. He taps his card down for the items he bought, taking the steaming cup in his hand but he doesnt intend to drink it and reveal his face—clear from the way he glances around the shop. “Is it always this quiet or are you about to close?” He raises a brow, wondering if he had just accidentally forced you to stay open longer than you should. Your hands wave in front of you frantically as you shake your head. “No! No— um, it’s been a little hard to promote business recently. We only opened last month..” Today you decide not to mention that last weeks rain had nearly drowned the entire shop floor, instead just giving him another sheepish look. “I’m trying to look for any opportunities we can to show off our bakes. I’ve been looking at fairs recently.” You hum and he nods, before lifting his mask without a second thought and sipping down the hot tea you made him. “You should promote this aswell, i can see this tasting good with a dessert.” He offers his advice and you nod readily, smiling at him since he just indirectly said that the tea was good. “Well, i’ll make sure to have lots more flavours too!
A month later and unsurprisingly your family’s little shop isnt any more popular than the last time you took charge of it. That strange man appeared a few times afterwards but you hadnt seen him, busy with your own part time job to try and bring some extra income in. Today you were finally back though, the peak of winter hitting like a shock but it didnt stop the excitement brimming through the town.
At the start of December each year, the town would host a market in the main plaza, which was particularly big for the town’s size. There was everything from crafts and fresh fruit, flowers and trinkets to the toastiest hot chocolate and clothing. This year you were determined to make your mark, selling sweet pastries and the spiced tea at the same time. He did say it’d draw in at least a bit of attention, right? Well, you sure hoped so because you were using a portion of your personal savings to try again with the tea. You’d never know if you didn't try and, in the worst case scenario, you could give it for free to the other vendors as a sign of good sportsmanship— maybe you could even trade. You grin eagerly as you set up the stand, glass covers above all your decorated pastries, sweet and savoury waiting to be bitten into. Perhaps you went a little overboard with the baking but this was a big event—even neighbouring towns travelled here!
The fair kickstarts around five thirty, the time when most get off work and so many are already flocking to find something for their hungry stomach. You practically bubble with excitement when you get your first three orders, only to turn and see the hot burrito stall’s queue which looks like it’d shadow your stall next. With a small frown, your demeanour drops as the orders only get rarer, a few commenting on not being sure to try something so exotic. About tea. Literal chai. Customer service was not for the weak clearly, since you had to restrain yourself from lunging over the table right then and there, giving the lady a forced smile before she walked off. You let your head rest in your hands, groaning a little too loudly, but it wasnt like anyone was even close enough to your stall to hear anyway. The only thought that consumed you was frustration; you knew damn well that all the bakes here were delicious, that the recipes were to die for and the tea was an absolute soother for any cold or strain. Though, no matter how hard you tried no one seemed to want to hear you out.
“Are you taking a break?”
A voice rings out, gruff, a little muffled and stern but most of all— familiar. Your eyes snap up, meeting the gaze of that stranger from before, well now he looked entirely different. “You… from before.. you’re a soldier?!” You have to forcefully lower your voice before you cause his ears to bleed through his balaclava. He was decked out in full tactical gear, apart from the weapons of course and the helmet held in the crook of his elbow. Though not just him, an entire team of soldiers aswell who surrounded your stall, practically brimming with excitement at the tasty baked goods they’d finally try.
“Finished a day long training in the cold. Thought i’d bring ‘em to your stall for a break. You dont look good yourself though” He bluntly states the last part out, already suspecting that you’d sigh next. “Orders are still slow...” You murmur, and he nods, as if he’d expected that. Before either of you can speak, one of his soldiers perks up, “Miss, how much would it be for two of these pie slices and one of your sausage rolls?”
Your lips part in surprise and you hurry to the till, typing in the amounts before announcing the price to him. The reasonable cost of your goods and the great quality is enough to catch the attention of his teammates, and soon enough you have them lined up waiting to buy their share too.
You cough to get his attention when the queue finally draws to a blank and he slowly approaches as you gesture to the pots of tea steaming beside you. The soldiers had taken the majority of your stock, even asking for refills but one large cup was saved for him. “On the house, for a regular.” You say cheekily and he nods, the sides of his mask creasing up into what you think could possibly be a smile. “So, how did you even convince your boss to let you bring your whole team here anyway? I always thought those ‘sergeant’ people were like.. really strict.” He chuckles at you, deep and gruff and for a second you’re confused, tilting your head at him. “Hey— what’s so funny? I’m being serious!” He finally stops, his eyes crinkled slightly as he looks back at you. “I’m their Lieutenant.” ” He says still with that monotone voice and your jaw practically drops, cheeks flushing in embarrassment as you groan loudly. “I’m very sorry..”
Now sitting upon the benches, they chatter amongst themselves whilst others eye the other trinkets available, looking for something for the loved ones back home. The man with the skull mask still stands nearby though watching you fill up a cup full of the tea before handing it to a customer.
“Do you take large orders too?” He finally pipes up, glancing over at you with that filled cup still in his hand. “Well.. we don't have any official set up..” Being his acquaintance was a severe exaggeration, and yet you couldn't stand to disappoint him right now. Especially seeing as much as he’s done so far,perhaps not intentionally, but what intrigues you even more is that his soldiers seemed to be over the moon about your pastries. You hadn't really thought about the fact soldiers are probably dying for the taste of a good home cooked pastry, especially in the winter months, and now it seems like this could really boost your business.
“But..I could just give you my number?” Putting that forward seems a bit odd, but in truth you were being completely innocent about it even if he seems to believe otherwise, smirking beneath the mask before he nods. He takes his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it and hands it over to you before gesturing to you to do the same. When you receive your phone back, you see the new contact, ‘Lieutenant Ghost (sausage roll)’ and snicker a little; you’re pretty sure you can remember him without the assistance but it’s amusing anyway. “I’ll text you later regarding any big orders we want to make.”
He gives you another nod and you quickly agree with his words, grateful for the opportunity he’s provided you with.
“Thanks for bringing all your soldiers here.. i dont think we would’ve garnered this much attention otherwise.” People had already noticed the brand on the soldiers' cups and bags, making their way to the stall and eyeing some of the goods left from their rampage. He only shrugs, ignoring the fact he had any part in this. “By the way..” You hum, glancing at the untouched tea in his hand curiously. “Why haven't you drank any yet— it’ll grow cold soon.” He leans against your table slightly before he just nods firmly again, looking back at the crowds. “Dont like to show my face.” That makes you blink, confused since he had easily shown you in the shop a month ago when he tried it for the first time. “But—“
Before you can answer, his phone buzzes and he glances down before beckoning his group over. “Oi, all of you. We’re leavin’ in ten— do not make us late.” Suddenly you dont feel at all bad for calling him strict earlier, even snickering a little at how stern his voice had suddenly gotten even if he’s usually monotone to you too. The soldiers eyes grow wide and they quickly jump to buy the rest of their things making you snicker.
“Guess that’s the last I'll see of you, ‘Lieutenant’. See you soon.” You grin, waving as he throws the now empty cup in the trash— when did he drink that? He lifts a hand to give a short wave at you too before stepping away to join the rest of his men. “Dont worry, you will.”
That night you’re left dumbfounded as you stare at your phone, the text lighting your eyes up in the darkness of your room. ‘Tomorrow night is the second day of the fair, right?’ The first part reads, and you mentally nod, remembering how your parents said you’d take the first day and they’d handle the second. When you responded with a yes, but also clarifying your stall is also available, he wrote back one more text.
‘Good. I’ll be taking you around with me this time.”
Summary: You and your subordinate, Leon, get trapped in an elevator.
Warnings/contains: enemies to lovers, sub! male, dom fem, slow-ish burn, oral (fem reciv!), nipple play, teasing, feet kink, constriction, physical restraints, mentions of past relationship, not proof read-- english is not my first language!
Word Count: 3k // More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls
He tapped his forefingers on his desk and attempted to avoid eye contact with the clock. ‘Only thirty past one? You must be kidding me!’ He thought to himself as the day seemed to drag by. His right heel bounced on and off the office carpeting. Through the glass windows of your office, and with rather annoyed eyes, you glared at him. At this point, he wasn’t even *pretending* to do work!
‘Leonardo Scott Kennedy!’ You thought as your ears grew warm.
You turned your attention to the man across from your desk. “We will prioritize the hostages when it comes to the press, Admiral Macklemore.”
“It is my understanding that whatever information enters this office…does not leave.”
“In this case, such information will not leave my desk.” The older man chuckled, extending a hand across the desk to you. You shook his hand passionately as you stood.
*
“What are you doing out here?” Leon gasped and quickly hid his lighter and pack of smokes. In the alley beside the office building, you folded your arms, staring down at him. “I asked what you were doing while on MY clock?”
“Yes, I know, I- I just need a break.” He wouldn’t dare try to light his cigarette now that you were here.
“You have just come back from lunch.” The fold of your arms got tighter. “Look, I—Leon. I am trying my best to help you out.” The man leaned back onto the brick wall behind you; your back was turned to him. “Don’t you think you owe me this? For putting you back on your feet?” You asked without looking back at him.
“I’m doin’ what I can, [].”
He pulled the cuffs of his sleeves down and slipped his coat on. You turned around and frowned at Leon. “I want you to go home for the day.”
He rose off the wall, “Wait. I- I’m sorry! But I cannot go home.”
“You are fucking with my image; again. Just go home for the day.” You walked past him and made your way into the office building. He quickly followed you and took your arm into his clutch, “Leon.”
“[Y/n]. Please.” His chest heaved with urgency. Seeing his hurt and confused expression only irritated you. The elevator doors opened, and you hit your heel against the wedge, keeping it open. Your body leaned onto him as you read his expression.
“Let go of me.” You whispered. He pulled from you and stood by your side in the elevator. In silence, you glared at his reflection in the metal doors. He looked at your reflection with shame.
“I wish you would give me a second to explain myself.”
“Tsk.”
He turned to you. “That’s it? That’s all I get?” You continued to face the doors of the elevator, begging them to reach your floor so you could leave. “You don’t exactly make this work environment ‘Leon-friendly’.”
“What an ungrateful thing to say.” A sly smirk on your lips as the elevator doors opened. He moved in front of you and pushed his fingers on the emergency close button. You grumbled as the doors shut once again and began its travel to the first floor upon his request. “What is the meaning of this?”
“You want me to fail.”
You laughed to yourself before a nervous chuckle left your lips. “I- no! Of course not!”
“[Y/n], I am not dumb. You want me to leave the military.” He said gruffly, an annoyed edge to his tone. You stepped back into a corner and folded your arms. “What is your problem?”
“My problem? Hmm, I’d say: my disobedient employee.”
“I am more than that to you, [Y/n].” He swiped his thumb over the corner of your lips. You pulled from him. “We used to be partners.”
You shook your head. “We were *partnered*, there is a difference. You hated working with others. That is why I am—”
“Behind a desk?”
“No! You are. I am head of Security for the—”
“Temporarily. Even so, it means nothing to you. You would rather be in the field too, don’t lie to yourself!” You turned your back to him and pressed every button on the elevator. Anything to make this stop! You lifted your fingers from the buttons and stared at the numbers on the screen. “Look at that…” Leon stood behind you and put his hands in his pockets. Your eyebrows furrowed as the numbers blinked. “You…broke it.”
“W- what? What the fuck?!” Your hair flipped quickly as you turned around to him. “How do we get off?!” He shrugged. “No…no!” You turned over your wrist and read the time on your watch. “I have a meeting!” He said nothing as you panicked and fished in your skirt pocket for your pager.
He watched as your pencil skirt held your waist and pulled with the tug of your fingers. “No service in an elevator.”
“Perfect.” You tapped your heel, “No, this is just perfect! Once again, you have proven yourself as a nuisance!” He rolled his eyes along with you.
On either side of the elevator, you two leaned back onto the wood paneling. Your gaze was on the wall beyond Leon and his eyes were on you. Around fifteen minutes had passed by now and no call to the elevator came. No one knew about the broken elevator nor where you or your subordinate were. “You critique me harshly.” Leon said to break the silence.
“Think of it as my way of looking after you.” You crouched onto the floor and settled your back against the wall once more.
He looked down at you. Even so, from your crouched position, you still held his attention in a chokehold. “That right? Thank you, mommy dearest.” He said with a lick of sarcasm. You smiled and kicked your heel off towards him. He caught the shoe and sat on the floor of the elevator. You observed him as he studied your heel. “Saint Laurent. Six inches…? Why do you need to be so high off the ground? You are tall for a woman.” He tilted his head; blonde hair fell over his eye.
“I do not think of such things when I am shopping.”
“Yeah? Because these are custom.” He turned the shoe to her; the commercial tags were all gone, as well as the label. “So, some thought must’ve been put in.”
You took your shoe back from him. “Do not profile me. I am not your friend. I clear your checks.” You reminded him before turning away from his blue eyes.
“Right.”
Minutes passed and the temperature rose slightly in the elevator. Leon removed his coat and tossed it to the side. You undid the top two buttons of your blouse and fanned yourself. He watched as the flap of your collar rose and fell with the wind created from your hand.
“Would you like me to help?” He glared at your breasts; you weren’t too fond of wearing bras. As you sighed, sweat ran down your tits and to your abdomen where it was caught by your shirt.
“In what way can you be of use, lapdog?” You sighed and stood by the panel of buttons beside the elevator doors. You took off your other shoe and placed it in the corner. His eyes shifted to your feet in your tanned stockings. One heel was lifted and the other planted. “Stop watching me.” You said softly as you used a pen from your blouse to pry at the paneling. His firm and warm bulge pressed on the front of his pants; his hands covered the sight. He squeezed his red knuckles and try to calm his curiosity, his filthy imagination.
He grew warm under his shirt and dropped his gaze. “I apologize.” Leon attempted to stay as still as possible, however, the harder he tried, the more he twitched.
“Come help me.” He rose from off the wall and kneeled beside your legs. “Do your best to fix this.”
He scratched his scalp before revealing the cords. “T- there isn’t much I can do if I- uhm,” You crossed your legs and leaned over him. “A…breaker.” Your hair reached his; your dark hair overlapped his.
“A what?”
“Like uhm, the thing with the rows of switches.”
You rolled your eyes, “You and I both know that you can do something.”
He looked between you and the many wires. “But I don’t. Listen-“ He tried to stand, but lost his balance. You grabbed his arm and held him still. His cock rubbed down in his pants, gently massaging his shaft before he adjusted himself. When you pulled him upright, his sleeves rubbed against your stockings.
“You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m just lightheaded.” You looked up at the ventilation ceiling paneling.
“You’ll be ok.” You rubbed his shoulder. “Just try your best.” He sighed under your touch and relaxed his shoulders. He was used to this when he was partnered with you. Your words of encouragement filled his ears as he worked on whatever task you gave him. He messed with the paneling for a short time before the numbers stopped flashing and the lights to all the floors shut off. He turned to you before the lights of the elevator shut off.
You looked around the elevator before using the light from your pager. “We might be stuck in here for a while longer, Leo.” He turned his gaze to the floor immediately and began to breathe in and out of his mouth. “Relax, I am sure now that the power is out, security will be alerted.”
He covered his mouth as a pant slipped out of him. He leaned back against the wall and observed your face in the light of your pager; the streaming light was a way to see the shape of your body in your curvy shadow. You are feminine like that, alluring in that manner; it was hard to keep his gaze from you. Just the way you filled your clothes; any slick comment would roll off him. He lusted you, still does. It was embarrassing. All this time and yet he still hasn’t fucked you. The guys on the taskforce would clown him for it because fortunately, you weren’t *easy*, and unfortunately, he was.
Say the word, give him the greenlight and he would drop his pants with no hesitation. But it was that part of him you knew and hated so much. You like the chase, the hunger.
*
You sat on the floor, and he stood in the adjacent corner. He managed to relax his bulge and his nerves. There was no saying how long it would be until someone came! He looked at you, your skin looked wet with sweat, some strands of hair stuck along your collarbones, neck and forehead. He noticed hair that stuck to your bosom and how it curled on your unbuttoned blouse.
His own blonde hair stuck to his forehead and down his neck. “How are you feeling?” Your pager rested in the middle of the floor as a beacon.
“Cool as a cucumber.” You muttered. He kneeled by your side and undid the cuffs of your sleeves and rolled them up your arms. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
“…I don’t want you to leave the military.” He listened as you undid the cuffs on his sleeves and raised them. “I am making no progress. You’re right. I don’t want to be surrounded by the same things as when I was on the taskforce.”
“Things? You mean me.”
“Whatever I do, I can’t get away from you.” He sat against your wall, and you stood. “That was not an invitation…”
He grumbled, tossing the idea over in his head before giving in to the urge, “Are you seeing anyone?”
You turned your eyes to his strong forearms; the black ink from his tattoos covers his tanned skin. “No.” You folded your arms and turned away. Sweat went down his temples as his head rests on the wall. “Has someone made their unfortunate way into your life?” He could only muster a smile as he scratched his head.
“Lines of ‘em.” He spoke back into your sarcasm. “Did you send for me?”
“Hm?” You turned your attention back to him.
“Did you make the request? For me to be in your office?” You were silent as you watched him closer. His blue eyes peered up at you from his position on the floor. “I’ll take that as a no.” He looked disheveled and you were sure you looked the same. “Contrary to what you believe, I am grateful to be here. I like seeing you every day, [Y/n].” He glared at your thighs, held so gently by the stocking up your legs.
“Oh? That’s interesting.”
“Why are you so…baseline with me?” His eyes flickered to your breasts for the first time in a few minutes.
You laughed, “I keep it simple.” A sigh left your mouth as you wiped sweat from your forehead.
"You’re scared of getting close to me again.” You shook your head and looked at the elevator doors, “You think I’ll abandon you…or not show up like in the field.” You ignored him as if he said nothing. “Talk to me.”
“Jesus, let me out!” You screamed and kicked the elevator doors. Leon stood behind you.
“Stop that.” He pulled your arm and moved you.
“You are insufferable! Let go of me!” He wrapped you in a bear hug from behind, keeping you still. As you kicked around, your feet a few inches off the ground, he grew distracted by your stockings that now had a rip in them, from your ankle and up your thigh. Your skirt raised just enough for him to see the design of the lace around your thighs. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.” You looked down at his arms that tightly held your torso. Your breasts rest on top of his tattooed forearms. Your ass rubbed against his pants with no regard for how stimulating that could be. “[Y/n]. Relax.” He moaned softly. “W- We will get out of here soon.” You pried at his hands and kicked him in the leg. He held onto you firmly and stood his ground. “Stop fighting me.”
Leon put you in a corner of the elevator and pressed onto you tightly. After some time, you stopped trying to move from his grip. A few sharp exhales left your mouth as he continued to hold you there. Your breasts pressed against the cold metal wall and your nipples grew sensitive. “…you have a boner.”
Leon checked himself before pulling away from you. “I- I am sorry.”
The pager died and you two’s only light source was now gone. You stood side by side before you reached for his hand. Planting his callused palm on your breast, you trembled.
Leon let out a deep exhale and turned to you. Although he couldn’t see much, he knew your gaze was on him. He felt your hard nipple beneath his touch and began to explore for himself. The man rubbed over your blouse and massaged your breast carefully. It did not take long before he pulled you to him. Your back was to his chest as he took both of your breasts in his hands. The man moaned as you grind your ass slowly over his crotch.
He popped the buttons of your blouse and carefully moved his middle fingers over your nipples. Your hands rest on his knees as he pecks kisses onto your moist skin.
Maybe it was the temperature of the elevator or just the closeness of his body, but your hair began to frizz from the humidity. But something was wrong. This felt…wrong.
When you pulled from him, Leon immediately reached for you again. “Calm down.” His eyes shut as he felt your nails, and gentle fingers on the back of his neck. You pushed him down and he rested on his knees.
Leon gently unzipped the back of your skirt and pulled it off. A deep groan came from his throat when you wrapped a leg around his neck. He buried his face in your panties; his strong nose pushed into the wetness on the lace you wore. “Mhhhh~” His hands caress your ass and hips as he tried to pull down your panties. “Please.” He sounded so pathetic. You usually hated that but this time…his words were like sweet nectar flowing onto you. “Let me take them off,
“No.”
Your reply didn’t discourage him, his hands gripped you tighter as his mouth latched to your cunt. A shivering moan left your lips as he continued. His lips found your clit, gently sucking as you pulsed in his mouth. The lace didn’t discourage him either, eating your cunt through the barrier.
He lost himself in the sounds of your moans and whispers; the taste of your cunt, a slight taste of sweat from your thighs, and the feel of your soft skin in his firm grip. You held onto his hair to keep stable, both of your legs around his neck. Leon helps you up with his shoulders and rose you against the wall. “O- oh, my god~” He tore at your panties with his teeth, his jaw clenched with determination. “L- Leon!” You heard to the fabric rip and felt his tongue dive into your cunt.
His warm and thick tongue made countless passes through you as if trying to milk your pussy of all its juice. Your eyes fell back into your head; not that he needed to see this, but he could imagine it as you let out those pretty, and breathless moans. If anyone *was* outside the elevator, they could hear you clearly.
When his soft lips grazed up to your clitoris, and left tender kisses, he slowly eased one digit deep inside of you. Your nails dug into his scalp and your thighs closed tighter around his head. “M- more.” You whimpered.
I'm off my hiatus!!
Dom Leon next bc i've been writing both of them at the same time. Tried something new with the feet thing lol.
ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Part two of Sweet as Sugar Series. Part one here.
ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Prev Chapter Next Chapter
ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི Summary: After receiving Ghost’s text, you havent been able to get him out of your head. Lost in a daydream, you may have forgotten an important detail, but luckily everything goes ahead as planned and you end up taking more than a warm heart back home.
ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི WC: 3k
To say he hadn’t consumed all your thoughts was a severe understatement, especially considering you were currently staring into the bathroom mirror at two am with your cheeks still flushed and that last sentence ringing out in your head. You have to forcefully drag yourself into bed and refrain from picking your phone up, reading his message again. Last week you were scolding yourself for still giggling over celebrity crushes—now look at you, practically squirming over a text! It probably wasn’t even like that in the slightest; maybe he just needed to talk to you about some orders from your bakery. With a huff, you finally pull the covers snug over you and force your eyes closed, willing your mind to shut up.
Now the sun has risen high, just like the dough for tonight’s stock, the little open sign turned to signal closed whilst you and your parents churn out as many baked goods as possible before it’s time to set up. Slowly, your knuckles knead through the sticky texture, hands speckled white from flour. You had nearly seventy-five different pastries out yesterday, but with the hunger of the soldiers, that was reduced to a measly thirty or so by the time they had left. A sudden ping rings out, cutting through the yeast-powered daze you were in, and the dough is almost flung across the room as you hurriedly pry your fingers out and douse them in water before grasping at the phone across the room. It’s from the lieutenant, as you had hoped, and you hurry your password into your phone before the chat appears.
If you had to decide between the time you idiotically ate lunch right before a plane ride and what you had right now, this would definitely take the tier for the stupidest thing in your life. The text, if not an accusatory message, is simple—so simple that it doesn't even include a single letter.
’?’
Too busy stuck in your daydreams, you had fallen asleep without responding, essentially doing the worst thing you could ever possibly imagine—leaving the man on read. If you had to explain the way your heart had just dropped, it’d be clear from the way your jaw was permanently screwed open until you fixed this mess you accidentally created. Hurriedly, your fingers dance across the keys of your phone, the remnants of the stringy mass making mistypes our best friend until it ends up looking more like a keyboard smash than an apology sentence.
‘You alright there?’
The hair on your head would’ve been clawed out by sheer embarrassment if not for the fact that you feel obliged to at least clarify you did not mean to leave him hanging like a beggar on the street, eventually ending up sending a voice message instead to convey your mortification. “Sorry—I read your text message last night, and I forgot to respond because I was really tired, and I was up all day baking and even now I got up early— I'd love to go around the fair with you but only if you still want to go. I know this is kind of last minute now, and you’re probably super busy—” You squeak out, trying to stop yourself from grovelling even further into the ground before the app does you a favour and cuts the message instead. He sends back a text before you can send a follow-up and you can only imagine he’s probably laughing at you behind the screen; after all, how does someone just forget to reply?
“All that I needed was a simple yes, but I'll take the clarification. So, when will you be done with your parents?”
“We can still go??”
”Yes, now how about six?
”Yes, please!”
You wipe your face with your damp hands, breathing out a lengthy sigh now that you have finally averted the crisis known as your mess of a social life. Unfortunately, in the process of your panic, you had flattened all the dough on the rolling board, some sticking to your elbows now too. This was definitely not good hygiene-wise, and so you let out a long huff, and grab the flour for another batch to be made.
Soft blows of wind pass by you, protected by your woollen scarf that’s wrapped around your neck and your thick coat that is lined with the softest fur. As you help adjust the last of the display for the stall, you notice there was a few more stalls, likely not able to keep up with the demand of running it for two days, and so today they all chose to run theirs. After all your bakes had been sold out yesterday, you may have claimed the same mindset and went overboard on the bakes in hopes people had caught on to the little logo on all the soldier’s cups as they walked around. Somehow hanging out with the lieutenant was at the back of your mind right now; you were more focused on adjusting the bow at the edge of the table, right before making sure there were plenty of tissues available for your parents to grab. Not to mention enough paper bags, plates, checking the card machine actually worked, and the pot of tea was at the right temperature and waiting to be served. You’re just about to add a little more icing sugar onto the fresh croissants when a gruff cough echoes behind you. “Ghost?” You spin around, his callsign falling off your lips easily from how many times you stared at the contact in your phone in the past ten hours.
“Mhm, that's me. Ready to go?” You nod quickly, dusting off any stray sugar specks before walking over to him and waving at your parents. He looks a little different, still clad in his hooded jacket and thick gloves, but far more relaxed than yesterday. Due to the hectic nature of running a stall, you barely got a minute to look around, thus missing the chance to fully enjoy the simple happiness that came with every time it got a bit chilly. Orange leaves had long since decayed, leaving the trees bare and allowing a clear view of small specks of white in the darkened sky, now a navy blue even though it's never really that bright in winter. You’re even a little hesitant with where you step, considering the ground is already starting to grow a little icier. It’s been years, you think, since you’ve felt this giddy around wintertime, with university, jobs, and life pushing out the happy things you desperately tried to cling to. At least you always had the bakery to fall back on, and you hoped Ghost felt the same about your pastries.
“No soldiers today?” You tilt your head up at him, looking around the decorated paths to see if there’s a hint of camo between the sparkling fairy lights and wooden stands that make up this market. “No, they’re too busy packin’ up for the holidays.” He murmurs, his hands shoved into his pockets as his boots crunch against stray twigs from a nearby weaving stand, premade hearths hanging from the canopy. You blink at that, having always forgotten that the military base wasn't too far off this small town. After all, you used to wave at the soldiers eagerly when you were little, a loopy smile forever on your lips when they acknowledged you—kind of like the one you wore yesterday. “Oh? Guess you’ll be gone soon then, I guess. Where are you headed back to?” He just shakes his head this time before he eventually starts to walk towards a chestnut stand, intrigued by the man roasting them. “I’m stayin’ at base. Nowhere for me to go.”
Gruff is the only word you can use to describe his tone, and yet you watch as he pays the man for a portion of the roasted chestnuts. He doesn't hesitate to hand you the cup to hold as you grin at him and cradle the warmth in your hands until it cools to an edible temperature. Though you decide not to pry into his last words, instead choosing to indulge your earlier curiosity in which you were dying for an answer. “So… why did you even want to walk around with me?” In truth, he had not the slightest idea himself; all he knew was that he’d been a lonely bastard for too long, and he was sick of it. There you were with your lips pulled wide into a pretty smile every time he went to your shop, and he’d be lying if he said his heart didn’t clench when you realised his own soldiers had sold out your stock. He tried to convince himself that he hadn’t meant to help you out; it was only convenient, and his soldiers were hungry. Instead of dwelling on it too long, he just steals a chestnut, slipping it beneath the privacy of his mask as he crunches on the velvety taste. “Figured you’d have an eye for the good stuff. Your tea isn’t something most would find around here.” That makes you nod, remembering the interaction you had with plenty of people.
“Yeah, had a few tell me that it was nothing like the chai tea bags they get in the shops.” His head turns to you, blatant distaste written in his eyes at whoever had the audacity to ask you that question. It’s funny, you think, that someone's eyes can show you that much emotion.
“Are they bloody stupid? Of course it’s not—it’s fresh! That’s like different by a mile!” He practically scoffs out, crossing his arms firmly as he shakes his head disapprovingly, earning him a bunch of giggles from you, who can only raise a brow at him cheekily. “Oh, are you a tea connoisseur now?”
“Oi, that’s Lieutenant to you, rookie.”
That makes you laugh loudly, his mask unable to stop itself from wrinkling at the corners as he gestures to you to follow him towards a stall. “C’mere, I'm gonna get you somethin.” He points up at the plush toys hanging from a stall you had subconsciously been eyeing whilst you walked, seeing as quite a few girls were carrying them tightly in their arms too. There’s a particular one, a penguin with grey fluffy fur and small eyes but a large beak, looking at you so innocently. It’s adorable, and even if you feel a little shy accepting it from him, you’d be damned if you didn't let him at least try. But then again.. it was the largest one,’ and knowing these stalls, it probably was rigged a little to stop people from getting the really large ones.. “If you get me one, I'll show you the best spots around. A fair trade, no?”
“Deal.”
All that the stall owner can do is watch in shock, jaw dropped, as the lieutenant easily picks up the rifle and hits down all six of the cans in seconds, practically speechless. “This one.” Ghost doesn't wait a second for him, pointing up at the large penguin, and your own jaw was agape too now, having expected a small little plush to carry for the journey.
“Whoa! It’s so fluffy, you really didn't have to, but—“ The words practically spill out your mouth, fumbling with your lips as your chest brims with excitement, now hugging it close to your chest. You can definitely tell he’s smirking now, especially as he ruffles the penguin’s fluffy fur with his hand, nodding in agreement. “Soft like you.”
The pair of you traverse around countless stalls, from fresh churros to a spiced burrito to fill your stomachs. Currently you stood in front of a tea store, one that sold a selection of tea bags rather than anything freshly brewed. Seeing as Ghost really did seem to be somewhat of a big tea enjoyer, you made it your mission to get him an assortment. So whilst he was taking a call, you were haggling the steep price down to something a little more affordable. “Don't you think fifty is a bit much?” You raise a brow, your arms crossed over your chest, which contradicts your calmer tone with something more accusing. “I mean, these are all imported anyway, they’re hardly homemade.”
“Well, they’re the finest quality—“
“No, if that were true, they’d be fresh. Come on, they’ve been sitting there since yesterday now—thirty five is much more reasonable for the effort of importing and covering enough for you to make a profit.” The owner can only sigh and roll her eyes fondly, handing you the selection of tea after your little bargaining. “Alright, have at it. Only because I taught you how to haggle a price that well.”
After his phone call was over, you followed through with your promise, leading him towards a small hill a little out of the town bounds. The further you go, the darker the surroundings around you grow but he stays close behind you, watching your feet in the small chance you fall. Eventually you reach the top of the cobbled steps, revealing an old stone plaza. There’s a shack not too far off, orange light streaming out and the sound of hushed cheers as they exchange drinks. What’s more important to him is the view from here, overlooking the entire market below. Everything had seemed too crowded before, with many bustling past to queue up for some hot doughnuts and little kids dragging their parents for a chance at the hook duck game. Here, it was entirely different; the lights reflected the night sky, a sea of stars in the midst of the darkness, and the soft music seemed so much clearer now.
Finally, you both settle on the edge of the stone, your shoes in the grass, and he peels off his own gloves, noticing how your hands were buried into the penguin’s fur for warmth. You take it graciously, slipping it over your iced fingers before rummaging through your own coat pocket. “A present for my lieutenant.”
“Your lieutenant? And I thought spoiling you was my job?“
“Well, call me the colonel since it’s mine now.”
He rolls his eyes up at you, but the affection is still visible, opening the box to look at the variety inside. Each one seemed to originate from a different part of the world, and even though he thought he tried most of the flavours, there was a lot more to learn. He can't help but meet your eager face. “Fine... Thank you. But I'm getting you one last dessert for that.”
Unfortunately, just like how his life had been going so far, everything good must come to an end. His phone startles you as it buzzes loudly, his free hand fishing it out before reading the messages there. His teeth grit in frustration, not wanting to levar you so early. You’re better than that, offering him a small grin in understanding. “Military emergency?” He wants to apologize, promise you that he’ll make it up to you, and give you something even better but he can't bring himself to.
He knows he could never be that soft.
With a gruff nod, he texts back hurriedly and pulls his mask a little higher upon his face. “Yeah..duty calls. Sorry.”You shake your head, waving your hands in front of you to reassure him, even if you were already missing the warmth of his palm in yours. He pushes himself up, and you follow as he nods for you to follow. “I’ll take you back to your parents' stall.” He offers and you nod with a small smile on your lips. That was much better than being left alone while he ran off—he didn’t owe you anything, and yet he still chose to make sure you got back safely.
But before he could take his third step, your eyes are widening, hands grasping his arm and desperately pulling him back. The touch catches him in surprise yet somehow exhilarating all the same, and thus he accidentally lets his guard down just enough for you to actually manage to pull him backwards. “The ice!” You squeak out as his foot slides, making him stumble back into you slightly, your grip now squeezing him. You couldn’t possibly catch a man of his stature, no less a person of a more regular size, and yet you still reached out for him and did your best to stop him. He’d be surprised if he’d even feel anything from falling ass flat on a bit of ice, knowing the extent of his usual injuries. Still, here you were like some guardian angel, doing your best to warn him.
“Thanks..” He mumbles, glancing down at your hands still on him before you hurriedly pull back, a nervous look on your face as you sheepishly grin.
“Sorry.. didn't want you to get hurt..”
“Guess we have to be extra careful, huh? I don't want you falling either.”
His now bare fingers gently nudge against your hand, wordlessly asking to hold it. A sinner would be his title if he said he didn't adore the way your eyes widened in wonder, grasping his own hand a little tighter and nodding, cheeks flushed from him and not the cold that bites your cheeks.
He keeps his grasp on you firm as he leads you down the cobbled stairs and back towards the centre of town, the little queue outside your stall coming into view. Reluctantly you part your hands, stepping back as you glance over at the amount of sales made already, a smile curving your cheeks higher. “I’ll see you again sometime soon… Lieutenant.” You hum, a little disappointed but genuine nonetheless. Today had been entirely perfect for you, like something you’d see in the synopsis of a movie. He nods gruffly again, steps a bit forward, and tucks your scarf a little tighter around your neck. “Simon.” He breathes out, voice a little raspy from how long it’s been since he’s said it from his own tongue.
“Huh?” Your head tilts up, confused.
Giving the large penguin plush a little pat, he steps back. “My real name’s Simon.”
pairings: Simon Ghost Riley/ Reader (platonic or romantic, up to you)
tags: probably loads of military inaccuracies, anxiety attacks (possibly?), heavy angst, angst and comfort, paranoia, bad mental health, cuddling and literal sleeping together (up to you romantic or platonic)
This technically takes place after this fic but it’s not a big deal in which the order you read it
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You’re an introvert, even if you do get excited really quickly, loud around people you’ve known for a while and love meeting new people. Yet still, you call yourself an introvert, even if that technically still makes you an extroverted introvert. You don't like the sound of an extrovert— someone who thrives off of others' attention and loves to be the center of it, who brightens their days with their friends and always wants to make plans with anyone and everyone. You like the attention sometimes; when Price mentions your name in a conversation, praising your skills, your heart thumps a little louder. Being at the limelight of the party isn't always the worst thing either, especially when everyone laughs at your jokes so hard they double over, grinning so wide you can't help it either. You love your friends, your teammates, even the random soldiers you’ve only exchanged small greetings with. The love for others is held tight in your heart’s vessels, bursting each and every time they make you smile or you just see their presence. You feel so warm and alive when you give them a grin in the mornings, even more so when they seek out your presence throughout the day.
Though, that only applies sometimes— never always.
A familiar soldier could ask you out to lunch and yet your chest begins to twist uncomfortably, like someone is wringing your intestines with their hands. Something screams at you when they say those words, like an invisible line had just been crossed that had been clear in everyone's heads. You had only ever spoken to those soldiers in the gym or around base, there was nowhere else even remotely personal you’d think to take them to. One on one conversations were not common either, since it wasnt that often. It’s not that you don't like them, it’s just.. not right. You’d shake your head apologetically as you force an excuse between your teeth. The regret you then express is a lie, along with the love you felt before— only reduced to a being who could never hold any of those things.
The truth is, you have a sick little parasite in you, it claws at that heart muscle, tearing away the flesh and devouring any love you feel for the people you care about and replacing it with an empty feeling which is always followed by an unreasonable hatred. Your mind grows dark, headaches permanent, as you live through the day as a skeleton of yourself— no longer able to hold any love within you as it slips past your bones in seconds. You don't like the boundaries you’ve mentally set for each person to be crossed, even if it’s a perfectly normal task. In fact, some may even say you’re scared of change. You don’t like to put a label on these things, hell you don't even like to think too hard on these things. It begins to make sense when you sit and reflect, piecing all the reasons for your behaviour together until you hit the final point. Soon you’re done, finally aware of the most significant reasoning behind your antics. The only issue is, being self aware doesn't mean you get any better; no matter how many nights you sit and stare at that mirror, nothing changes.
The only thing you gained was the ability to squash down the parasite from prying eyes. Excuses fall from your lips quickly, no matter how bad you feel when they give you that look of disappointment. It’s not your fault— you know you won't be able to handle an outing like that, you’d get too worked up. Why? You don't need to dwell on it, not right now. This continues for multiple people, multiple soldiers for two weeks, until you're ‘normal’ and you hang around others again. People begin to subconsciously catch on and so your little routine continues to carry on moving so well, staying right on track.
“Sarge? You aint comin’ to team night? Why?”
Ghost stands at the door of your quarters, dressed in his typical training attire whilst you’re sitting in something cozy, made for home wear. You have to fight the urge to cover yourself up. “Oh right.. i, uh..yknow, lot of paperwork to do. Thought i’d stay in.”
You say with a small smile, attempting to ease any concerns he had before but little did you know, he was already growing aware of your little issue, or at least the fact there was one within you. “Paperwork? On a Friday? You should be relaxin’.” You grit your teeth a little, the burning urge inside of your chest returning just like the sick pit in your stomach. It felt so awful fearing just a simple team night out, but it was just so late and you were so tired— you didnt have the energy to be rational the whole time, to think of your next move constantly.
“It’s not a big deal. I’ll come to the next one.” You shrug, turning back to your small desk as you pull another small stack of papers in front of you. His boots thump loudly against the floorboards, sounding like the heavy thump of your heart in your ears. It stops, suddenly, behind your back and your body stiffens as he leans down, looking at the paperwork you’re going through. It’s a lie— naturally, you finished it all. He doesn't even have to stare at you first nor visibly raise a brow; you’re already waiting for him to call out your bluff just as quickly.
“You can just say you want some time alone, yknow.” That catches you off guard, half expecting him to just tell you to stop whining and grab some drinks. His words were still difficult though, how could you easily just say that? Of course, the words itself aren't the hard part, nor speaking it—it’s the implications behind said words. An excuse means you have other things to occupy you, so no one dares to disturb you much after that, however explaining you want some alone time gives way to more questions. Specifically the first being: why? Then they begin to wonder if you’ve been doing okay recently or if you’re struggling with something. You dont like the idea of that at all— people thinking about you in that way. It feels weird, almost like it’s wrong. Sometimes you wished people would just not care, and leave you alone to wallow with yourself.
“Sarge?” You snap out of it, sheepishly scratching the back of your head as he still stands behind you and you turn in your chair, putting the best meek face you can on for the night. “What? No, that’s not why I declined. I’m not really feeling any alcohol today and a new episode of a series I previously binged on the weekend just came out. Sorry.. didn't want to make it seem i was ditching anyone for a show.” Perfect, an awkward grin had tied it all off into a well constructed excuse. Even if it was partially true and this really wasn't fake, it sure felt like everything you did was an act. After all, you really didn't want them to think you were ditching anyone, and you didn't feel like having any alcohol tonight. “A new series” He says gruffly, and you nod with a tight smile, teeth gritting so hard you’re sure they’ll break in a few seconds. “I’ll join you then.”
You blink once, twice, three times in pure utter confusion. Ghost—The Ghost, whose name is rumoured across the battlefield and known for never giving into idle small talk—wants to watch the series you lied about, with you.
You’ve never felt more guilty in your entire life, practically fumbling for a solution. You could just tell the truth, say no and admit you needed to be alone. But this is the first time he’s ever expressed wanting to hang around you, actually together and alone— and miss out on a team night?! He may just want an excuse out of it, but still, you can't just say no now. “Well yeah, i just..” You hate how there’s no easy way out of this in the slightest, torn between saving your own mental health or finally getting close to the teammate who you’ve been on eggshells around for nearly a year now. “My room’s not exactly clean--“
He cuts you off with a gruff, shake of his head, a scoff resounding in his next words, promptly embarrassing you too. “There ya go— knew you wanted to be alone.”
You fumble, not understanding how he managed to pry it out of you so fast, just a simple lie blowing your cover. “I said it wasn't like-“
“See you tomorrow.” He’s gone just as fast as he silenced you, heavy footsteps disappearing out of your door and down the corridors. What you couldn't wrap your head around is how fast he had figured it out and made you confess to your lies that fast— it was a real problem, something you couldn't just let slide. If he knew, did others too?
Unfortunately for you, the very much needed alone time didn’t help as well as it usually did considering this new information has threatened everything that made up the core of your very being—specifically everything keeping you glued together. You just couldn't sit there and possibly relax like you usually did when alone (more specifically think over everything you’ve done wrong until you quite literally fell asleep mid thought)— not when Ghost could clearly read everything you had ever thought about in your life.
That being said, you’ve been a nervous wreck all week, concentrating so hard on looking sane that you’ve barely paid a second of attention to things you should’ve listened to. It’s not like you slipped up regularly, but before that day you were already feeling pretty uneasy and now with still no relief and the added stress, you feel like you really might lose it any second now. Every time you see him, every word exchanged with your teammates—with another person—it eats at you, tugging further on the ropes you’re hanging onto. They’re already been pulled thin, especially since you’ve been put in charge of a group of rookies for the past few weeks now. Of course, you had pulled the short straw when assignments went round because not only did your group love to talk back, but they loved to test every limit by asking the most stupid of questions possible. It’s the second time now you’ve had to lecture one of the rookies about why you can’t just ‘throw a grenade at the enemies’. It’s only temporary, just basic training exercises and medical procedures they need to know until the Officer, who usually oversees them, returns from their sick leave.
You let out a long breath as you enter the small break room, also known as taskforce 141’s meeting room but they’ve let you lounge in here too many times to count. It’s quiet in here, Soap and Gaz both on missions and you assume Ghost must be too. It’s the first time you’ve been able to relax all week, knowing damn well Price is down in London with Gaz. Your shoulders sag, the miserable look returning to cover your features now that you don't need to pull that tight smile anymore. Your chest physically aches from how anxious you’ve been all day, the weight of the day’s mistakes and fears of the future swelling deep in your gut. You know it’s a Friday, know you should just take a long sleep but you can’t help but think about all you have to do for the days to follow. You’re busy the whole day tomorrow, a team outing you can’t deny no matter how much you really do not want to go. Just thinking of all the final work you’ll have to cram in on Sunday makes a splitting pain run along the bumps in your brain. Even your breaths begin to feel shorter, an uncomfortable feeling that you just still cant rid of no matter how long you take deep breaths. Your eyes are weighed down with exhaustion and yet your brain refuses to let you sleep yet. No, you cannot. If you sleep the night away then you’ll only have Sunday left for yourself, and that won't work out, will it?
You pick up the mug you had just stirred, hoping the drink would soothe at least something if not your dehydrated body. Taking a small sip, the hot liquid spills down your throat, leaving a warm feeling in your ribs. “Alone by choice or force?” A gruff voice rings out behind you, along with an arm reaching around to supposedly grab a teabag as well, is enough to make you flinch. Stumbling on your own feet, your mug jolts and the steaming water splashes against your shoulder. If you were worried about someone catching you so vulnerable before, you were certainly terrified now, especially since your skin was burning from a small startle.
“Fuck— sorry—“
Ghost’s gloved hand settle on one side of your waist while the other quickly takes the mug from your hands and places it upon the counter. You cant respond, barely processing the situation and everything just feels like too much and your skin feels so hot, you know he’s seeing you fall apart and still there’s nothing you can do—
Your thoughts snap to a blank when he presses the cold rag against your burning skin. Thankfully the layers of the training uniform stops any severe marks from forming. His other hand rubs your cheek, his mask so close it could brush your face, and you can actually see every speck of brown in his irises. You can't look at him for long though, moving your gaze away quickly, not when you know what you’ve done. For the past week or two you’ve hated him, painting the most horrible picture in your mind. It wasnt even on purpose, you’ve just started seeing everything wrong about him. He doesnt give the rookies much mercy, nor does he particularly entertain any of Soap’s antics even when the situation is pretty lax. He’s boring, he seems to care about nothing but himself somedays, he refuses to let you do something stupid and he never takes that damn mask off even when you’re all supposed to trust one another. You’ve lied to him, yes, forgetting about your hatred when he made you laugh with those gruff remarks. But he’s not the only one— no, you’ve began to hate everyone in this task force, picking at them and every little thing. It’s weird, you don't want to victimize yourself, because you know you’ve done just as much wrong too. But still, somedays you really can't look past the list of things you dislike about your own friends.
“Are you alright? I havent seen you all week.”
Of course he hasn't, you’ve been avoiding them all. It’s nearly impossible to think straight these days and you knew you wouldn’t be able to fake it so naturally, you just stayed away. The more you did it, the better it began to feel. Avoiding them was the solution— you were just the thorn in their side with your tricky mood swings and anxiety always painting them to be the villain. You couldnt just allow this to happen, to destroy them with your issues even if they had no idea about it.
But now, face to face with him, all you feel is unexplainable guilt for everything you’ve done to them— how could you even hate them for a second? His hand is still rubbing at your skin, nudging your face gently upwards just so you’d at least look at him for a second. “Really? The silent treatment now?.” He sighs and you hate yourself, how did you let this spiral to this point— to where he’s apologising to you and yet you wish you could just disappear. Isnt this what you wanted? For everyone to be kind to you? So why are you running— why do you refuse care?
Your lips press together as your teeth bite down on the soft flesh, torn from how much you’ve picked at the skin the whole week. It aches with anxiety, and your teeth hurt from how often you’ve clenched them so hard they scraped against eachother. The only thing you can do is stand there as Ghost fusses over you, trying to get you to move a damn muscle instead of falling apart silently like some kind of broken watch, unable to move forward or backwards. Just still.
“Sarge— snap out of it, look, I'm sorry. Okay?”
His hands are still on you, and you’ve begged for a day where someone would care this much about you and still, you step back, almost afraid. “I’m sorry, Ghost.” You croak out, your hands reaching up to your eyes as you wipe at your skin obsessively, trying to hide and stop anything from leaking. “Why’re you apologising?” He says gruffly, confused by all of this, this sudden onslaught of emotion.
He’s not stupid, he had a feeling you weren't quite yourself this week. Stupidly, he figured you’d just deal with it on your own. That's what everyone did, right? He knows he just takes a breather when he feels a little rough— even Price had his own battles. Comfort isn't a strong point for Ghost, not even when he was Simon Riley, never has and he never thinks it will be. He’s born and bred on violence and the coldness that comes after it, the lack of warmth even as hot blood trickles and emptiness consumes the space where his fellow soldiers should be. So watching you crumble right before him, apologising profusely while your body wracks with shaken breaths, makes something stop in him too. He doesn't know how he’ll do it, but he knows damn well no one fights alone anymore.
“Look at me.”
He says firmly, both his hands landing firmly on your shoulders, one hand even tempted to just force your chin up but you shake your head profusely. “Why not?” He stays patient for you, even if he knows he may have to force you soon— its the least he can do for you. “I cant look at you. Not after everything i did.” He pauses, hands now settling on your jaw in confusion, he knows this is moving towards an interrogation but he has to know. “What are you talking about?! What did you do?”
“I hated all of you! I avoided you all and destroyed our relationship, i fucked it all up.”
With that he cant stand to see this continue, a gloved hand firmly planted over your mouth as the other wraps around your back. He leads you to the couch even as you squirm, not caring in the slightest. He knows he has strength and not comfort, so he’ll use it to shut you up whilst the truth comforts you instead.
“Look at me.” He says sternly and you do, eyes snapping up with wide fear as you look at him. “That’s not true— okay? None of us consider our relationship with you ruined, not one of us has even mentioned you in a bad light at all.” He makes sure your whole body is pressed against the back of the couch, considering that you didnt particularly look as if you could hold yourself up right now.
“Soap has only talked to me about you once recently— he told me you helped him organize the training schedules for the rookies. Told me to thank you for it because he felt he did not express his gratitude enough. Do you understand now? No one’s mad at you– not one of us have even considered anything to have gone wrong.”
His hand grabs your own, settling it on the center of his chest so you can feel the pattern of his breathing, silently praying you’d try and match it. You can only blink at him though, slowly processing his words with each passing second until his hand leaves your mouth and your lips part, breath hitched before you swallow a sharp breath. “I’ve avoided all of you– i’ve been hating all of you.” You choke out, chest clenching with regret and the weight of unreasonable guilt and his other hand moves to hold your face again, his brown eyes piercing into yours with his silence.
“What is like to hate someone?”
“What?”?
“What is it like to hate someone?” He repeats, his thumb pressing gently into the curve of your cheek.
“I-...” You falter, thinking for a moment before your lips part again. “I dont like things that they do— the way they act and everything about them.”
“You’d avoid them too, right? Like that general you hated. Remember when he touched you and you pushed his hand away?
You nod along in agreement, breathing a bit slower to hopefully ease the pressure on your chest at the moment.
“Y-yeah.. i’d express my dislike clearly..”
“So why did you never push me away the past few weeks? You said you avoided us, but you would always speak to us if we needed to. You still helped Soap too.”
You pause, blinking at him in confusion now, you had convinced yourself that you hated them so why did you never.. actually express it?
“You’re also letting me touch you now and last week you didn't want to hang out with us, but you didnt want to hurt our feelings by saying that.”
You’re left silent, baffled and confused because in your head, you were being horrible to them, hating their guts like it was nothing.
“I think… whatever is going on in that head of yours.” He says slowly, tapping at your forehead gently as you look up at him with widened eyes. “You’ve held it in for too long. You’ve dwelled on those thoughts, so self aware of your own anxieties that you’ve distorted reality. You think you’ve done something bad, because you can't understand why you always feel so bad.” His voice is softer than usual, even if his words are still gruff and holds his thick Manchester accent.
Somehow that alone reminds you that Simon has never lied, not even once, to you. That stern voice of his is straightforward, doesnt mess around and forces his way through any problem. Just like he had just pushed himself to the root of your mind and destroyed your seeds of doubt.
“You’re allowed to talk to us you know. I have a funny feeling you’re scared o’ somethin’. Not sure what just yet.”
He doesnt force you to respond, just speaking his thoughts even if that’s what you usually do when you’re together. The couch creaks as he stand up, pulling you to get up aswell beside him. He places a hand on the crook of your back, gently encouraging you to begin walking towards the door. “Cmon, back to my room. Lets get you cleaned up properly.”
Before you know it, you’re sitting against the headboard of his bed, something you had only felt months ago when you first came here, scared and confused over a stupid hornet. You trusted him to help you then, but you dont understand why you suddenly felt that fear again. Meanwhile, your shirt is half off, Ghost sat on the bed beside you as he inspects the burns on your chest from the tea. It’s harsh, the skin reddened but not enough to be something serious thankfully. He presses a cool towel against it, soothing the stinging skin but he knows it’ll fade out soon enough. You’re wearing his old shirt, and he gave you some comfortable sweatpants too for good measure. You just watch all his moves so quietly, feeling like a ghost yourself in this moment from how detached you are. It’s weird, feeling so much yet nothing at the same time.
“Nothing too bad, should be alright by the morning.” He hums, lifting the fresh mug of tea he brewed for you and brings it to your lips for you to sip before he steals some for himself. “Is your chest still tight?” You blink, not expecting him to ask that of all things because you hadnt exactly mentioned that part and yes, it was. “How did you know..?” Your hand reaches out, silently asking for more of the tea he graciously lets you sip, unable to fathom how he brews it so perfectly each time. “You were clutching at your chest before and your breaths are a little shorter than they should be.” He’s seen straight through you again so you slump your shoulders and just nod quietly. “Yeah, it’s really tight. It’s always like this and i dont know how to make it stop.”
His gloved hand reaches out, gently rubbing at your chest thus making you sink a little back into the pillows. Before he can respond, you speak up with a quiet confession. “That day, when you came ‘round, I was upset. You said you wanted to watch the series with me and I felt so bad. I didn't want to give up my only chance of spending time with you, but I knew my head couldn't take it.”
He nods along quietly, letting you reveal it all to him. “T-then you figured me all out and i got scared— i didnt want someone to know everything about me because i didnt want to be a problem. I want someone to listen but i dont want to be seen as something different. I just.. i dont know how to handle all of this. I dont feel like the person i am when i look in the mirror.”
The strangest thing of all is that it didnt actually take you long to figure it out. You knew all along, of course, but when you’re fighting against yourself, you’re supporting both sides and so a part of you decided not to dwell on a certain bit of information too much. The reason for that to be pushed aside is no part of you wanted to face it.
Your heart always secretly wished someone would find out— that someone would push past the walls you’ve banged so hard against even if they were crafted by the webs of your brain. You prayed and prayed that they’d read through it all, express their concern and one day, one day you’d be saved from this hellish feeling. It was a common daydream for you and yet you were terrified of it. If someone knew, there was no guarantee they’d follow the fantasy. They could ridicule you, or they couldnt be able to comfort you at all, maybe they’d try and it wouldnt even do anything or maybe, just maybe— they wouldnt give a damn about it. What happened then? If that daydream was real, and that was the final outcome, there was no turning back in time. It seemed like only one person would ever figure you out, after all, no one had up until this point.
But then Simon became aware, and you got terrified. You hid away because you were too scared to know his reaction to your problems, even more so his reaction to you. You wanted someone to help, you really did, and yet your brain feared to know the uncertain future of it.
His ungloved hands card through your hair, the callouses gentle against your scalp as he slowly scratches at it. “You need to speak with us, and the others. Your feelings are real— hell, we all have our doubts. I used to feel it before every mission. Soap began to tell me his, then Gaz joined too. Price always looks for a way to solve it, and i give my two pence when i feel i want to. Just cause you feel different, doesnt mean you are. Plenty o’ people felt the same way you did before.”
“Really..? I’m not like.. crazy?”
“No, never. Even if you do some stupid shit sometimes.”
That makes you finally crack a real smile, even if its small and you’re unable to stifle the small chuckle that bubbles in your throat and although he’s the epitome of stoicism, he smiles beneath the mask. “Everyone’s out on a mission, ya can't leave me alone tonight. C’mere.”
You settle yourself in the crook of arm as he lays back against the bed with you, propping up his laptop on his lap as he searches for a good movie.
“You better report back to me everyday this week, alright? I want you here at nine pm sharp, dressed in your pajamas. That’s an order.”
Thinking over all your previous daydreams of how this would eventually go, this was far from how you expected it to be. Firstly, you never expected Ghost, nor it to happen in the military at all. Perhaps you thought maybe later in life it’d occur or maybe Soap or Price would figure it out. Either way, you arent actually upset over it. No one would be your fairy tale saviour in life, coming forward to fight the demons that plagued your head all the time. Even so, the way Ghost had shut you up and calmed you down makes you think he’s pretty damn close to being one, even if knights usually dont scoff at their princess.
He doesnt even look like he’d be willing to give a little kid a hug, but still, you couldnt be happier with how this turned out in the end. Compared to fairytale princes and men in the movies, you knew Ghost and you knew he was serious— so if he wanted to help you, he would. And no, he wouldnt ridicule you throughout the process, nor ever feel like you’ve been misheard. You know that if you spoke to Ghost, he’d listen earnesty and never forget, carrying that around with him even if those anxieties eventually died out.
You knew he’d always linger around, never forgetting you or leaving you behind. Just like a Ghost.
“Okay, i promise i will.”
You say softly, pressing your cheek against the curve of his chest, the faint thump of his heartbeat drowning out any lost thoughts. He was your support, and no matter how bad it got for you, no matter how many times you get overwhelmed and lash out, not even when you avoid everyone— he’d never break away. No, he would always be beside you.
WC: 7.6k Tags: fluff, marriage of convenience, leon kennedy/ reader
Summary: Leon can barely hold himself upright most days and you've finally decided to ditch the DSO life in pursuit of happiness. However, that'd mean leaving all those beautiful tax benefits and medical insurance behind. Turns out Leon and Chris are pretty persuasive, landing you as Leon's 'wife' but you cant help but start to feel something more, unaware that Leon's already set his eyes on you for life.
It’d been a long day at work, the usual really— Chris had roped him into dealing with another bioweapon appearance, thus leading him to take a helicopter to some trashy place, locating the bioweapon, and promptly knocking its freaky nature out of action. Now he lugged his weary feet home to the apartment you shared, his stomach craving a taste of something only your skilled hands would prepare for him. After a short elevator trip that thankfully alleviated the ache of his feet for a moment, he reached the front door and, with a quick fumble with the keys he had inserted the right one inside, opening the door.
“I’m home.” He calls out, his raspy voice filling the silent yet serene space before him. He somehow grew used to this; the sight of two sets of keys on the hook, the vast difference in style as he places his shoes on the rack, and the two coats on the bannister, one far smaller than the other. “Smells good..” He mumbles beneath his breath, making his way towards the kitchen where you stand, back facing him as you work your hands through a ball of minced meat.
“Welcome home.” You turn to meet his hungry gaze with your typical warm smile, heart warming at the exhausted look on his face and even more so that he’d soon find relief in the food you had made.
“You’re lucky, we had just enough mince meat in the freezer for your favourite beef burgers.” That was a lie. You had woken up early this morning and decided he had looked far too tired recently, and it’d been far too long since he’d had his favourite meal. So, as any good wife does, you wanted to make him feel better and took to the nearest supermarket, picking up all the ingredients you needed and some for a tasty dessert too. He always denied that he enjoyed sweet treats, but he would always be the first to finish them, whether it was a sweet chocolate mousse or a tasty doughnut you picked up on the way home.
He chuckles, his hand disappearing into his work jacket as he slips off the leather and lays it on the back of a wooden chair. It then migrates to his collar, tugging on it to alleviate the heat through his body, which is proven by the thin layer of sweat covering his limbs.
“Oh? Thanks, I was sure you finished it last week when you gave Kitty a gourmet meal for once.”
This home wouldn’t be complete without its resident cat, a Siamese fur ball that Leon graciously named ‘Kitty’ though he has no doubt referred to it with a million different names anyway.
“I guess I must've missed a bit. I really treated her for nothing.” While he was smirking, your mind was far from the lightheartedness of this conversation, currently panicking over his words. He had seriously caught you out there; of course you finished the mince, last week but was he actually accusing you of lying or worse—did he know? As you let out an awkward chuckle, he speaks up again, undoing his belt with one hand as his other grabs a glass from the shelf to fill with water. “I’m not complaining though; they really are my favourites for a reason.” He drinks down the glass of water in one swig, letting out a satisfied breath before rolling his shoulders back. “I’m gonna take a quick shower—I don't want to drown your nose with my sweat.” He chuckles again, finally leaving you alone in the kitchen again as he takes his path up the stairs to your shared bedroom.
To say your relationship with him was complicated was a massive understatement; it was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, feelings that felt illicit, and signals that were impossible to decipher. Well, for you it felt like this—you’re not so sure about him. In fact, for someone who sleeps beside him nearly everyday, cooks him meals, eats dinner with him, and even drops off his lunch, you barely knew anything about the man.
This all began when you decided to quit the DSO, finally having enough money to move to a more peaceful job with flexible hours and still end up supporting yourself. You had only worked in communications at the DSO, but that was still a pain in itself. Before you left, they had an informal work dinner. A bunch of agents and other workers came along to a diner for some food before heading to mess around at a karaoke place before the weekend hit. With so many people around, it grew far too hot too quickly, and you soon wandered the halls seeking a breath of fresh air before you heard your name called by an agent. The voice belonged to Chris Redfield–your superior—who was beckoning you to come over, cigarette in hand, to where he stood with Leon right beside him. They were both your superiors in the work field but were perceived as far more important due to the missions they accomplished and lives they saved.
“Yes..?”
You were more confused than scared or anything of the like—why did they even want to talk to you? It’s not like you often saw them. Even so, you walked over to them, trying to reduce the awkwardness when you slipped your hands into the pockets of your jacket, tilting your head slightly.
“You’re gonna leave soon, right?” Leon asks, taking a swig of the golden whisky in his glass whilst Chris blows another puff of smoke off to the side.
“Yeah, I wanted to move onto a different job, a quieter one that isn't so taxing.” You shrug, having only thought out a bit of it so far.
Chris and Leon shared a glance at each other before Leon spoke once more, rolling back his shoulders a little. “You see, I have a bit of a predicament, and Chris thought you could help.”
Before you know it, he’s explaining how busy his work is and that he barely gets home in time for a sip of water before he knocks out, and you’re not really sure how this is your problem until Chris butts in.
“So basically, he needs a wife. You, on the other hand, won't have any of the perks of the DSO since you’re leaving, which includes medical insurance, tax benefits..” He trailed off as you started to ponder it, you really would lose a lot of the things you had grown to exist around. It would be very difficult to manage, and you can't say you’d miss a lot of those perks greatly. The two men give each other a glance as you speak up, nodding along. “You’re right, I will miss out a lot, but I really don't want to stay here longer..” Before Leon can even try and slide it in, Chris has already blurted it out.
“Well, you won't lose anything if you marry him.”
So, after a bunch of awkward talks and surviving interrogations from your coworkers, you ended up with a small wedding, which was mainly done to please your own parents rather than yourselves. Now you’re here, almost a year into this non formal contractual marriage, and your feelings are muddled. Very muddled. It’s hard to not catch feelings when you’re somewhat of a hopeless romantic yourself, or maybe the teenage girl mentality came back full force now you have a lot more free time. You owed him a fair amount to be fair—he didn’t realise how stress-free your life was these days. Wake up, eat a healthy breakfast, maybe watch some television too, head down to the small little bakery you own and teach the part time teenager there before wrapping up at four o'clock and heading home again. Your skin had cleared up, you were actually able to sleep in on the weekends and actually do whatever you want— pick up new hobbies, eat proper meals, and read books to your heart's content.
What you’ve concluded is that your life has drastically improved and you are more relaxed than you’ve ever been. The problem with that is that with the new addition of all this free time and air to breathe in, you’re able to actually think about the man you’ve married. In simpler terms that you tried to deny for a year now, you’ve caught feelings—a lot of feelings for him. That’s why you’re currently stuck in a conundrum; you’re technically allowed to pursue said feelings, as you’re married and no longer ‘colleagues’ needing to act professionally, but does he want the same?
The pan starts to sizzle, snapping you out of your daydreaming as you place the flattened patty into the oil, lightly frying each side. Being his wife meant looking after him as much as he did to you, so cooking was often your chore to handle. Even though you were more than happy to do most of the chores, he’d still help with the dishes after dinner and often cooked when he could—when he was exhausted from another mission. Plus, he did his own laundry. He would’ve done yours too, though after the first time he tried, your cheeks had flushed immediately when he handed you a pile of your freshly washed underwear and t-shirts, and you quickly told him you’d do your own.
The staircase groans as he steps down the stairs, his movements a lot slower now that he had let the tension ease from his muscles in the shower. So far, you’ve managed to cook four patties, which was more than enough to satisfy his stomach and yours. But you had an extra two for his lunch tomorrow and because he tended to have a third burger “just because it’d be a shame to let it go to waste.” That’s when you hear him curse softly under his breath, turning back to glance at him in confusion. “What’s wrong?” His hair is damp, still dripping with water onto the white tee he wears. It’s loose and the one you bought him last month when you went on a shopping spree. You try to ignore the way your eyes naturally drift towards his chest; a small sliver of his pale skin peeks out where his hand disappears under his shirt, rubbing his abdomen in a strange way. “Did you get hurt?” You continue, turning down the heat on the hob so you can turn to face him better.
“Oh? This?”
He lifts the shirt a little, revealing the bruise on his right side of his stomach, and also gives you a perfect view of his toned abs. Damn. “It’s not as bad as it looks..” He mumbles, but his eyebrows are still knitted in a frowning gesture. “I’m annoyed because I missed an opportunity..”
That makes you blink, wondering what he could’ve missed in the time he went for his shower and came back here. Did he get a phone call? Or perhaps something happened this week you hadn't picked up on?
“An opportunity?”
“Yeah. I completely missed the chance to ask you, ‘What's cookin, Good Lookin?’. Damnit..”
Did the corniest line to ever exist really just make your chest tighten for a second?
You can’t deny the fact that the line itself had made your lips part as you stood there dumbfounded. Leon had a history with corny one-liners; in fact, whenever his colleagues happened to see you, they’d always mention whatever stupid thing he said during a mission. He’d say it to you occasionally too, usually random puns that he’d quietly snicker about, but he’d never quite openly flirt with you like that. Was it supposed to be a joke? Was it real? You couldn't tell, and so you quickly turned back around before your patties ended up burnt.
“O-of course only you would worry more about that than your own injuries.” His snickering is obvious behind you as you place the cooked patties onto a small plate. “Stop pestering me and go sit down at the table.” You feign annoyance, grumbling as you hide the furious flush of pink upon your cheeks. Unfortunately for you, he didn’t intend to give up that easily, walking up behind you and peering over your shoulder with his hands planted on the counter on either side of your waist.
“That was a good one, c’mon.” He argues, the most exaggerated pout on his face quickly disappearing when he watches the burgers sizzle in the pan. He loves your food so damn much.
“That was not a good one, shoo.”
Thankfully, he ends up leaving you alone in favour of Kitty, who had just woken up from her nap— eager to play with him even if it just means chasing after a wrapper he had thrown across the room. You place down two plates at the table, as per usual, along with a plate full of salad, a bowl of fresh chips you fried, and the small plate of patties— six to be exact. Then, you place down the two fancy glasses you bought last week and grab your usual favourite canned drink while grabbing a Coke Zero for him. Finally, you place Kitty’s dinner on the floor which she runs over for, immediately gobbling up the food. “She’s just like you.” You giggle, watching as she hungrily wolfs down the food, thus making him groan in return. “I do not eat like that.”
Dinner is the same. You’ll ask about his day in which he usually retorts in grunts and moans about the government, incompetent workers, and that woman.. Ada. Just the mention of her name used to make him go quiet back when you worked at the DSO, and even in the first few months of your “marriage”, he would shrug off the subject quickly. Now he talks about it here and there, mentioning how she suddenly appears and always seems to know his location. For some reason, it puts a sick feeling in your stomach, like someone is dragging their nails across the flesh of your insides.
“Ada.. was there. Ever since I saved the president’s daughter, it’s like she’s followed me everywhere. She helps me.. but then she claims to not care..?”
His words stopped registering in your mind after a while as your teeth grit against each other and you absentmindedly dipped your chip into ketchup over and over again. You can’t believe he could be so naive. She had played him once in Raccoon City, faking her identity and using him to her advantage. The same played out in Spain even if she ‘saved’ him. You didn't care about her damn motives; she worked for the enemy, and it irked you—she just used whatever she could to gain her benefit, and it seemed like no one could stop her.
“Earth to my beautiful wife, hello?” He waved his hand in front of your furrowed eyebrows and the obvious scowl upon your face. “You look like you just ate something you find disgusting. I thought you liked this too.”
You immediately realise you had zoned out, your face shifting to something sheepish before you finally stick the ketchup-soaked chip into your mouth. You didn't even get a chance to process what he just called you.
“No, it’s not the food; I was just thinking. Sorry, it’s nothing.”
That only serves to make him all the more curious, though he doesn't push it, instead continuing his story. “Where was I? Oh, right, then Ada shot—” He cuts himself off as your eyes immediately narrow, and you lower your head, picking with your food again subconsciously. It doesn’t take much to piece the clues together, his lips twitching upwards as a smile threatens to spread. Though he wants to test his suspicions one more time.
“Wanna hear something crazy? Ada tried to kiss me again.”
“What?!” You immediately sit up straight, the scowl returning just as fast and teeth grit, but it quickly softens when you see the smirk on his face.
“I knew it. You hate her, don’t you?” Leon always saw right through you, thankfully not with your growing feelings yet, and it made it all the harder to keep his marriage… Well, just as a contract.
“Fine, maybe I don’t like her. So what? She’s not exactly the most moral person.” You say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as you take a bite out of your burger and chew it down. “She helps Umbrella, can you really blame me?” That only makes his lips twitch again, and he leans his elbows on the table, eyes trained on every feature of your face.
“Are you jealous of her?” That almost makes you choke on the burger, and you have to take a large gulp of your drink to swallow down the rest of the food, your face immediately pinkening. It can’t be possible—there’s no way you’re jealous of that cunning, manipulative, hot, extremely hot woman. How did she even look that good?
“Ha— she should be jealous of me.” You scoff boldly, finishing the last of your burger soon after.
“Oh, and why’s that? Because you’re the one wedded to me?
A moment earlier, your heart would’ve described his face as a perfectly carved sculpture, the ones that people bid thousands to place in their homes because not showing off such a perfect creation would be a crime. Right now, he wore a sly grin with his eyebrows raised as he eyed you suggestively.
And that look was very punchable.
“Because I'm living the dream. I’ve got a bakery, a ton of free time, and I guess you’re there too, I suppose.”
With a roll of your eyes, you dismiss his words quickly, even though the faintest blush on your cheeks betrays your true thoughts. What if you said yes? What happens then?
“I should’ve known you wouldn’t give me that satisfaction.” He feigns a pout before his grin returns as he takes a massive bite into his second burger of the night. Of course, he just has to make an exaggerated moan, one elbow leaning on the table as the other covers his face dramatically.
“This is heavenly, you know? One day I swear I'll start dreaming about these burgers.”
There he goes again, babbling on about Lord knows what and his corny lines again. You can't help but flash a small cheeky smile, winking as you pour yourself a glass of water from the pitcher.
“Another reason for her to be jealous of me.”
Once the dinner has been packed away by his speedy hands, he’s returned to make the couch his home again, stretching his whole body against the length of it like a cat would. You’re placing the dishes into your dishwasher before inserting a tablet and putting it on for three hours. As you walk over to wipe down the table, you notice his eyes have fluttered close as he groans and gets comfortable on the cushions. You can't say you didn't feel a tinge of affection—well, much more than that, like a heap almost—every time he crashed out like this, completely exhausted from a mission. “Weekend tomorrow..” You remind him with a gentle hum, swiftly removing any stray stains off the table. “Don’t you want to have a good sleep, y'know, in bed?”
He lets out a muffled grumble in response, burying his face into the cushions before he reluctantly sits up, making you smile a little more—you’d scold him regularly about lying down after eating. “What movie d’ya wanna watch?” He says even if he would usually wander his way to the bedroom after you said that. It’s been at least a month since you had been together like this to watch a movie. A lot had changed in that month, specifically your growing feelings for him. Perhaps distance really does bring fondness, you think.
“I don’t mind; you like action, no?” You finish wiping down the dirt from dinner to glance over whatever he’s doing on the television, only to find him flicking through your favourite genre of movies. Shoving down the warmth on your cheeks is near impossible as you speed walk back to the kitchen. Were these signs? Were you reading too much into it? Your teeth graze against each other nervously as you look up to see him waiting expectantly on the couch for you to join him. What the hell is happening right now? He had always gone to bed immediately or scrolled through his phone for a while— so what’s with the sudden change?
Moments later you’re sitting beside him on the couch, knees tucked to your chest as he presses play on the movie he picked—the one you had mentioned you wanted to watch when it first got announced that it was in production. Despite your excitement, you could hardly concentrate on the movie when he was practically centimetres from you. He was leaning back against the cushions, one arm resting around the back of the couch where you sat and the other comfortably against the armrest. If you had just moved your head back slightly, you would brush against his arm. If you did that, would he wrap it around your shoulders? Just the thought makes you shudder a little, your chin moving forward to sit comfortably on your knees. It was like you were a teenage girl again, sitting in the movies with your crush while you wondered if he thought of you as a friend or something more. You couldn't even believe you were acting like this—hell the two of you were married legally, not to mention you were both grown adults! Who cares if he had just stretched out his arms, his shirt riding up, and you could see the scars on his stomach? Your breath hitching when he had shuffled up to you was completely unnecessary; the warmth radiating off of him was irrelevant, no matter if the characters were kissing on the screen right now. You practically jump when he pokes your shoulder with his hand, your head snapping to him instantly, and you can barely even form a noise when you see how close his face is to yours. His eyes had to be one of your favourite things about him, or was it the messy mop of dirty blond hair on his head? It could even be the sharpness of his jawline, the lines of wear beneath his eyes, how perfectly his nose seemed to be carved, or perhaps, crazily enough, the way his voice rang out in your ears in the mornings.
“Do we have any dessert? I’m craving something sweet.”
Every step back into the kitchen is like torture from how hot your cheeks are, the cold fridge air doing nothing to soothe the embarrassment as you grab the microwave puddings you had bought today. You can't believe you had been so flustered by the proximity that all that had escaped you was a strangled noise before you just hurriedly nodded and escaped to the kitchen. Those five seconds between the poke and his words felt like a millennia— an incredibly romantically tense millennia— where for those whole five seconds, you stupidly thought he’d kiss you right then and there. You fan yourself as if that’ll soothe the metaphoric rush of warmth in your face right now, incredibly embarrassed by your own thoughts and desires. When you sit back down again, you quickly hand him the hot pudding and sit further away from him this time. If you even felt that again, you felt like you’d simply explode altogether.
Unbeknownst to you, he was now wondering if you were annoyed that he had interrupted, and he frowned as he glanced down at the plate with just a singular spoon. Weren’t you going to eat too? Not to mention, you were all stiff and sitting further from him than before—now you’re really twisting the knife in his heart. First he had agitated you by teasing you about Ada, then he laid on the couch right after dinner like you always told him not to do, and now you even refused to eat dessert! Maybe he isn't putting enough effort into all of this as he originally thought. After all, you did a lot to run a bakery in town and still cook, clean, and look after his cat. So, he decides to take a shot and scoops up a particularly chocolatey part of the pudding, the part he always eats first, and holds the spoon up to your lips.
“I know you’re mad, but you can't deny this.” He plasters his typical boyish grin, nudging your lips with the metal of the spoon. But he’s caught off guard when you pull back in surprise, waving your hands around frantically in denial. “H-huh? I ate a lot of sweet things today already—”
“Shut up. Don’t you dare even say you’re on a diet either; you’re perfect already.”
He pushes the spoon against your lips which you accidentally part in surprise at his words, the warm chocolate filling your mouth immediately like an instant boost of serotonin.
“See, it's good, told ya.” He says smugly as you swallow down the tasty pudding and sauce. That’s only for a moment before he notices the smudge of chocolate around your lips from his struggle, casually wiping away the crumbs with his thumb before licking it.
He had just wiped the crumbs.
He wiped it from your lips.
He wiped it and then licked it off his hand.
He didn't even think twice.
“I-its not bad-” That was all you could mutter out before he committed the crime, and now you were left dumbstruck as you watched him casually lick his thumb and then take another spoon of the dessert—the same spoon you just ate from. He leans back against the couch again, about to shove another in your mouth once he gets comfortable enough, though he quickly realises that you still haven’t spoken since. “You can’t still be mad; I’ll shove another one in your mouth, you know—” At that, you know you’re sure to blurt out the truth, and you scramble up, about to make an excuse about needing a glass of water, before your wrist is caught in his hand, and you’re promptly pulled back against the couch again.
“Hm? Where are you going, pink cheeks?”
He says it teasingly, instantly making you flush all the more. You couldn’t understand how anyone could even be so casual about these things, not that you had little experience in the area, but seriously— he had literally just licked the chocolate on your face. That was an indirect kiss!
“Do you do this with all your friends?” The frown on your face is suddenly a little harsher, accusing, and suddenly there's a hint of betrayal. That only serves to confuse him more, you’ve been acting off for a while now, had he cheated in his sleep or something? “What? You’re not my friend, though? That's not comparable.”
He doesn't even see you as a friend? You can't help the way your heart drops in a way you’ve never felt before in your life; it almost hurts the way he can just so easily dismiss you after all the time you’ve spent together—contractual or not. “I- I see how it is..”
“See how what is? You’re not making much sense.” His eyes narrow as you suddenly turn your head away from him, arms crossing firmly on your chest, but what doesn’t escape him is the sudden daze in your eyes. Gently, his hand grabs your chin, squashing your cheeks as he forces you to face him, and his mind instantly clicks all the pieces together.
“.. (Name).” He says firmly, making you let out a small hum in acknowledgement, unaware of the way your eyes are suddenly a lot wetter than they had been before.
“What did you drink earlier?”
“What? All I drank was water, mostly.”
“What about when I told you about Ada, was that water?” Your eyebrows furrow as you hear him repeat her name again, immediately growing more frustrated. “What about her now?”
He lets out a heavy sigh, wrapping a firm arm around your shoulders before he forces you to settle against the couch against him. “You drank some of my drink, didn't you? You were way too annoyed to even notice the whiskey I mixed in.”
The thought immediately clicks into your head; everything is suddenly a lot clearer now, even though you still weren't quite sober yet. Plus, you were pretty much a lightweight when it came to his strong stuff. It perfectly explained the warmth spreading through your chest, the uncoordinated actions, and the way nothing seemed to follow the way your head wanted it to. “S-still, you said I’m not even your friend.” Gently, his thumb rubs the tears that have formed in your eyes and tucks you close into him with his arm snugly around you. Just in case you decide to face plant off the couch as you seemed to want to do before. “You’re not my friend; you’re my wife. Who else would I treat like that?”
“I’m not your real wife though.” You slowly look up at him, turning your head, so your glossy eyes can stare up into his, searching for the right answer— the truth.
“Those papers seem pretty real to me. The way I feel is also pretty real to me.”
He grins at you like he hadn't doubted that fact for a second, and he hadn't, not since you both had signed and received the certificate, one he sometimes sneaks a small fond peek at whilst you’re sleeping. Not that he’d tell you, at least not yet.
“But— I’m not your wife; that’s my title, but I don't act like that.”
“So? I still love you as anyone would with their wife; do you really think I wouldn't fall for you? You’re even more perfect than I imagined.”
You’re momentarily stunned into silence, not quite expecting that but still not believing it quickly, your tipsy mind making you say things that you never would before.
“That's because I do everything for you— not that I mind b-but, I just act like a good partner. You don't feel romantically for me.” You huff, your teeth gritting together as you pettily narrow your eyes at him. What you hadn't considered is that he’d tuck your hair behind your ears, carefully pull you into his lap, and take one of your hands in his. He fondles your hand beneath his, his thumb rubbing gently over the skin before he brings it up to rest on his cheek, smiling fondly at you.
“I’ve been busy, I know. It’s quite hard having an agent as a partner, no? I already regret all the love I've lacked to give you.” This time, you’re positive that your cheeks are reacting to him, breath hiccuping when he turns his face in your grasp. His lips press a kiss to the palm of your hand before intertwining that hand with his and holding it against his heart.
“You just had to go get tipsy, didn't you?” The warmth of his hand on yours as he squeezes it gently is like a drug, one that squeezes your heart at the same rhythm whilst his teasing voice dances in the air around the two of you.
“Not my fault you always have to have a glass with dinner..” You grumble, not happy with how fast he had proven you wrong even if he had just confessed to his deepest feelings. He finds it quite endearing how stubborn a little bit of alcohol can make you. ”Alright, we can blame me for this one. How about you finish this pudding with me, and we can get you settled in bed, how does that sound?”
Before you know it, he’s wiping chocolate stains from your lips again as you sniffle in his lap, mumbling some nonsense about your so-called lack of lovelife while the movie plays in the background. He enjoys all your little comments about the movie, even when you subconsciously glance back at him when the couple starring do something romantic. Taking you up to bed is easy enough considering you’re only just bordering tipsy at the moment and you hardly weigh anything compared to the things he usually deals with. Your head just lolls lazily as he helps you upstairs, your eyes slowly blinking up at him when he sits you on the edge of the bed. “What pajamas do you want, pretty girl? How about your favourite?” The water he helped you drink before had sobered you up a little so you’re starting to feel better already. However, your mind is still a little hazy so you just nod along, not minding if this is the first time he undresses you.
Making sure to be gentle with you, he strips you down to your underwear before helping you pull on your warm sweatshirt and plaid pants. His lips twitched upwards when your own fingers tried to beat him with dressing yourself, finding it adorable how you still insisted on doing everything yourself. He could just put you to bed, but after watching for countless nights how you slave away at your skincare routine and keeping your teeth brushed well— he’d feel awful if he broke that. Before you know it, you’re sitting on the sink as he gently holds your jaw, his other hand using the electric toothbrush to clean your teeth. You’re a little uncooperative, swerving your head away at first until you just settle into a sleepy calm and he handles you with no problems. In no time he has you back on his lap, sitting at your small vanity as he carefully attempts to remember the order of your night time routine. What even is this? He thinks as he picks up a suspicious looking serum, labelled as snail mucin and gives it an experimental sniff. He thought it’d smell worse to be fair.
“No, you have to put the toner first and then the serum.” You mumble at him, gently tugging at his hands with your fingers and before he knows it, you have a toner pad all up in his face, wiping over his nose and cheeks before you cover the rest of his face.
“Hey- i’m meant to be doing your skincare. I don't need this stuff.”
He almost feels a pang of hurt in his chest as you raise an eyebrow at him, as if accusing him of having bad skin. With a huff, he removes the toner pad from your hands and throws it in the bin before gently pulling at your cheeks. “I have great skin, thank you. Dont give me that look.”
You immediately frown and attempt to puff your cheeks, causing him to have mercy and let go before he grabs a new toner pad and repeats your actions to yourself.
When you come back to your senses, your head is smushed against a pillow whilst he changes by the closet behind you. Your thoughts don't feel as hazy as they used to be, and you’re even starting to contemplate everything that happened earlier. Did he really mean what he meant? Did he actually like you.. romantically? You physically cringe at your own thoughts and hide your face behind your hands, groaning just quiet enough that he doesn't quite hear it. Sleeping next to him had always felt odd to you, but you always slept at different times so it never really felt romantic in any sort of way. You liked to stay up late and he liked to get a decent rest before the next morning. It was only recently that you started glancing at his sleeping face beside you, admiring the peace in his expression when he lost himself to his dreams and no other worries. Otherwise, it just felt like a roommate, nothing more nothing less.
But now his trousers were falling to the floor behind you, and you were laying in bed not quite falling asleep nor attempting to stay up. Suddenly, he wanted to sleep with you, not only beside you. It suddenly felt all too real that you two were actually married, actually partners and actually slept beside each other each night. What next, were the notes you left in his lunch romantic too? In truth, you were slightly freaking out but that might’ve been the alcohol making things a hundred times worse than they should’ve been, especially since you had started crying unannounced earlier. That’ll play in the back of your mind forever but for now you’re focused on his soft footsteps as he approaches the bed, dressed in a much looser shirt and pants. He always slept like this but this time he looks down at you, one finger gently poking your cheek as he sits on the other end of the bed.
“I actually prefer to sleep with my shirt off. But we always fell asleep at different times so I never got to ask your permission.”
He hums quietly, the finger now gently rubbing along the soft curve of your cheek instead.
“You can.. I don't mind.” You say quietly, eyes trailing over his form as he settles himself against the headboard right beside you. Touching you.
“Are you sure your cheeks won't get too red?”
He teases, hand moving towards the top of your head to gently card his fingers through your locks. You push yourself up to a sitting position, letting out a soft yawn as you do so before you blink at him hazily again. This time, you press forward and place your hand on his abdomen, absentmindedly rubbing your finger there back and forth. “I want to see your injuries.”
Not even he can stop the way his face softens at that and he tucks you into his side again, his other hand pulling the shirt up and over his head to discard onto the carpet beneath the bed. This view is only for you: his paled skin, the fresh scars, the old scars, fading bruises and fresh bruises, stitches that fall out and others that are pulled tight but most of all, his body. All for your eyes only, only for you. Your hand runs gently over the outline of his newest bruise, a deep purple that covers the entire expanse of his hip. It’s blooming into something worse and you’re sure it’ll hurt more tomorrow, not that he’d ever complain about that anyway. “You always come home with injuries, and you just play them off. Don't they hurt? Don't you want me to care for you?”
You say quietly, voice even softer now that you’ve sobered up, and he just lets out a breath, his face turning to watch the way your brows furrow and your lips press together. To have someone fuss over him like this is something he never thought about much, but it didn't mean he hadn’t craved the idea before. Yours was genuine worry, and you always held that genuine care for him. But it felt different now, more natural, more intimate. Like he was the only one you would worry about like this— he loved that feeling.
“I don't ever want you to worry about a thing, even if I do like the way your eyebrows crease when you do.” He chuckles softly, leaning down to press his lips affectionately against your hair before sitting back up properly again. “I suppose if you really want to.. I couldn't deny I'd be flattered to have you care for me.” The curve of your lips is what makes him smile as well, finding it all too endearing how easily a grin can form on your face.
“You’re such a flirt..” You mutter, trying to play it off and wiggle out of his hold on you, only serving for him to raise an amusing brow at you. “I’m only making up for what I can’t do to a tipsy girl.”
“I’m not tipsy..” You argue, sitting up a little straighter which makes his arm gently rest on your lower back instead.
“Oh? Really now? Let me test you then, since I used to be a policeman.”
“Fine, give me what you’ve got.”
“Sing the alphabet backwards if you’re sober.”
You instantly splutter, shaking your head quickly.
“Hey! Not even a normal person can do that. I knew you didn't actually like me.” He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes up at your grumbling, squashing your cheeks to make you shush.
“Is it really a crime that I don't want you to forget our first kiss because of some stupid whiskey?”
“Your stupid whiskey.” He finally rolls his eyes at your retort, gently pushing you back into bed and pulling the covers up and over you. “Alright fine, my stupid whiskey. Now, be honest with me, are you sober?”
The little frown on your face has disappeared with the hope his question brings, and you nod quietly, wide eyes looking into his.
“Are you very sure?” You were definitely sober now, his voice immediately lowering to a rasp as his hands travel up to cup the soft curves of your cheeks as they begin to turn pink. Just like that, he’s the man you’ve fallen for all over again, soft strands of fair hair framing his chiselled face as if they’re perfectly placed to put you under his spell. His index tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, gently rubbing the skin of your cheek with his calloused thumbs. His skin is so rough and yet you can't help but feel he is so soft at this moment; his eyes are like gentle waves, looking at you so fondly that you finally remember to reply.
“I-i'm sure.”
He doesn't hesitate, leaning in closer until his nose just touches the tip of yours, eyes locked onto every small movement you can even think about doing. “Can I?” The nod you give is the green light he’s always dreamed of; this day is all he has ever thought about since you joined his life. You let your eyes flutter closed, feel the warmth of his breath that tickles your skin as he draws closer and closer until his lips meet yours so gently. You have to physically stop yourself from giggling, probably the alcohol still trying to make a fool of you, but you just can't believe he’s the one wrapping you in his touch. Likewise, you wrap your arms around his neck, and he lets out a small gasp when you suddenly gain the strength to meet him upright, almost as if you’re threatening to pin him instead. Of course, he couldn't just let that slide easily. So, as anyone would, he pushes you back down into the mound of pillows, causing you to squeal as he leaves his touch all over your face, fleeting kisses painting your skin a rosy red. “You better not forget this in the morning.” He scoffs playfully as your eyes squeeze shut, giggles that spill out your mouth while he gives the affection he’s craved to gift to someone for years.
His job is hard, his life has been hard, and even this marriage initially felt the same. It wasn't so much the fact that he had essentially tied himself down to someone he barely knew, it was the realisation that he would never find his one person. That's why he did this after all, it seemed like it’d benefit the both of you and the day where he’d actually have a woman by his side slipped away with each mission. You, you were different though. You may have been an agent before, but outside of work you were the sweetest thing. Always subconsciously fussing over him, delaying sleep to prepare his lunch no matter how much he insisted you didn't need to, taking a personal duty to look after his cat, and still not being afraid to ask him when he seemed low or uncomfortable. You were everything he never had, even the annoying nagging of trying to get him to not lay on the couch after he ate or the fact that's his third whiskey yet.
Corny lines, the occasional flirty remark, dragging you to watch a movie— he wanted to do all of that before so you’d become actually his, actually the one he could say he loves and loves him back. But things got in the way, life got in the way, and he was starting to see his opportunities dissolve with each tired return from the mission. Despite his grumpy attitudes some days, his exhausted look as he collapsed into bed at eight, you still managed to fuss over him all the same— never once did you treat him differently, if not for the fact you’d cook him a slightly nicer meal after missions.
He was still busy, yes of course, but somehow he had managed to win you over. Maybe it was his silly jokes, though he’d seen you stare at his hair many times before so maybe that caught your eye. In any case, he’s happy to give any part of him to you, if not all of him. So when he’s pressed the last kiss on your nose and pulls the covers high over you, he tucks you into his chest, a final kiss to your temple as he looks down at your angelic expression. The way your smile curves at literally nothing but his touch is enough to make him fold right there, but he doesn't right now, squeezing you against him.
“Goodnight, sweetheart. I love you.”
He whispers out, and you can't ignore it, eyes snapping up to look at him just from those three words. He sees the wonder in your eyes, the way they question the truth and if this really is real. Then you nod slowly, tuck your head into his chest, nestled against the beat of his heart.
tags: leon kennedy/reader, fluff, enemies to friends to lovers, can be seen as platonic tho, they sleep together 😍, literally tho, arguing and banter they’re such cuties
Masterlist
Summary: When Leon and Reader fight for an opportunity to work in a real DSO taskforce, they eventually both manage to get a place in differing teams. However, when the day comes to an end, the hopes they had for the week ahead had been flattened completely. So naturally, they bicker as any sworn enemies do… and fluff ensues just like any enemies story.
Notes: this is NOT re2 leon even if it is rught after re2. Umm it’s kind of before re4 but not but kind of?;’;? also hai massive disclaimer reader and leon lowkey laugh at someone throwing up after seeing blood. THE PERSON WHO DID IT WAS AN EXPERIENCED AGENT, NOT A RANDOMER, SHE’S SEEN BLOOD PLENTY SO THEY’RE CONFUSED. theres worse stuff on this damn website but i dont want anyone to think i’m bullying them for their phobia, honest its not in that context anyway just read before i die
WC: 3.9k
You can’t remember when you first locked your heart on an opportunity like this; it seemed like your lifelong dream. The only thing that came to mind was the board meeting with the rest of the rookies you had been training beside for the past three months. A chance to prove yourself and join an actual task force—not just stupid patrols around the block but real, actual missions. It was like your mind salivated at the mere thought of it, your heart instantly picking up pace; the idea of actually wielding a handgun and fighting off drug groups or even mafia was like a seed that was deep rooted into your mind. It fills you with a bright buzz of adrenaline, but unfortunately you’re not the only one who seems to live for this high. Leon wouldn’t dare back down on such a promising idea, so when you both happened to get the place for the internship, anger and betrayal festered in your hearts quickly.
“There's supposed to be one place!”
Leon argued with the director, refusing to believe he had slaved away his life graduating from the police academy, surviving an infested city, and all of this extra‘special’ training only for you to get in regardless of his efforts. Of course you were the same, believing you should’ve been the first to be accepted due to the efforts you constantly put forward.
“Both of you, quiet. The decision is final, we need another person to fill for an injured teammate, so now there are two openings. Now shoo.”
The pair of you didn’t need to look at each other to know the glare on the other’s face. This rivalry was born in the harsh conditions this job forced you two to undertake and the reality of the state of the world right now—trust no one and fight to survive. Leon knew that far too well, and so the feud started the day he saw how fast you managed to beat his record in one of the courses. He had to be better; he promised himself that this time it would be different—it had to be.
On the first day of the job, you were brimming with excitement, arriving far earlier than recommended and even going so far as to prepare something to meet the team with. Time seems to go by quickly when you’re having fun, and while something as serious as this was hardly the idea of fun to many, it certainly seemed like this opportunity would fly by just from how eager you were to start.
If a train could run completely off the rails even with the driver built for the job and perfectly fine tracks, that’s exactly how you’d describe your current situation. An unprecedented mess.
You stumble into the common area following your fifth heavy sigh of the day and likely not the last of the week. The rookies who didn’t get a place in one of the task forces were sent off to observe and shadow a team in the Whitehouse. Also known as the most boring job ever and the superiors just trying to fob off the worst of the crop elsewhere. Luckily for you, this meant this whole space, not that it was very big, was all yours for the next week or so. It’s hardly enough compensation to even balance the scales with the crap you dealt with today, but that doesn’t mean you’ll pass off the chance to actually relax in between the craze that is known as your life. The little table that somehow turned into a snack bar catches your eyes immediately; it’s always empty due to greedy rookies with zero manners. You roll your eyes at the thought of those rowdy savages finishing the stock before the afternoon and brew yourself a cup of tea, thinking over what you could watch on the TV there before heading to bed. The possibilities are endless; hell, you could even watch My Little Pony and no one would bat an eye—perks of being the only one here, you suppose. Though not enough to lighten your flattened mood, you stir your tea anyway and settle on an action movie to actually compensate for everything you had missed out on today—especially the excitement.
“Better head back to your room, this place is mine tonight.” A cocky voice echoes out in the room and thus causes you to spin around a little too fast, instantly freezing from the hot tea splashing onto your sleeve. Surprisingly, spilling the tea was the least of your problems, as you had seemed to meet your worst nightmare on the couch, remote control claimed by his hand as he flicked through Netflix.
Your jaw is practically on the floor—why the hell is he here?! Fighting for the space in the agency, constantly belittling you during training, and even the raised eyebrows each time you failed—that you could handle, but this snapped the thread that was already thinning quickly.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” You exclaim before promptly storming over to the couch, disbelief in your voice and tea still dripping down your arms. Even though a small part of you knows he’s technically allowed to be here too since he technically got a space in the other task force, it doesn't mean you’re not allowed to be infuriated by his sudden intrusion.
“Woah, easy there, sweetheart.”
Leon’s eyebrows furrow as well as his lips turn to form a frown, and before he can even roll his eyes, they’re already swirling with something else. Someone might even argue concern.
“You dropped your hot tea all over yourself; seriously, how did you get that internship when you’re this careless?”
His hand wraps around your wrist in a firm grip as he tugs you down onto the couch, grabbing tissues from the box on the coffee table with his free hand. Thankfully, the tea wasn’t enough to burn your skin, though he thought it had for a moment. Guess you can't get mad at the crappy kettle in here anymore.
“I can do it myself—“
His actions only serve to embarrass you—you’re not some kid to be coddled; you can handle yourself. Snatching the tissues from his hands and wiping down your arms, a slightly embarrassed huff escapes, which is more annoyed at his presence than the sting of the sudden heat.
“You do realise I'm staying back here too? Just because I joined a different task force doesn't mean I'm in another country.” He scoffs, chewing down on a particularly large chocolate cookie. Settled on the couch now and having dealt with the tea long ago, you nibble at some of the cookies you never have a chance at getting. The pair of you seemed to have the same idea, having brought your duvet and pillows from your own quarters to turn the couch here into your bed. But that ultimately failed upon realising the other was there; so now you sit at opposite ends, curled up in your own duvets, and throw each other the occasional glare if you even brush legs.
“Well, still— I was here first. You should’ve just gone.” You argue, not about to just let this slide so quickly. He’d be damned if he thought you’d just allow him to walk all over you like this. Leon scoffs in response, leaning over to steal one of the biscuits you took from the snackbar.
“Yeah, as if. I got the couch first, you know; you should really just go make your little tea and run along. Oh no—I can't let you do that; you might spill it again, and I'll have you clean you up.”
Leon’s words only rile you up more, especially since he robbed one of your biscuits, the chocolate one at that. Sure, the snackbar had plenty of them, but that still counts as thievery in your books.
“Shut up about the tea already; you’re so damn annoying. I bet you’ll just go boast about the amazing day today you had too, huh?”
That pisses him off; he wasn't initially annoyed by your presence—always taking the opportunity to agitate you as much as possible—but he definitely is now. He shifts in his seat so he’s facing you directly, harsh sarcasm written in his eyes.
“Oh? I had the best day? Right—like you aren't going to one up me straight after I speak. I bet you’re just itching to tell me all about how they’re going to extend your internship.”
The pair of you go back and forth, your own crashing disappointment mixed with the horrible mistreatment fuelling this anger towards him for no apparent reason. In your head, he’s trying to spite you and brag in order to prove that he’s better. It makes your blood boil until both the blankets along with the crumbs left behind slip onto the floor.
On his side, he’s brimming with the fantasy of just punching you right there. Look at you, trying to rub it in his face. You’re so selfish and rude, and it makes his mind cloud with frustration and rage, unable to even think clearly. Neither of you can realise how stupid this argument is or the pointlessness of it all. So, the next ten or so minutes are spent spewing out every insult in the book, tearing each other down, and only making the anger shared between the two of you fester into hatred.
“You think I have a big ego? You started this whole argument to piss me off because you got the better end of the stick. You’re nothing but a selfish, disgusting—“
He shouts, practically scrambling up and ready to yank you by your collar just to put you in your place for once. He doesn't know what else he’ll do, but he wants to shut you up desperately.
“Better end of the stick?! I had the worst day anyone could ever have—I should’ve just let you take the damn position!” You cry out, frustrated and even more annoyed at how he freely insults you. You’ve had enough of that today; if you take anymore, you might just lose it.
Leon suddenly pauses, blinks at you, and just stares blankly with wide eyes. “Your day.. it didn't go well either?”
Now it's your turn to stare at him like an idiot, confused by his words. Didn't he know that already? You thought he was doing all this because he knew it hadn't gone as expected.
“Either? What do you mean? Did yours not..”
“Go well, yes. Mine was terrible too. Like trying to prove myself to a brick wall.”
That makes you let out a sudden snort as you watch him sit back slightly, finding the words very relatable in your situation as well. Snorting turns to giggling, and you’re soon full of laughter with a small grin on your face. He can't help but crack a smile too, playfully jabbing you with his elbow.
“Hey—stop, it wasn't that funny. You’re laughing at my pain now.”
“I’m laughing because I went through the same thing, idiot. What is wrong with those agents?”
Finding out you both shared a similar experience is a pleasant surprise for him, relieved that for once he can just complain without someone trying to one-up him. You’re far too tired to even keep up that hatred anyway— you’d much rather giggle at your shortcomings even though you two almost got physical.
Grabbing your duvet again and some more cookies, you relax into the couch properly now, both propped up at each end. It’s not the longest couch, so your legs brush occasionally as you sit and face each other, nibbling at snacks while you still snicker at his stories.
“I shot practically two of those damn monsters dead without hesitation, like the agency always taught us. You know what those stuck-up agents told me? I should’ve checked if they were humans first. Those things were practically growling at me!”
You laugh once more as a frustrated expression comes over his face, making your own light up as you prepare to tell him how bad your day went.“Trust me, I've been through it too. They practically ignored me for half the morning and then scolded me for scouting ahead! Not to mention, one of the girls had a serious crush on one of the guys, and she would glare at me every time I asked him for the latest intel.”
Leon’s eyes light up in disbelief, lips curving up in mirth. “No way—they actually have crushes in their own teams? I thought that was like, against every protocol.”
“That's what i thought too,” You nod your head in agreement before taking a bite out of another cookie. “It was so obvious; I was convinced they were trying to test me or something.”
“Damn, and I thought the girl throwing up over a bit of bioweapon blood was bad.”
“She threw up over blood?!”
You feel a weight off your chest as you finally rant about your day to someone else, feeling better knowing it hadn't been your fault. In truth, you were so pent up by their constant attitude towards you that you had started to wonder if you were the problem in the taskforce. Though now you have the reassurance you never thought you needed to relax. The same goes for him, his shoulders relaxing with every word as he settles into the couch. Once you both agree that in conclusion, the opportunity was a waste of time, you shake hands on it, promising you’ll never be as bad as they were. That's hardly a thought now though, already brushing up against each other like teenagers in a sleepover while you pick an action movie.
“I want to watch the new Fast and Furious.”
“Oh, come on, you know they get worse with every new one. Give me that,”
He grabs the remote control, unable to control a smirk at your shocked face, before switching genres in search of something else. “See, this is quality content.”
“Leon—you want to watch a documentary. On war. I’ve already had enough of that!”
“But the action is so much better than your one!”
It takes the pair of you a full fifteen minutes before Netflix breaks and you’re forced to watch a David Attenborough documentary on animals in tropical islands. There's a slight pout on both of your faces having been forced to watch something so.. slow after wanting to watch action and excitement.
That's when you start snickering at a funny-looking stick insect; you point at it and then look towards him.
“Hey, it kind of looks like you-“
He shoves a cookie into your mouth, causing you to splutter before quickly chewing down on it before you choke.
“What was that? Were you saying that’s your twin?”
He points to another strange-looking animal, making sure to pick the worst possible to annoy you. This creates another back and forth until the channel finally changes the film, playing a somewhat decent action movie.
“Hey..” You begin to murmur, your head drooping onto your palm as the night grows deeper.
“Mhm?”
“Y’know.. one of the girls in my team mentioned she won't be here for the rest of the time. So if you wanna.. I don't know..”
“Join your team?”
“..Yeah. If you want.”
Rubbing the bags beneath your eyes does little to soothe you as your head finally starts to sink into the soft cushions and you have to shift your position a little to see him.
“Why? You can’t survive on your own without a little friend with you?”
He watches you get sleepier and sits up, shuffling over to you; there's no way he’s going to let you fall asleep without getting under your skin just a little bit more. The mocking tone makes you tilt your head up to look at him, seeing him awfully closer but you’re too preoccupied with his insult.
“Hey- i can survive perfectly fine! It's you who was complaining; I’m being a good samaritan-“ A frown has already formed on your lip, along with nudging him with your foot, trying to get him to stop.
“Alright, alright, I get the point; stop kicking me.” He picks up one of the pens across the coffee table, playfully poking against the fluffy socks you wear and thus causing you to retract from the ticklish feeling. “I’ll come, okay? I’ll ask to switch teams, but there's one condition.”
“Which is?”
“The night we have to camp outside, we have to share a tent. There's no way I'm risking sleeping beside someone who snores or just stinks. At least I know you’re none of those things, even if you are annoying all of the time.”
You snicker at the thought of him tossing and turning endlessly, your mind returning to a year prior. Leon could never get to sleep during the extensive training with all the other recruits, that much had been clear from the dark circles under his eyes every morning. Still, you didn't provide him any mercy and continued to snicker when he fell asleep mid lunch break. So, as any sleep deprived and grumpy rival would do: he decided to ruin your sleep. He had carefully stepped into your tent that night, eyes heavy but with a determination full of vengeance, and snuck over to your mattress. Tugging at your hair, creaking the mattress, pulling the blanket off, blowing on your face—every single thing he had tried failed to wake you from your slumber. You were such an incredibly deep sleeper, lying on your side with your legs in some random position and one cheek squished onto your hand, that you absolutely refused to wake. He hadn’t slept normally for four days, and so his frustration pushed him to fall asleep right there on your mattress, absolutely exhausted. The surprise on your face when you woke was incomparable, and unfortunately all it took was the shuffle of you sitting up to wake him once more.
“Yeah, alright, deal, but I still can't believe I'm the only one you can sleep beside.”
“It’s not like that—I can sleep by myself, you’re just quiet; it’s like you’re not even there.” He scoffs quickly, nudging you to move up, which you do very reluctantly, bringing your knees to your chest and sitting up. This couch is far too small for two, but he doesn’t care; he’s already moving forward. With a few more shuffles, he’s sitting beside you, both of your backs against the armrest—closer than you had been that night.
“Did the tea actually burn you?”
He asks before you can even question his motives, his fingers trailing your sleeves as he moves them up your shoulder to get a better look. The red mark on your upper arm is noticeable even with as far as you pulled your sleeves down to cover it. His calloused fingertips are rough as they trail the sensitive skin, his eyebrows beginning to knit together in worry.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have been such a prick to surprise you and cause you to drop your tea like that.”
He murmurs, feeling a swell of guilt in his gut as his eyes flitter up to meet yours sheepishly— something you’d never expect to see a year ago.
“Thanks, but it’s okay, I don't think it’ll leave a scar. The kettle barely made the tea that hot.”
He lets out a small hum and then pulls the duvets over you a little bit more, looking down at you as you fiddle with your sleeve again.
“You think it’s always going to be this bad? You know, the missions? They treat us like we’re literally nothing to them; this isn’t what I signed up for.” You suddenly blurt out, revealing what has been weighing heavy on your chest for weeks now. It’s not like you could talk to many of the rookies, and training sessions were already tough enough; you didn't exactly need your superior breathing down your neck for simply being unhappy. “Nah,” He shakes his head and playfully puts a hand onto your head to ruffle your hair—messing up all the carefully brushed locks into what now resembles a bird's nest.
“I’ve seen the top ranking agents; none of them are that incompetent. We just gotta prove that we’re capable of being like them too by pushing through this.” His words are oddly comforting considering they’re usually targeted against every aspect of your being, but you’re not going to call him out on that. You blink tiredly and hum in agreement, nodding your head slowly with each of your words. “I guess. When you join my team, we might even overshadow the others.” You chuckle a little, imagining those incompetent people dropping their jaws. They were pretty lazy, to be fair; all you two had to do was stay alert, and that would be enough. He can't help but chuckle himself and follows you as you begin to sink down into the couch, your legs stretching out to touch the other end.
“Don't get ahead of yourself, I'll overshadow all of you singlehandedly; I don't need your help.” He remarks, a cocky glint in his eyes as he pats your shoulder like one would do to a small kid. That only makes you roll your eyes, settling onto your back as you grumble to yourself before spitting out the most childish remark you can.
“Go away, you’re so annoying.”
“I can’t; the air conditioning is broken outside my room, and it’s being much louder than usual.” He mumbles as he pulls his duvet up to his neck; his shoulders bump against yours when he shifts onto his side, cheek pressing into the pillow.
“That's why I'm here, dimwit.” Despite the insult, he can't quite find the cold tone that usually accompanies it—lost in exhaustion and the need to just relax for once in his hectic schedule.
“Are you trying to kick me off the couch? There's barely any space, you know.”
He lets out a small grunt, not saying a word as he shifts his legs to get more comfortable— ignoring the way he can see you fighting to keep your left leg on the couch. “Don't care what you do. You’re just a nuisance.”
“Yeah, because everyone cuddles up to a nuisance, don't they?” You roll your eyes and reluctantly shift onto your side so you won't fall, feeling his warmth disappear from your shoulder as you turn. “What if our supervisor comes by in the morning?”
“He won't—he’s lazy”. He grunts, one eye opening to glare at you in an annoyance that clearly says ‘Be quiet.’ He shuts his eyes again, his nose nudging you slightly. “Go turn off the light.”
“Alright, fine.”
Soon enough, just your memory of the layout of this room serves as your guide as your padded footsteps take you back underneath the covers. Getting comfortable is slightly harder when he is much taller and more muscular than you are, and even more so when he presses his nose into your shoulder properly now, cheeks squishing against your shirt. You’re practically almost off the couch, and you can guarantee you’ll be on the floor by morning, but you’re not really bothered at all today.
Then, as you whisper a soft “Night,” you realise he had fallen asleep first for once.
based on the song by mitski because i love mitski and hot traumatised men
Summary: Years of horrific memories still weigh down on him even as he promises to let you help him move on. All you want to do is help, but its not enough.
Part 2 Masterlist AO3
tags: Leon Kennedy/Reader, Hurt/No comfort, Angst, fem! reader, mentions of re4 (no specific spoilers dw guys), mentions of ptsd, heart wrenching angst 😘
other notes: for clarification, the timeline goes— after the raccoon city incident, then he goes on the re4 mission, then it’s like the smaller missions like damnation etc. Towards the end and next chapter it’s basically vendetta. But theres no actual spoilers bcus tbh.. i haven’t watched any of the movies except id 💀
Ch1: Before it Ended
Like a dream is how you’d always describe it. His coworkers, your friends —anyone who had heard of his name— would come up to you, fawning over your pretty looks and lovely personality. They’d ask you every time, “How did it happen?” And always, you’d replay that memory in your head.
“It was winter,” You’d begin by recounting the snow that fell upon your face that day, the breeze that bristled your bones, and the way his hair looked frozen in place. You’d remember the laughter that bubbled in your throat when you saw that and how his lips curved ever so slightly for what you believe was the first time. Some of the soft strands of your hair had itched your skin; It was messy from having been shaken from the depths of sleep, and now your fingers tuck the rogue locks behind your ear. Eyes like a pretty lake, hair like wheat, with his random strands and dirty blonde roots you would soon learn to run your fingers through. He stood before you, only the dim porch light illuminating him on that winter night. “Why are you out so late?” You had asked him, your hand reaching forward to tug him into the warmth of your apartment. Little did you know that’d tug him into your life as well.
The refusal was clear; he shook his head, puffs of warm air escaping as he explained that he had something to tell you. His clothes were dirty, scratched in places, and his combat knife was only hastily put away—just work, he explains, desperate to leave a good impression on you. He had finished, and he was sure that now that he’d have time, he’d be free from the shackles of the years that would creep up on him. Cheeks flushed and Adam’s apple bobbing—you still aren’t sure whether the cold or a blush caused that. “I know I’m always gone, and we dont see each other as often anymore, but I swear- I’ve sorted everything out. I’ve fixed it.” He says his words rushed and mumbled, like his heart was spilling out then and there.“I know this is sudden- i know, but- i just.. Will you marry me?” He blurts out and every puff of air that leaves his mouth feels like another log added to the fire you didn’t know was built in your heart for him. A campfire, as you’d always describe it, is comforting and warm, the perfect reassurance in cold times. Perhaps you should’ve chosen something detrimental to life, but you preferred the romantic speech.
Everyone loved the tale as you did, enamoured with how you managed to get the stoic agent to fall head over heels with you. He’d walk over right then, slinging an arm around your waist, giving you a tender kiss to your cheek, and plastering a smirk on his lips. “Still telling everyone that story?” He’d tease as his fingertips gently rubbed your side, the silver band on his ring finger twinkling with the same light his wine glass did. “As usual.” You’d reply, that same bubble of happiness rising in your throat again as you tilted your head upwards, waiting for the small peck that always came.
Always.
A year would go by, and you’d been learning more and more about each other. Nothing seemed to be too big of a step for you. Opposing voices, loud huffs, doors slamming shut until the other would open it quietly, apologise, crawl into the warmth of their shared bed, and work things out with sweet reassurances. Work was tough; he was on more missions than ever, being considered one of the greatest men to serve your country. Warmth that you always described as adoration filled your heart whenever you heard that phrase; you couldn’t be more proud of him for it.
Besides, not even that could tear you down; nothing could break the delicate encasing that surrounded the pair of you. A greenhouse, you’d say, because it held all the things that grew only with a person’s own nurture and care. Like your relationship, crafted and melded by your kind words and your soft voice. It’s a shame greenhouses are made of glass.
Weekends were quieter now, something you had decided to take in stride; you decided to plan something nice for when he returned. The he anniversary he had missed too. It’s been so long since you’ve seen him now, resorting to spraying his cologne on the pillows in that cold bed to retrieve some imaginary warmth. Then it came—the day he’d return. Open arms is what you welcomed him with; he had always loved to hug you, and holding you close was a remedy for his mind, he’d say. But those words stopped forming after some time. You ushered him into the shared bed that night, your arms curling around him after the nice surprise you had set up earlier had gone well. Perfect, you had thought. The bed was still cold, though. You thought about bringing it up with him but decided against it; the warmth of his arms was enough for you.
You should’ve brought it up with him, for the time would have entered where he couldn’t handle it. He had awoken with a jolt, sweat trickling like beads down his temples. Eyes wide and chest pounding, he sat there with eyes darting for a threat and hands searching for yours. Your fingers would intertwine with his, warm against his cold palms, as you sat up beside him. It’d be over soon; thats what you promised— you’d do this together.
Nights like those started occurring more often than ever, until one day, he’s awoken with a sharp jolt again. His movements are much more frantic, his hands searching and searching.
Though, this time, it doesn’t find itself in yours.
It’s tightly wrapped around your neck, his mind screaming to murder you. Bloodshot eyes and prominent streaks of black down your arms— the horrors he had tried so desperately to push away— return to his mind. Your breath wont come. No sweet words, and he looks down to see his hand contaminated with that same murky colour. The sink of his chest feels like a knife as he sees your arm grab out at him, like they did everywhere he went. Those creatures who would grab him, claw at him, and still threatened to take his life. They had destroyed his mind instead.
But there is no mutant, no bloodshot eyes and no streaks on your skin. All he sees is what he’s done to you, his body weight pressing on you as his hand keeps a firm grip around your neck. Your mouth begs for air, denying the sweet reassurance he needed as he sees you turn pale, your eyes flickering with tears. There’s no threat in here; not even the cold breeze from the open window chills his bones. Nothing can hurt more than the desperation in your eyes as your hands claw—No—plead at him for relief. He immediately lets go, scrambling to the other end of the bed as he watches you pant, his heart filled with fear. Fear of himself. You quickly turn to him, mustering out your honeyed phrases through choked breaths. But they’re just letters dancing about, barely going near his ears in the walls he had built between the two of you. Ignorance is bliss, but he can’t break his gaze when he sees the deep streaks of scarlet he left on your neck. Frozen in regret and shame, you tentatively wrap your arms around him to comfort the pair of you. But he feels your tears on his neck; the fear you felt eats at his gut and his conscience. You had never felt so cold before.
The days he had left for missions were the worst nights of your life, you’d say, having been away from your heart for so long. But even as you see him drinking his morning coffee, those eye bags prominent, you think your heart might be buried in Spain, infected with the plagas of love that died out.
Unspoken was what had happened that night— a silent promise between the pair of you with small random affections to bandage up the wound he had inflicted. He was still going on the small missions, but they were shorter, and he was back to fill the bed every night. The flowers in the vase never died—a different shade, flower, or even scent every week. A different kind of love.
This continued for weeks, up until you were out with some friends, each talking about their love lives, which was always a topic between the three of you. One of them gushes about how their husband’s love language is gift-giving, describing each and every homemade affection they receive on the daily. Soon it gets around to your turn, and when you speak about his love language, physical touch comes to mind again. Whether it was playing with your hair, rubbing your hands as you walked in the cold, or leaning on you after hard days, he always wanted to be near you. Your mouth fails to respond; no words form yet no examples are recalled in your brain either. You laugh sheepishly, trying hard to wrack your head for something sweet he’s done, until you just laugh it off and talk about how you love him again.
The bed’s empty when you slip inside it; he hasn’t returned yet and he won’t be back for another hour or so. The ceiling accompanies you as you desperately try to remember an act of affection in the last few weeks. It’s only now that it finally hits you, like a tonne of bricks through your skull—
He’s been distancing himself from you.
Knowing that you get caught up in little things, he occupied your mind with flowers and sweet notes. Not once have you actually heard him say any of it or felt his touch, if not accidental. He sleeps at a distance at night, and even when you shuffle closer somehow, you wake up further apart than before. You havent had a meal with him in weeks and you haven’t actually heard that raspy voice you remember as he complains about his day. You cannot remember the last time you felt warmth, and you can’t remember when you last cried this hard.
You’re in the bathroom, wiping away the stray tears as you look at yourself in the mirror. A heavy ache that still scrapes against the walls of your heart, unsure if you feel better or worse after coming to terms with this. Every pump feels like it’s dragging you down instead of keeping you alive. The rush of blood is like-
The front door clicks open.
You almost freak out and you’re not even sure why you would. Why are you scared of this? Why are you suddenly scared of him? Your feet hurries you back to your shared bed, settling under the covers once more to try to play it off as just tiredness. You still can’t figure out why you’re doing all this or why you start to form excuses for your behaviour in your mind. He never does. So why would you? The footsteps draw closer; they’re just slightly heavy, much softer than when he wears his boots. You hear the bedroom door unclick and your shoulders tense with every second.
But you dont see him enter. Slow breathing and closed eyes— you’re even lying on your side as you pretend to be asleep.
————————————————————————
Leon breathes out a heavy sigh, his chest sinking to drain out all his exhaustion from today. There’s a rustle of clothing as he undresses, pulling on some random sweatpants and a spare shirt for the night. Why should he even care if its clean or not? He walks over to his side of the bed, rummaging around the bedside table for something. Then he pauses, his eyes catching onto something in his peripheral view. Tear stains?
You hear the creak on the bed as he leans half his weight on it, about to reach out to you. Your heart beats faster. Is it because you dont want to worry him with your tears, or are you afraid of him? You don’t know. His fingers brush your cheek ever so gently, his voice echoing out your name so, so softly.
“Hey.. you awake?” He asks, and even though your heart is melting into a little puddle so easily, some stubborn stick clogs your throat. His sigh fills the room again and he pulls the blanket over you, tucking it snugly over you before brushing the hair out of your face. Maybe he’s just tired these days, you think. He’s been through a lot after all; it explains all of it. Really, you shouldn’t have been so upset at all—his work and life are on an entirely different level for you.
You’re about to open your eyes, pretend you woke up, and give him a sleepy smile. Images of him giving you a tight hug and one hand rubbing the small of your back as he tells you to fall asleep again fills your mind.
Then he speaks again, the bed creaking as he steps back off of the bed, the warmth leaving as fast as it came. “She’s really knocked out.? Phew.. I do not want to deal with some stupid tears..” He mutters out, his raspy voice much lower and breathless—almost exasperated. A low groan leaves him as he dumps his work clothes somewhere. Then, the bed screams again as he lays his weight on it before he shuffles himself to the end of the bed. He looks back at the space between them, another huff of air leaving his lips.
“That’s good enough. I fucking hate being woken to push her away from me..” Eventually, his breathing evens out, and his shoulders are still tight and tense as his body relaxes into the bed. The night falls quieter, and your mind feels blank.
You don’t know when you fell asleep or if he saw your fresh tears when he woke that morning.
As much as you wanted to pretend he was just tired, the permanent burn that was left on your heart seemed to sting every day. The first time you felt the worst of it was the morning after, when he pretended to fuss over you. Everything was so obvious now, you couldn’t believe you hadn’t seen it before. Some would say it was removing the rose-coloured glasses from your life, except this was permanent and something you wished you could force back.
For once in your life, you were actually angry that you hadn’t woken up early. Even more so, you were angry that he he woke up before you. If anything was a first, that was. You used to love when he woke up before you because the feeling of his warmth surrounding you as you blinked the depths of sleep away was incomparable. Now you just shiver at his voice, scared of his words hurting you more than they already have.
He had seen the fresh tear stains, newer than the last he’d seen, eyebrows furrowing when he sees your eyes flutter open. Such gentle hands for a person with such cruel words to say. Even if they were so calloused, they cupped your cheeks with such care and love, something you've longed for months.“Hey, love, what happened? Who did this to you?”
You
You did it.
The words claw at your throat to be released, some part of your head seeking vengeance for your failing heart. You wanted to yell it—you wanted to scream, shout, sob some more, and then be comforted all over again. You wanted to be told you overthought it all, and he really was tired, but the thought of that possibility just kept running away—like a dog chasing their tail. Useless.
Even so, you’ve always been determined and strong; you won’t let petty things take you down so quickly. Your love for him overrides anything you feel, even if that is a bit dangerous to yourself. It’s alright; every couple fights, right?
The next few mornings you spend cheerily pushing yourself to be better to him, to be better for him. It’s your last hope, and you’re hanging on a loose thread. With both hands gripping on and legs dancing above heartbreak’s jaws, you attempt to climb. But there is one small lie that you tell yourself: distancing yourself is so he can get a break from you; he needs to focus on relaxing. It’s definitely not because of the small seed of fear buried in your heart from those eavesdropped words.
He doesn’t seem as tired anymore, probably because you leave the bed as soon as he falls asleep. After finding out he can’t stand sleeping with even the slightest touch from you, the mere thought of causing him to go through that makes you sick to your stomach. So, every night, you force yourself up and drag your drained mind and body downstairs, settling on the couch. He falls for it every time, especially since he only ever finds you cooking breakfast; he just thinks you always get up early. There’s that, but also the fact that he doesn’t care enough to dig deeper or question why you always have those dark circles under your eyes. You’ve also gotten used to just leaving the house multiple times a day. The neighbour needs help? You’re gone. One grocery is missing that you don’t even need for dinner? You’re already at the nearest store. You believe you’re doing him a favour, realising he never gets alone time in the house as you’re always there. Why must you burden his life so much? You should help him out by leaving him alone.
It’s early one morning as you cook blueberry pancakes, a staple dish that he would always make for you. It was one of the only dishes he could make, and damn, he always made it exceptional. You’d smile a loopy grin as you watched him cook, mentally noting to brag to your friends later about the whipped cream love heart on your plate and the fact he posted it on every social he had. You felt like the most special person in the world then, especially when he’d playfully pop blueberries in your mouth until your cheeks were puffy like a chipmunk. He’d chuckle at your embarrassment before kissing you and serving you your dish for the morning.
Now you stand in the lone kitchen, flipping the dull pancake as you hum quietly to yourself. The blueberries just make the pancakes look mouldy , you think, pulling a small disgusted face as you plate them up. You’ve changed a lot in the span of the past three months. Sure, work had been hitting you hard with demands needing to be met and coming home with no food available or someone to listen to your stress, but something shifted in you entirely. You ask Leon how he finds his food, his freshly ironed clothes, the new products you bought for the bathroom, and especially his day. Like a game of cluedo, you narrow everything down as you try to figure out how to be the best for him. How to make him love you again.
He sits at the kitchen island again, the porcelain plate squeaking against the table as you slide it gently over to him. Stacked with pancakes and a small dollop of whipped cream, which took 30 days to finally get right. You watch as he takes a bite, popping it into his mouth after you eat your own.
“So..? Did I finally get it right?”
You say with a small laugh, a teasing smile on your face, to cover up your desperate need to know if you had succeeded.
“Can you stop interrogating me every day about whatever you do? It’s fine, okay? It’s never been any damn different; I dont see the big deal.”
Of course he knows what you do is different every day, but he doesnt care—not even in the slightest. No, that’s why he’s so stern with you; his voice is harsh, and his eyebrows furrow in exasperation at your question.
“I.. Leon- I was just trying to get some feedback.. I only wanted to make it better for you and for both of us.”
It wasn’t just about the blueberry pancakes now; it was everything. Everything you had ever tried was to better yourself for his sake, for his livelihood, and for his happiness.
“Well, can you stop? It’s really fucking annoying having to answer your stupid questions every day because you’re too insecure.”
He huffs, swallowing down another bite of the pancakes as he glares at you, not even hesitating at the hurt expression that slowly forms. You pause for a moment; the last time you two had an argument had to be well over a year ago. Maybe even two. Unsure and a little bit taken aback, you steady yourself.
“Leon- i understand work has been stressing you, but i’m just trying-“
“Work? Thats what you think this is about? Maybe you are just stupid or too far into your ego to realise maybe you are the problem.” A loud scoff and the clatter of cutlery is heard, almost laughing at the sheer stupidity you had for trying to shift the blame onto his work.
“I am trying to actually be understanding, i’m sorry if i annoyed you but Leon- there is no need to put me down like that.” Hate grows in your heart. Hatred for how your voice cracks, how your breath shakes, and your chest feels tighter. Yet you have no hate for him.
“You think you’re being understanding.” He laughs at your pitiful expression, thick with a mocking tone, as he says the words. “I can’t believe it. You actually think that. If you can get one thing through your insecure mind, know that you don’t understand anything about me. You never have. Hah.. ever since that night where I almost fucking choked you.” He remarks, his expression turning sour at the mere thought of that night. Not because of the pain he caused, but because of pain he felt.
It’s ironic now because you really can’t understand what he’s talking about. You’re so far out of the loop that you can’t even piece it together.
“I’ve been trying to ask you—to help you. I want to be there for you-“
“Yeah, as if. You know, on that night, I really thought that you might just understand, unlike anyone else has. I was stupid enough to even think that. You just told me your same stupid reassurances; I should’ve kept my hands on your throat a little longer that day. I wish it scared you off and out of my life.”
You’re deadly silent, your mind is not thinking thoughts, and your voice is dying out all the same. Everything feels so blank: your emotions, your mind, the atmosphere—his heart. It’s blank; the love is just gone. You wish you had more time to mourn it before even attempting to resuscitate it. You can’t, because that died long ago and only now has your stupid head caught up with everything thats happening.
You’re frozen in place as he gets up from his chair, the plates landing in the sink with a horrible clatter.
“You’re not what i wanted. I shouldn’t have expected things you could never reach.” He mutters it out, not even caring enough to face you as he says it, walking back upstairs. Now alone again in that kitchen, water is dripping onto the floor from your own eyes. Another faulty leak that you hadn’t even realised until now, when you’re resigned to yourself once more.
That day echoes constantly in your mind, relived every night with different words, each time becoming more hurtful. Your heart wishes he could reassure you of these terrors like you did with him. His cruel sayings are a dagger that twists through your chest each day; they go unresolved, because for once in your wilting relationship, he didn’t apologise. No, he barely even regret what he did. Theres not a smidge of chance that you can even fix it— you already have tried apologising, only to be met by an annoyed look. He walks past you every morning after that, not a word between you both as you finally stop trying to ‘help’ him.
If being strangers in your own home was an award, you’d receive a standing ovation for the weeks that follow. Every sense of his seems to avoid you like the plague, his sight moving upon seeing you to the point where he walks past you, on purpose. A year ago, he would’ve woken up and wrapped his arms around your waist at the smell of his favourite breakfast; now he only wakes up later on purpose just to eat something else in front of you. Speaking of that, he loved to taste your food, standing nearby to try everything you cooked for him. Now he neither compliments nor insults your cooking, staying quiet as he eats. Cries fall on deaf ears at night as you beg him to stop leaving so often and returning days later. You can’t stand not knowing where he is, especially if it’s for an extended period. You need him, you plead, but he just carries on reading a mission report. Finally, he still doesnt touch you anymore, having not done so since the day he found fresh tears on your cheeks in the morning. Even as you ask politely and quietly, he is completely indifferent to you, walking back to the bedroom after you ask simply for a movie together on the couch that could just as well be new with how little either of you spend time.
It’s been a month since the argument, and different is how you’d finally describe him. You knew this before, but you wouldn’t dare say it because you’re still the same you, and you had refused to believe he wasn’t still yours. A small part of you holds onto this now, but as you both lay in bed and you breakdown, begging him to just tell you what you can do better for him, you realise the truth.
‘That’s the issue’ he tells you, turning his head away from the soaked pillows with an exasperated look. He doesn’t tell you about the feeling of a pearl in your head, rolling around every night shimmering terrors that should’ve ended.
‘You never change; you’re so consistent’. Thats what he explains, claiming you don’t understand the pain he feels when everything starts to shift and you can’t even control it. When your life flips, twists and shatters but doesnt rebuild.
Though, now you see that orb shimmer every time you close your eyes. You don’t understand he says, and you hadn’t before. But that didn’t mean he had to make you understand now.
