#and i was very aware of that while making these.

[rex-rambles]

➤ SUGAR | CHARLES LECLERC SMAU + FIC)

pairing: charles leclerc x pastry chef!reader

summary: you're offered a position as a pastry chef in monaco, where an f1 driver with a distaste for snails shows you the sweeter things in life

wc: 6.5 k

warnings: slight angst? photos from pinterest & ayo edebiri face claim <3

➤ MASTERLIST

Liked by yourbestie and others

chef_yourusername my last day in nyc, had to make the most of it

↳ yourbestie I'm going to miss you, monaco better treat you right 

↳ chef_yourusername eat all my favourite foods for me while I'm gone :(

↳ foodie12 have you ever made an Instagram post without food?

↳ chef_yourusername where's the fun in that?

-

Liked by yourbestie, bi_sous and others

chef_yourusername i promise we're proper, certified pastry chefs monte carlo, i promise 

↳ bi_sous i think you mean un chef pâtissier

↳ chef_yourusername oui oui, ma bibliotechique

↳ yourbestie did you just call him a library? 

↳ chef_yourusername ...no

-

Moving to Monaco to become a full-time pastry chef was a daunting, daunting thing. 

Being asked to move to Monaco to become a full-time pastry chef was just baffling. You weren't aware that your work had actually been noticed internationally, let alone outside of New York. Yet, here you were, with a fancy title, a terrible apartment, and a line on your resume that you couldn't quite believe. 

"Non, non. C'est un gâteau miniature, pas un petit gâteau." No, Bishop corrects, your French leaving much to be desired. It's a miniature cake, not a cupcake.

"Ah, oui." Ah, yes, you manage to put together. Despite it literally meaning smaller cake, petit gateau was the name of an actual thing, whereas you were just saying a small cake. 

"You know he can speak English, right?" Maeva says, nudging your shoulder. "We all can." 

"I'm just being a good host." Bishop answers, somewhat smug. "They need to know the language." 

Maeva picks up a stray paper from the countertop, reading over it for a moment before turning back to Bishop. "You got invited to the Feu de Cascade opening?" Then, glancing back at the paper, "What a stupid name." 

"I, believe it or not, am a renowned pastry chef." Bishop answers, plucking the paper from her fingers. "I get invited to special events." 

"Temporary pastry chef," Maeva reminds him. "Same as you. I give you two months before you crack." 

Bishop, though a native to France, was hired a month before you were, after the last two pastry chefs were caught doing something unspeakable in the walk-in freezer. Luckily, considering Bishop's boyfriend and your own relationship issues, that wouldn't be an issue for the two of you. "You're just jealous you didn't get invited." 

"I did get invited," Maeva says, moving to start her prep for the next day. "I'm just not going." 

"Not going?" Bishop says with a soft gasp. "What will we do?" 

"No 'we' in that scenario," You say as you turn towards the plans you were writing for your not-petit-gateaus. It didn't hurt, really, that you were seemingly ignored in this universal invite. You were new enough to Monaco that they likely didn't have enough space for everyone, or perhaps you were too young, or perhaps you were just overthinking it. "I wasn't invited." 

"Then you can have my ticket." Maeva says, dusting her hands off by clapping them together. "You two can have fun putting up with Monaco's finest." 

Bishop spares you a glance with a raised brow as you try not to show how excited you are. It wasn't some real, exclusive event, but it was your first time out getting to know the restaurant world in Monaco. One launch might lead to a dinner, or another invite, and pretty soon, you have an in with some of the fanciest restaurants in the world.

Bishop, however, obviously has other thoughts on that. "I thought we were Monaco's finest?" 

-

Charles was very used to red carpets by now. He could speak at any press conference, make jokes with any interviewer, shaking hands and clapping shoulders, playing nice. He had enough media training to tell him when to smile and where to go, but when he was left completely to his own devices, when the cameras turned away from him, when he didn't really know anyone in the crowd, he found himself in unknown territory.

This restaurant launch he was paid to attend was more of a publicity stunt than anything, vague celebrities drifting about and taking pictures together as Charles nursed a glass of wine, tucked away in a seat away from the centre of it all. He's sure, if another driver were here, if someone he knew were here, he'd be much more sociable, much more attentive to those twisting through the crowds, but he was alone tonight, and he wasn't quite sure what to do with himself.

He had chosen this seat for its distance, after all. Everyone else was crowding near the cameras, the food tables, the celebrity chefs arriving. Well, he supposes everyone is a general term. The only other person in this far corner of the grass-covered patio was you, but he was pretty sure you were in unknown territory, too.

You had sat down in the chair left to him, arms cradling multiple bowls, and you had lined them up on a small table as you tried each one, taking pictures as you went, happily content in your own silence. It wasn't that Charles was watching you, really, but you were more interesting than the TikTokers who kept starting videos rather obnoxiously. He'd be drawn into one eventually, but for some reason, it seems that you'd be immune to those sorts of things.

You pause your taste-testing line, looking up at the crowd with a soft furrow between your brows, and Charles understands the feeling. The draw to go to where the people are, to make yourself known, to keep up the charade of Monaco life. But, as your gaze drifts from the crowd to him, he finds that he doesn't care much about that tonight.

He's content to just sit here, invisible, for the rest of the night, but unfortunately, you had caught him staring. It was hard not to, anyway. Besides your own strange presence, you also happened to look like an angel, which was more of the wine than Charles talking, but you were pretty, and it was making looking away from you a hard thing to do. "C'est bon?" Is it good, he asks, and you spare a glance to the side with a grimace. 

"Si tu aimes les escargots?" Do you like snails? Snails! Charles is quick to lean over to look at the dish, taking in the different colours and textures and trying to figure out which could possibly be snails. Sure, he was Monegasque, but snails had never really enticed him as a dish. You laugh softly at his reaction, a sound that makes him warm under his collar. "Non?" 

"Non." Charles extends a hand, and you stare at it as if he just offered you some sort of alien creature, rather than a handshake. "Charles Leclerc." 

You offer your name, and Charles notices that French is not your first language, like most people here. Your French is fairly good, but your intonations are off. Strangely, he thinks you sound a bit like George, whenever he tries and fails to speak French. You say something else, and Charles doesn't catch it, based on the distance between your chairs and the soft cadence of your voice, so without much thought, he grabs the leg of your chair and slides to towards him, and in his slight, tipsy stupor, he hits the edge of your carefully balanced bowl of snails, and it topples into the grass silently. You both stare at the mess seeping onto the ground, and Charles waits for the backlash.

The pictures, the disgust, the recoil, the remarks of how stupid he'd been, but rather than making any scene, or scolding him, you shrug as you try to conceal your smile. "Guess you really didn't like snails." You say, before realizing you hadn't said it in French, and you quickly try to translate before Charles raises a hand to stop you.  

"I'm releasing them back into the wild." He says as he nudges the bowl under his chair to hide the evidence, and you laugh again, not at his misfortune, but for his humour. He's not sure how he can tell, but maybe it's just from how sweet the sound is. "You are new to Monaco?" He asks, and he watches you relax slightly back into your chair. 

"I just started as a pastry chef two weeks ago." Maybe that's why you seem so sweet, he thinks, but would never voice aloud. His brain then catches up that you'd only been here for two weeks, and he can't help but think that all this must be a bit much for two weeks. It had taken him years to get used to this kind of lifestyle, and he was born here. "It's still sort of hard to believe. Everything is so much...more, here." He can imagine: the lifestyle, the people, the money. Everything is bigger and better and flashier and somehow worse in Monaco. "And you?" 

Choosing not to give too much of himself away, he settles on: "Born and raised." 

"Really? I didn't know they let babies in Monaco." At that, it's Charles's turn to laugh, head tilting back to look up at the stars. Monaco's population was definitely older, though he's never heard someone phrase it like that. "They're not old enough to pay yet." 

"Most Monaco babies are born with money in hand." It was a hard reality to escape, really. It was every other fancy car, every other fancy restaurant, and expensive store. Monaco was a place for the rich and wealthy, save for those who helped make it run. 

Like you, as a pastry chef. He supposes a place doesn't need a pastry chef to run, but it's a nice thing to have. "Ah, so I'm speaking to a former rich baby?" 

A former rich baby.

Charles tries to contain his laugh, still unable to look at you. He's sure that if he did, the stupid smile on his face would grow even larger, and he at least needs to pretend to be somewhat dignified. "You know, if anyone overheard our conversation, they'd think we're crazy."

And maybe, just maybe, he's avoiding the answer. You didn't need to know about that part of Charles's life, at least not yet. He preferred being this kind of invisible with you than some shining star that might scare you off, or entice you for the wrong reasons.

He spares a glance your way, and you just smile over the rim of your glass at him. As least that hadn't ended up in the grass.

"Luckily, the other formerly rich babies don't seem to care." You turn to look out at the crowd, picking up small plates and never eating them, mingling and changing in one great mob. You probably should be out there, talking, making cooking connections. Then, as if reading his mind, you let out a soft sigh. "I suppose we should be socializing, but I'd rather be over here." 

The admission does something strange to his stomach, and he tries hard not to show it as you look back at him. There were plenty of reasons you could like being over here, but Charles can't seem to shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, you like that he's over here too. "Really?" 

"I'm sorry if I disturbed your peace by joining you, but this-" You gesture between the two of you, leaning on the arm of your chair to look at him, and he realizes relatively quickly that he's had a little bit too much to drink, and that he pulled your chair a little too close, because half leaned on the side of your chair, you're almost in his lap, and he doesn't mind in the slightest. This time, it's Charles's heart that does something strange at you being so close, like just your proximity has him infatuated. "Seemed a lot more welcoming than that." 

Not that he'd call it infatuation. That would be crazy for someone you'd just met, but then again, you chose to come sit beside him because you felt it was welcoming. You felt he was welcoming when everyone else couldn't care to look his way for once. "You saw me?" 

"I didn't hear you." You say, though not as a bad thing. "The silence was nice, compared to all...that. I hope you don't mind the company."

"I don't mind." Charles says quickly, and a soft smile grows on your face, "It's...nice." 

"Even with the snails?" Chares snorts into his glass at your comment, most certainly not a good look, but your smile grows as Charles's heart does, and he finds that he's screwed in a mere matter of minutes. 

"Even with the snails." He answers, thoughts returning briefly to the dish he's hidden under his chair. You had the right idea, taking photos of it. So far, there was no proof Charles had attended besides him looming in the back of others' photos, and the few he had taken upon arrival. "Could you possibly send me a photo you took of them? I should post something nice while I'm here." 

You nod, returning to your phone, and Charles has never so easily gotten someone's number without even thinking before. "And how should I send it? Instagram?" 

"Ah." Or not number, he supposes. Then again, he shouldn't be handing his phone number out to strangers anyway, but still. Giving you his Instagram means you finding out everything about him in one perfect capsule, his former baby lifestyle on display, when it was this kind of connection he wanted you to have. He didn't want to scare you off, or change what this was.

He just wanted something to be normal, for once. 

"Ah?" You echo, looking up from your phone, that smile fading.

"You will know who I am, then." He clarifies, and your brows pinch together. 

"And you don't want me to know who you are?" Well, when you phrase it like that, it doesn't sound great.

He just doesn't want you to know that side of him yet. "You'll see that I'm not so different from them." He says, gesturing to the crowd, "But I suppose it's too late now." 

"You could ask for my number, and I could promise not to Google you?" It's a kind, soft answer, and this time, it feels like Charles's whole body has been set on fire, dunked in ice, maybe thrown in a blender for good measure. Now, you were giving him your number, and as much as he didn't believe you wouldn't Google him, it was a sweet gesture. 

A response immediately comes to mind, the sort of brave thing he can picture Carlos saying, or maybe Lando. And, maybe because of how you're making him feel, maybe the few glasses of wine or the distant crowd, he finds himself saying it before he can stop. "Or, I could ask for your number, and take you out to dinner to better explain who I am in person." 

He watches your cheeks flush, barely noticeable under the dim lights of the yard, and he'd give anything to see what you look like flushed in the daylight. "I'd like that." You say, handing over your phone, and Charles tries not to shake as he types in his number. This wasn't the smartest thing he's ever done, but something about you is trustworthy. "I'll make sure to pick a spot with no snails." 

"You're picking the venue?" He says, glancing up from your phone, and you shrug.

"I'm the chef, after all." You have a point there, but still.

Monaco was Charles's home, despite his qualms with it. He would show you everything and anything it has to offer, including food. Somewhat foolishly, he thinks that, if he can impress you, a chef, with his culinary opinions, he might just make this work.

"But I'm the host." He argues back, handing over your phone. "You've only been here two weeks, I should suggest where we eat." 

"Fine, then." You relent, grinning down at the phone in hand. "You pick the place to eat, and I'll see just how good your taste is." 

-

-

↳ f1gossip A follower spotted Charles Leclerc getting cozy with @/chef_yourusername, a pastry chef based in Monte Carlo, at the launch of a restaurant last night!

↳ brocedes finally someone can teach that poor man to cook 

↳ yourbestie anyone makes a joke about them going back to the kitchen and I'm throwing hands

↳ mclar_win charles I hope you have a good workout regime, have you seen the desserts @/chef_yourusername can make??

liked by chef_yourusername

-

"So, about dinner." You had tried, when Charles had picked you up, to be normal about it. You had made polite conversation, laughed at his jokes, gotten into his ridiculously expensive tinted car without batting an eye, but you knew the conversation waiting just below the surface of your silence. 

After all, it was pretty hard to ignore. It had started with some gossip account on Instagram that had somehow gotten your identity, and then it spread like wildfire until everyone you knew was calling you, texting you, sending quotes out to news sources about your relationship status and your past. You and Charles blew up before you even knew his identity, and, well.

So much for you finding out about him over dinner, because now you are very aware of his F1 fame and Monaco status, and he knows you know, except neither of you can really bring yourself to say anything about it. "What about it?" You ask, feigning ignorance even as you cringe internally. 

"I think maybe Blue Bay wouldn't be good for tonight." He parks the car in some little back alley, and your heart stops for a moment, because at the end of the day, this is basically a stranger, albeit a very rich stranger. "For your sake." 

"My sake?" His head falls back against the headrest, rolling to the side to look at you, and you let out a low breath. It wasn't fair he looked this good when he was probably about to cut this off. "I wasn't going to say anything." 

"Why?" 

"You wanted me to get to know you away from all...that." You understand, now, why he'd hesitated to give you his Instagram. This would've been a lot nicer to learn over good food, rather than the internet. "Thought I'd still give you the chance." 

Charles watches you for a moment more before a small smile graces his face, putting the car into park and turning it off. "You're not upset I'm a formerly rich baby?" 

"Intimidated, maybe." You admit, "But not upset." Then, because you feel like you need to, "I'm not here because of who you turned out to be, either."

"Good." Charles says, opening the car door. He pauses, then, looking back to you, and he gets that same smile on his face. "Good. I think you'll enjoy this place more, then." 

When people typically say a restaurant is a hole in the wall, they mean it's small - Charles has taken you to a place that's basically infinitesimal. It's two high-top tables and a counter, with slices of pizza on display. It's the sort of place you couldn't imagine existing in Monaco, or that Charles would willingly enter. 

"Charles!" The shop owner says, quickly shuffling across the small restaurant to shake his hand. It's somehow shorter than Charles, a feat you weren't sure was possible. "Si tôt de retour?" Back so soon? Back? 

Charles had come here before? Willingly? "Ah, Paulo. Nous avons besoin d'un endroit privé pour manger." We need a private place to eat, Charles says, gesturing to you beside him, and you offer a small wave. 

"Ah, quelle charmante surprise!" What a lovely surprise, which you hope is the truth. He gestures for you to follow, and he opens the door to the kitchen. Charles gently places his hand on the small of your back, gesturing for you to go, and you stop to look at him. 

"Anything you want to tell me?" You say, finally walking into the equally small kitchen, and then, to your surprise, through the back door to a little wooden dock on the water, and you stop in your tracks. 

"That my trainer does not know this place exists, and never will." What obviously is a back walkway on the water has been turned into a little oasis away from the rest of Monaco. Considering every trip you've taken outside has resulted in some sort of secret photo being taken of you, this table, with two chairs and a candle, far away from anyone, was far better than any fancy experience out there. The sun, just starting to set, has the sky covered in pink and orange twists of clouds, reflected in the water just at the horizon. "Merci, Paulo." 

At a loss for words, Charles pulls out a seat at the small table, and you sit. He takes his place across from you, crossing his arms as he looks out at the water. 

Compared to all the headlines you'd read about him, all the clips and all the comments, you hadn't really expected this. You expected the former rich baby lifestyle, the luxury, not secret back patios to old pizza restaurants. Somehow, it makes Charles more attractive than he already ridiculously is. "My father would take me and my brothers here." Charles says, finally looking from the water to find you staring. "I know it's not exactly Michelin star, but-" 

"It's perfect, Charles." The response seems to take him by surprise, his expression shifting into something you don't quite understand. "I'm impressed." 

"Well." Charles says slowly, cheeks and neck flushing. "If I had known this was what impressed you, I wouldn't have tried so hard." 

Paulo appears with two glasses of wine and wordlessly sets them down before disappearing. "You were trying hard to impress me?" 

"I mean," Charles quickly cuts himself off, taking a sip of wine. "After everything I've put you through, I ought to try hard, no?" 

"Well, it's working." Paulo reappears, with two paper plates with single slices, reminding you so much of New York, of the life that, despite only being two weeks gone, felt so far away. 

"Paulo is from New York," Charles says, thanking the man as he takes his plate. "I thought you might enjoy." 

"That's really sweet, Charles." You happily take your plate, staring down at the food you'd been craving for weeks. "Merci, Paulo." 

"Did you like New York?" You don't answer Charles immediately, because you're already inhaling half your slice. He laughs softly, watching you eat, awkwardly trying to lift up the piece to take a bite. 

You wave a hand as you swallow, stopping him in his tracks. "You fold the slice." 

"What?" Charles looks at you as if you've grown two heads, and you show him with your slice how to fold the edges to make for an easier process. 

"This is how you do it in New York." You take another bite as you watch Charles tentatively eat his, before seeming to get the hang of it. "And I love New York. It's home to so many great restaurants, great people. Monaco's a lot more to get used to." 

"Well, there are great restaurants," Then, somewhat slyly, "Great people." 

"Yourself included?" 

"Well," He says, grinning ear to ear as he looks out at the water. "I wouldn't say that." 

You hum softly in agreement, and for a moment, all the stress of the past few days slips away. All the photos, all the fans, who Charles is supposed to be disappears, and you're left staring at him, the real him, who keeps trying to fold his pizza slice the best he can and somehow fails it every time, who knocked over snails and asked you out and somehow, despite it all, is still incredibly sweet. 

Him being this attractive also doesn't hurt either. "Well," You finally say, leaning forward on the table. "You wanted me here so you could explain yourself better." 

"And we saw how well that plan went," Charles mutters under his breath. "Not much else for you to learn, is there?" 

"I wouldn't say that." There are plenty of things you didn't know about him. "Like, what's your middle name?" 

With a soft groan, Charles lowers his forehead to the table. He mutters something utterly unintelligible, before finally raising his head to give you an unimpressed look. "You're going to make fun of me for it!" 

"Well, now I have to know." 

"Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc." Charles, Marc, Hervé, Perceval, Leclerc. You try your hardest not to laugh at how truly former rich baby it sounds, and Charles fights a smile as he tries to be angry at you. "I told you!

"You sound like a prince." You say as Paulo reappears with more slices. 

"A lord, actually." He clarifies, some sort of inside joke you've obviously missed, and he waves a hand. "Never mind. Tell me something about you, then." 

"No, no, tonight's supposed to be about you." You quickly try to change the topic, to keep it on him, but he won't allow it. 

"Tonight's about us, actually." He says, and you can feel yourself grow warm, smiling like a fool down at your new plate.

Us. 

You like the sound of that. "Tell me your most embarrassing baking story." 

"We're starting with most embarrassing?" You question, quickly looking up, and Charles offers another perfect grin. "Really?" 

"Well, you already know everything embarrassing about me." With a scoff, you ball up your napkin and throw it at him, and he offers a soft gasp as it hits his shoulder. "What? You've seen my racing." 

"And that's embarrassing?" It couldn't possibly be. 

Really, you were surprised he hadn't bragged about it by now, made it something bigger, but he had avoided the topic entirely. "It's embarrassing when I lose." 

"Ah, poor baby." You tease, and Charles glances down at his plate, the softest expression breaking through, and you decide to give him a break. If he doesn't want to talk about racing, or winning, or losing, he doesn't have to. You'll have plenty of time for that later. "Well, I think most embarrassing for me would be setting one of my instructors on fire." 

And you find that, as the night goes on, and the wine gets poured, and the slices keep coming, and the sun dips below the water and night falls, Charles doesn't ever explain who he is, or what his life really is like, and really, you don't need him to. You find out everything you need to know about him simply by sitting across from him and letting yourself enjoy the night. 

-

Liked by yourbestie, bi_sous, charles_leclerc, and others

chef_yourusername I ate more than just food last week

↳ yourbestie the hottest woman to grace this earth

↳ bi_sous i'm never getting the film camera back, am i?

↳ yourbestie i'm still waiting for her to give back my bracelet from sixth grade, get in line honey Liked by yourusername

↳ brocedes call me crazy but is that not the EXACT same photo charles put on his story??

↳ pastry81 charles, we already know, you don't have to lurk

-

liked by yourbestie, bi_sous, charles_leclerc and others

chef_yourusername proof that I can serve more than food on my instagram

↳ bi_sous you need to stop with the food puns. 

↳ chef_yourusername could you say I'm...milking it? or that they're pretty corny?

↳ bi_sous i'm going to need you to put the phone down

↳ f1_fanatic CHARLES??? the hand placement????

↳ fan44 so the soft launches begin

-

-

Going out with Charles was...good. It would be hard to say anything else. It was fun, it was new, but it was daunting. 

Because it wasn't just a joke, or something to hide, Charles's fame was real, and it wasn't something that would go away, even if you were going on dates with the man. Sure, those dates were behind closed doors, but that didn't stop paparazzi, and fans, and nosy neighbours. 

It was quite a different change of pace. Moments with Charles were always in the spotlight, and you had always been behind the scenes, behind a stove, for most of your life. To have a fancy car pull up in front of your apartment building, to have reservations at the most in-demand and then the most unknown restaurants, to be his, it was all sort of a dream. And then, when you weren't with him, you were thrust back into the reality that you weren't part of the former rich baby crew. You were not a fitting piece to this wealthy, strange puzzle. 

And slowly, it dawned on you, that he'd realize this. That you catered to people of this lifestyle, you didn't live it. You couldn't name his expensive watch brands, which cost more than your apartment, hell, cost more than some houses. You couldn't pass the small talk, couldn't look the part. That, if you weren't at Charles's side, you didn't matter to the world of Monaco outside of making their desserts. 

And some day, when Charles recognized this, all of this would come to an end. The fantasy, the flings, the late nights spent curled in each other's company. Maybe, if Charles weren't so loveable, that truth would be easier. After all, it was Charles, who dumped bowls of snails on the ground, who took the lead to take you out to dinner, who treated it like it was normal. With him, everything felt normal. By your third date, you were lounging on his patio, reading books in silence. You'd taken a photo of it, included it on Instagram, because it felt like something you could control. If Charles weren't famous, it would be perfect. You would be daydreaming of getting into an actual relationship, of some day down the line wearing white, of all the possible futures you have together. 

But Charles is famous, and that fame is not ignorable, and it's not in your control. At the very least, you were spared criticism so far by those around you. People on the internet likely had other thoughts, but at Charles's advice, you didn't look at those things. You might occasionally watch videos of him, where he makes little jokes about you like it's nothing, just to remind yourself that this is real. 

You let yourself daydream and carry on because, when it does come your time to lose Charles, at least you'll make the most of it. "I never want to see a raspberry again." Bishop says as the night winds down, the last of the orders finished. "Or a blueberry. Or any berry for that matter." 

"Just be happy you work with sweet foods," Maeva responds bitterly as she wipes down her station. "I've been working with octopus all week." 

One of the servers lingers in the doorway to the kitchen, earning matching glares from the kitchen staff. "Il y a une note pour les pâtissiers?" 

There's a note for the pastry chefs, a line that has both you and Bishop look at each other in horror. "Qu’est-ce que c’est?" 

"Eh," The server extends a napkin folded into a rose to you with a somewhat embarrassed look, and you might die in front of all the other kitchen staff. "Chais pas." 

He doesn't know? How could he not know! You unfold it, expecting something from Charles, but instead, unfamiliar handwriting stares back. How you've come to know Charles's handwriting in weeks, you're not quite sure, but it reaffirms that maybe, just maybe, you've been playing into this delusion for too long. 

In case things don't work out with Mr. F1,

It says, followed by a number. 

Bishop peers over your shoulder, eyebrows raised so high they almost disappear. He was one of the few people to actually ask you about Charles. Everyone else was either too worried to ask, or didn't care to know. You turn back to the server to ask about who sent it, but he'd disappeared, and you're left with all eyes on you. 

It's the sort of attention that makes your skin crawl. "Je reviens!" I'll be back, you blurt, quickly heading for the back door. The last thing you needed was for more gossip to start up about your love life, and then, as you open the back door to the alley behind the restaurant, you find Charles leaning up against the wall, waiting for you. 

Perfect timing, as always.

The door slams behind you, startling him as he looks up from his phone, and he breaks out into a grin that, for the first time, doesn't make you smile back. "You sounded stressed this morning," He says, pushing off the wall to come toward you. "Thought you might want the company." 

You had texted him about how swamped you were at the restaurant, and at any other time, this would be a sweet gesture, in fact, it still is. It's just overshadowed by your own understanding of how soon this is going to be over. "You didn't have to do that, Charles." 

"I only have so much down time," He says with a shrug. "Might as well spend it well." 

Then, he notices the napkin in hand, the phone number written down unmistakeable. 

"Ah." The small exhale he makes does nothing to help the debate in your mind. Does he think you wanted someone's number? Does he recognize how absurd this whole thing is? An F1 driver and a pastry chef. In what fairytale does that work out? "Seems I have competition." 

"It's nothing," You say, crumpling up the paper. Maybe you should keep the number, you think. For when this all ends. "I'm sure." 

"You're sure?" He echoes, expression twisting into something unreadable. "If...if you're interested in someone else, you can just say that." 

"I'm not, Charles." And it's the truth. You want him, but that's not realistic. That much is obvious, from all the other flings F1 drivers have had, all the normal people who don't exist in their lives. They get models, and actresses, not you. Not like this. "Are you?" 

His face twists then into an expression that you can read, which is utter confusion. "No, mon coeur, why would I be?" 

"I'm not exactly a former rich baby." You say, trying to joke and failing. It was the sort of complaint you felt shouldn't be put into words, that you were worried Charles would realize how much more he could find from someone else. It was just your insecurity, but at the end of the day, it felt real. It was real. This wasn't made to be something that lasts. "We have very different lives." 

"And that's good, yeah?" He steps forward, hovering above you yet not touching. Part of you wants nothing more than to reach out and place a hand on his chest, maybe fix his hair, but another part of you is too terrified to move. "You show me snails, I show you Monaco." 

"And when you get tired of snails?" You ask, because if this is happening, you need to get everything off your chest. "And someone comes along that-" You cut yourself off before you manage to say it. 

"And someone comes along to try and convince me to try something new?" The alley falls into silence as you and Charles look at each other, because how else could you say it?

There were other people out there better suited for him. Plain and simple.

"Someone comes along with a dish that's more palatable. That people here like." You finally continue, and Charles pauses, the metaphor taking a moment to catch up, and you let out a soft breath. "What I'm saying, Charles, is that this, us, me, it doesn't last. Or at least logistically, it doesn't." 

"Logistically?" 

"You are used to the spotlight, being front and centre, and that's where you belong. I'm used to being hidden away in kitchens. That's where I belong." Charles opens his mouth to protest, and you raise your hands. "And I want to be there. Baking is my life, but it's not exactly compatible for sneaking around with a Formula One driver."

The words cling to the air, suddenly hot and heavy between the two of you. It wasn't the best way you could've phrased it, but it was the truth. "Sneaking around?" 

"Tell me that people aren't saying things. That the whole reason there's so much paparazzi coverage and photos and weird fan messages isn't because you've been seen sneaking around with a pastry chef." That's all you were.

The pastry chef. An oddity. A-"I wouldn't call it sneaking around." Charles's words cut through your thoughts, and you blink up at him in disbelief. "I'd call it dating." 

Dating.

Sure, you had gone on dates, but...

Actually dating? "What?" 

"These have been dates." He's quick to clarify, gesturing between the two of you. "Have I...not made that clear?" 

"Well, yes, but that's...that's a lot more official than it seems." Going on dates and dating, at least from what you're used to, are two very different things. If Charles weren't famous, if you hadn't read so much about him and his fellow drivers, it would be obvious. You go on dates, you're dating, you're something official.

But when a man that rich and famous and beautiful goes on dates? It's just a momentary thing, something to pass the time. None of the headlines you've seen have been serious, but as you study Charles's expression, you realize you've been looking in all the wrong places. The opinions of others never could've shown you who Charles really is.

So why should they dictate what your relationship is? "Ah." Charles breathes out, finally seeming to understand, and a smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. "Do you want me to ask?" 

"Charles." 

"I do not care that you are not a former rich baby, or that you like snails, or whatever anyone else might have to say about that. You saw me." His hands come to rest on your waist, pulling you to him slowly. "You came and sat with me like I was anyone else. You make me feel like anyone else. I'm sorry if I don't make you feel the same." 

"You do, you do." You rush out, hands coming to rest on his shoulders. Being this close doesn't feel real, and that small, nagging thought at the back of your mind reminds you why. "It's just that, every so often, a camera flashing reminds me that this isn't." 

"And I will make amends for that." Amends. It's a sort of thrilling thing, imagining Charles all serious, telling people to stop taking photos. It'll never really happen, but it's nice to picture. "But spending time with you, dating you, means the world to me. I...it sounds so stupid in English." He says with a laugh, a warm thing that finally has you smiling back. "Veux-tu être à moi?" Will you be mine, he asks, but it doesn't feel like the kind of question that needs answering, or even needs saying. You're his, the moment he dropped those stupid snails. "Don't pretend to not know French now." 

"Oh, I heard what you said." You say, hands smoothing down the front of his chest. "Just sort of...letting it sink in." 

And there, in the mild evening breeze, in a barricaded alley with Charles Leclerc, you find yourself in love. It's a little, gradual thing you know will grow further, but right now, you just let yourself enjoy the thought. 

"You're scaring me here." Charles jokes, and you finally decide to cut him some slack, and let yourself start living the life you want to live.

"Oui, Charles. Je suis à toi." 

I'm yours.

A grin splits across Charles's face so wide, it's as if you've never seen him happy before. His hands immediately come up to cup your face, as your arms loop around his neck, and he's kissing you. It's soft and sweet and so very Charles, taking up all your senses as you pull him closer against you. You had kissed before, little pecks on cheeks, but this is the first one that felt tangible, felt worthy of being called a kiss. It's the sort of reassurance that makes this insane possibility real. 

That Charles is yours, and you are his, and this is all possible, kissing in the back alley behind your restaurant like it was an everyday occurrence.

Really, you wouldn't mind if it was. "Good," He mutters against your lips. "I was going to ask you anyway." 

"Really?" 

"Mhm," He hums, pulling back with a lazy smile. "I had a picnic planned tomorrow. I was going to cook." 

"Oh, god." You laugh, letting your head fall forward against his shoulder. "Good thing you asked me now, then." 

It wasn't that Charles's cooking was bad, per se, but it was more than yours was better. "Just for that?" Charles says, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, "We're going on the picnic anyway." 

-

-

Liked by yourusername, carlos_sainz, and others

charles_leclerc believe it or not, I can cook

↳ chef_yourusername sweetheart, I'm going to hold your hand when I say this...

↳ charles_leclerc I did well!

↳ chef_yourusername you did so well at putting the toppings on

↳ carcarcar I'm sorry, the last photo?? i don't know what looks better, the pizza or @/chef_yourusername

liked by chef_yourusername

-

Liked by charles_leclerc, yourbestie, and others

chef_yourusername if you think dating a chef gets you free food, you are very wrong - you become free labour ;)

↳ charles_leclerc you're welcome, mon coeur

↳ chef_yourusername merci charlie 🥰

↳ charles_leclerc ❤️ 🥟 🍜

↳ mclar_win the matching fits!! 

↳ brocedes who wants to bet the white is to hide all the flour?

↳ carcarcar first an ice cream brand, what next, a full restaurant?

↳ chef_yourusername @/charles_leclerc please please please please please please please????

↳ charles_leclerc ... i'll think about it

↳ bi_sous @/chef_yourusername you better hire me

↳ chef_yourusername obviously

a/n: despite learning french for basically ten years now, i have no idea if any of this is correct. enjoy?

[theveilwhispers]

PICK A PILE: WHAT IS SO SPECIAL ABOUT YOU?

directions: please take a deep breath, don’t think too much, and chose the image that best resonates with you!

disclaimer: this is a general tarot and oracle reading meant to be entertaining. take what aligns with you and ignore the rest.

PILE 1: CHERRIES

girl (gender neutral), you know you’re special, even if sometimes, under the weight of wounds, you forget. but that gut feeling? that quiet spark? it never really left. your soul carries frequencies of healing, rebirth, and radical hopecore. you have this magical gift of taming your inner beasts, handling intense emotions in a sensitive and deeply human way. you carry joy like someone who had to build it from ashes. your strength is an act of resilience. you’ve survived so much, and yet you never lost yourself in the process. you are someone with deep emotional maturity. you radiate trust. your empathy is something people feel even when you don’t say a word.

you carry an authentic kind of joy. what makes you special is that you don’t have to force anything to light up a room. you shine naturally, even when you’re quiet, even when you think your light is off. you bring life to spaces and conversations. i sense a very alive inner child, manifesting as spontaneous creativity, curiosity, and an absurd softness. you inspire others because you are hope in human form.

you’re a dreamer and a doer, a visionary soul who refuses to shrink to fit. you're always reaching for more: more truth, more beauty, more self. you are highly aware of your possibilities. you long to break the obvious and explore new paths, new ideas, and new versions of yourself. this pile shows you’re someone who dreams big and thinks even bigger and that, alone, inspires others. your very existence is a reminder that expansion is possible. but the oracle asks you: be more patient, please. not everything is meant for you. not everything deserves your energy. stopping for a while doesn’t mean stagnation, it means alignment. doing just for the sake of doing will only drain you.

your spirit animal is the cheetah. solar, focused, unstoppable and always moving. the sun doesn’t shine on the cheetah, it shines from within and people do notice it. your energy doesn’t ask permission to exist. it moves, it vibrates, it creates. if you’ve felt off lately, the cheetah comes with a message: reconnect to your purpose. your fire hasn’t gone out, it’s just resting.

you are the kind of soul that still loves after falling. you get back up, brush your knees off, and still offer comfort to others. what makes you special isn’t what you’ve been through but  what you’ve chosen to become in spite of it all. and that, babe, is divinely rare <3

PILE 2: FLOWERS

you are special because you survived worlds that tried to silence you… and still, you chose love. still, you stayed.

this pile speaks of someone who’s infinitely stronger than they think, but not the loud, performative kind of strength. yours is quiet and grounded. built from chaos, shaped through heartbreak. you learned how to hold the reins of your life even when everything around you was falling apart. that’s not just resilience: that’s raw, emotional bravery.

the cards show someone who’s been through deep mental exhaustion, maybe depression, burnout, emotional numbness or existential crises. there’s a sense of self-sabotage too and a painful ending that left you feeling like there was no way out. but what makes you so special is this: you’ve known what it feels like to be buried… and still, you came back. you rose from your own ashes like a phoenix.

and not only did you come back, now you hold space for others to heal too. your current energy is soft but steady, tender but unshakable and comfy. you’ve learned how to feel without drowning, how to listen without absorbing everything, how to love without losing yourself. you are peace.

your emotional maturity is rare. people feel safe with you. they know you won’t judge. they know you’ll understand. you’re the kind of person people call when they need to breathe, to cry, to be held in silence. you are a comfort place and girl, that’s such a rare gift in this world.

your spirit animal is the hummingbird. even though i sense a more introverted energy from this pile and the hummingbird is quite the extroverted spirit, it still makes perfect sense because it’s connected to your passion. yes, you know what it is. it’s that thing that gives you an infinite sense of energy and joy. it’s where, just like the hummingbird, you’ve learned (or are learning) to seek your nectar and where you’ll always return to be nourished. this nourishment may come from many sources, but i feel it’s especially tied to nature, creativity, connecting with others and/or your spiritual exploration. and you know it brings you back to life.

and this, truly, is what makes you so special: your light was not born from a lack of darkness. it’s a conscious choice to keep shining anyway. and that’s breathtakingly beautiful <3

PILE 3: BUTTERFLY

so fascinating! this is my very first reading where two spirit animals came through, so let’s start with them!

first: the peacock. it’s easy to assume that the peacock’s beauty lies in its feathers, but the real secret is that its beauty comes from within and then radiates outward. you have a unique ability to process life experiences in a way that they don’t poison your soul with resentment or bitterness but not because you’re some arrogant enlightened being, it’s because your neuroplasticity is remarkable and you’ve learned. you’ve transformed through past experiences. the cards reveal emotional loss and deep grief, moments when you felt like you were drowning in your own sorrow. not everything was lost, but pain blinded you, and that’s completely understandable. but here’s where beauty lies: you never let that be the end of your story.

and now enters your second spirit animal: the fox. you adapt quickly to anything. you know what you’re capable of, and you move through life with wisdom and subtlety. you’re not easily fooled. you’ve trained yourself to see truth in the midst of chaos and that makes you incredibly powerful. also, like the fox, there’s something deeply intriguing and charming about you.

hope never stopped living inside you because it’s the signature of your soul. your light may have dimmed, but it never went out. you are special because you chose to be hopeful. you chose, again and again, to believe in healing, and not just for yourself, but for the world around you. you’ve walked hand in hand with fear more than once, but still… you kept walking.

and now, you’ve entered an era of clarity. you’ve learned to name your truth without fear. you’ve learned to let go without regret.

you are special because your pain didn’t make you hard, it made you wise. you are special because you bring softness to a life that tried to take it from you. you are special because you live your truth. and that truth? it’s radiant just like you <3

[queenendless]

YOU FOUND ME

A/n: THNX U ALL FOR GETTING THIS SIDE BLOG TO OVER 800 FOLLOWERS! ♥︎

Credit to @livviespixels for these graphics. I need banners, art, fanart, fanfics, and MORE for our beloved Shadow Lord PRONTO PEOPLE!

I adore this man. So damn much. But I've been all over the place. GlimmerFics but imma take a break from writing there especially cause I get emotionally crying over Jinwoo for weeks now, moody over ZZZ gacha troubles and now that's P5X. So sorry for being gone for over a month and if this fic ain't that good for my Shadowlord's greatness.

CW: Self awareness AU brief/implied. Personal issues I've dealt with this past month like emotional depression, gut pains, etc. Tickle fluff, a bit of angst, hurt/comfort.

DO NOT STEAL, PLAGARIZE, EDIT, TRANSLATE AND/OR USE FOR AI. Rather reblog, like and follow thnx u very much.

Another insomnia fueled night.

Grinding through the newest hit game that everyone has been raving about.

On your laptop, resting on the kitchen chair, as you lay on your family living room couch, earphones plugged in as you toiled away the dead of night while the rest of your relatives sleep.

Despite having made many friends and some hateful choices along the way, your selfish bias had you pining for one character in particular.

Whether as a horned skulled creature composed of human and animal bones and shadows or as a emo human twink with a passion for the role, you adore this entity. This cool dork. Your beloved Shadow Lord; Skips Shadley.

Besides, the voice sold you on the character. That particular range, richness, versatility, whether gruff and theatrical or gentle and soothing.

Unbeknownst to you, the metas this game has pulled is about to take another big leap. So you thought it was all just a dream, believing you had conked out on the couch in the midst of playing.

Betty was used to your night owl habits so she still missed you sleeping at night with her like the old days. But she appreciated it when you return to her as you sleep through the day.

You could have sought out Farya; the first aid expert might be able to treat your flared up nerve damaged limbs that could involve improving your circulation. But you doubted it, your own personal ailments being incurable.

Gaia was understanding of how you kept coming to the corner of the house most of all to see the evident shadow beneath her stand, but is appreciative of you eventually befriending her, even more because she in a sense kept watch over your favorite house dweller.

Despite the Dateviators technically being on to allow you to be able to interact with these dateable objects and concepts, you didn't feel anything on your face as you were endearingly wrapped up in the familiar cozy darkness. The sight of your chosen lover appears out of the endless dark of his domain, making himself quite visible.

"Welcome back, my dear —!" He cut himself off as he looked at you like he's seeing you for the first time. His charcoal pupils lost in a daze. His glowing yellow blush dusting his face. "You ... you're here."

That's when he noticed the emotional distress on your face as your hands press to your chest and belly, pain evident, snapping him out of it. "Penumbra? What's wrong? What happened?!"

His panic and concern layered with tenderness as he hurries over makes your heart flutter, his misty back length hair sentient as he curtains both sides of you, his moonlight glowing hands carefully raking over your form to find any sorts of physical injuries on you.

"My chest, my stomach, my gut - especially my gut - dull flares of pain! I've been emotionally overwhelmed for weeks now. Am I eating too much? Been drinking coffee a lot too. They say bad sleep can cause gut issues. Or is it just that I'm getting older now? I don't fucking know anymore!" Your blubbering puffy self, wallowing in misery, crumbled apart in Skips' startled, anxious grasp.

"Please don't cry. Pretty please?" Your sniffles smother his chest, his smoky gray scarf he uses to dab your face with, not minding it getting soiled, easily able to clean them out since his attire is composed out of darkness itself. He pat and rubbed your back in gentle circular motions, letting you get out all those pent up emotions, nuzzling his face in your hair, inhaling your scent. "There there, angel~ I've got you."

"I'd rather be a shadow at this rate!" The sudden mood shift created from your moody words had Skips looking downtrodden, his eyes hidden underneath his wispy hair, reminding him of his failed ritual in reconfiguring you. You're the one panicked now. "I'm sorry beloved. I didn't mean to — !"

"Oh really now?" That ominous tone he took gave you goosebumps; that mischievous gleam in his eyes peeking out between his wisps. "Such a particular choice of words there, my dark ally~"

His shadows envelop you as he laid you down on plush comfy padding on his floor. He morphs into his alternate monster form. His towering frame envelops your sensitive teary-eyed self, his gruff rough voice seeped with mischief. "Hmm, perhaps I can remedy this dastardly situation."

The gentle yet thorough examination his giant clawed hands gives your vulnerable body leaves you feeling giddy as you giggle and squirm in his hold. "Nohoho stahahahp~! I'm so ticklihihish~!"

"That's the whole point, love. My punishment for your choice of words is most merciful, most bountiful, and most enjoyable~! Fwa hah haha!" His gravelly, wicked cackling only adds to his tickling more.

Pinned in between his arms, he keeps you caged between the puffy floor and his boney shadow form. Squeezing and pinching your hips, kneading and rubbing both sides of your folded belly, wiggling his lone curled claw along your neck and underneath your chin.

His careful tender touch leaves your heart quaking and your nerves firing. Your upper body quakes and your legs kick out underneath him as your laughs raise a pitch higher.

“That's it, my cute penumbra. Let all your unbridled energies spill out. Become untethered and enter the void~!" His spooky drawl got a watery chortle out of you amidst your squeamish state as his boney snout nuzzles your flushed smiling face.

Despite the predicament you're currently in, you hadn't remembered the last time you laughed. Days came and went in depressing sobbing episodes. It felt so long since you last felt elated. Could that be why he's doing this?

"To bare witness to the sight of you in the flesh ... your adorable real self~ I'm honored." His deep voice rumbles richly, his crinkled eyes sockets bore into your squeezed shut eyelids, his curling grin with boney teeth grows to match your own.

His words are nearly lost on you through the tingling, overwhelming high. All of him gets to you. His attention, his touch, both sides to him, you thrived off it all.

He releases you after a bit longer, letting you breathe, ghostly tickles still racking your curled up form as tired giggles slip out of you. His form reverted back to his human coil, brushing your hair away from your face, cradling your bright warm cheek, doting pecks on the tip of your nose, in between your brows, your forehead.

"I enjoy tickling your heart quite fiercely, my dear human. Especially if it helps you smile again." His shadows returned, this time however, to massage and caress your abdomen, your hips, your chest. Working out the stiff kinks. "To think this is how I'm actually seeing you for the first time."

You finally had your head clear from the ticklish overlay, finally able to ask about it between your pleased sighs and thankful hums. "What are you talking about?"

"I've always seen you on the other side of the screen whenever you play the game. So how ... how are you are here? Then again, lots of weirder shit goes on in this house so this shouldn't be so surprising. But even so," His yellow blushed paired with his lovesick smile made your toes curl and your heart race. "I'm actually meeting you face to face. And you're lovely."

You flush bashfully as he cradles you in his arms now, having you draped over his lap as you play with his scarf and his long shadowy hairlocks tickle your face when you decide to get it all off your chest.

"I'm so tired, Skips. Of feeling all this pain. Of being alone. Of not having anything worth living for back home. I don't want this to be a dream. I don't want to go back either. I want to stay here. I want you. If I have to Realize you to make you human so we can be together, I'll do it." Your rambled words seep with worry, anxiety, hope and need.

"I'm all too familiar with the negative nosedives." His own face nuzzles yours, his arms embrace you, holding onto you, both of you serving as each other's anchor. "You've accepted my true self. You chose me ... all of me. How could I not accept all of you in return?"

His whole being envelop you, submerging you in that tingly cozy warmth that soothes away the cramps, the dull aches within, and the emotional weight that pooled in your mind and your heart. "I'd be honored if you do Realize me. Being human with you, seeing this world for ourselves, or even just staying here in this house together, I want to be with you too, more than anything."

His shadows formed pillows and comfy bedding, laying you down with him joining you, facing you, but keeping you in his arms still. "Until then, you can sleep during the day and I'll watch over you until we can hang out at night. I'll make sure the silverfish don't bother you when you're sleeping."

Your eyes ripple up at him, swelling with hope. "Really?"

He blushed harder, smile dopey like, as his nose brushes yours. "You're a denizen of my realm now. And the Shadow Lord treats his darling penumbra with the most endearment."

You melt in his grasp, taking in his scent, relishing being in his grasp. "Thank you." His darkness made you feel so safe, easing down your sleep anxieties, nuzzling his chest in response to that. "I'll think of you always throughout my days." When you sleep through the daytime, dreaming of seeing him again.

"And I of you, through and beyond my nights." He followed you up, repeating your love lines to each other, humming deeply at how perfect. "Is it alright if I call you by your real name too?" Your sweet nod, your gentle whispering close to his face, made it all the more sweeter when he spoke your name at last with his cute smile. "Y/n L/n. You've made me the happiest I've been in a long time."

"And so have you." Your arms hugged his slim waist, your knees brush his peeking through his ripped tight pants, and your feet brushed his black boots. You just can't get enough of him. He is really truly yours.

"I love you, my beloved dummy."

"I love you too, my angelic dork."

And you're his. You're the Shadow Lord's now. Sharing a kiss or two ... or many pecks and hips and smooches as his shadows keep you both comfy as you two curled up together, intimacy setting the mood.

You'd take his loving darkness over the lonely light, always.

[frudoo]

How are slasher!141 and their wifey doing?? Morning sickness over? Starting to build the nursery while still killing people on the side? Or are they taking a break while wifeys pregnant ??

Wifey is neeeeedy

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Warnings: Smut bruh…. pure smut. Pregnancy.

The second trimester has been a lot easier on your body. The morning sickness is gone and in its place is thick, healthy hair and stronger nails, and you feel better than you have in a long time. You’re also feeling… needier as of late, with your hormones running rampant. Your husbands don’t exactly help with your horny state, and they aren’t even aware that their actions drive you absolutely mad. It could be the most mundane things—Kyle’s biceps bulging when he throws something heavy over his shoulder, or Johnny’s strong thighs flexing when he works in the garden—but fuck, it makes you wanna rip their clothes off and bounce on each of their cocks right then and there. 

     You could always tell them how you feel, like you usually do, but it’s been a while since you’ve given them a surprise. So instead, you lied and told them you had to run into work and take care of something, then drove into town. There’s a fancy little lingerie shop in the mall that you eye every time you’re out and about, and now that you’re feeling better than ever, you’ve finally found a reason to go inside. 

     You leave the mall with a bag full of pretty lace and silk, nearly skipping back to your car. It’s a struggle to get back inside the house completely unnoticed, but somehow you end up successfully sneaking past all four of your lovers. Thankfully, after living with them for so long, you know their routines by heart and right now, they should all be in the kitchen finishing up on cooking dinner. Slowly and silently you climb up the stairs and sneak into your room, locking the door.

     A sigh of relief escapes you as you dig through the bag for your favorite set that you just purchased. You have to fight back a squeal when you find it—a maroon babydoll made of delicate mesh and a lace waistband, the bodice held up by two ribbons tied into pretty bows. There is little left to the imagination, your darkened nipples poking right through the thin fabric and your full, round belly on display. You look very, very pregnant, but also ethereal. Your men will adore this almost as much as you do yourself.

     “Dinner, sweet girl,” comes Simon’s voice from outside of your door, a gentle knock accompanying his calm baritone—they must have seen your car in the driveway and finally realized that you’re home. 

     “I’ll be down in a minute,” you respond in an unusually chirpy voice, and your big blond man grunts suspiciously.

     “Wanna help ya down the stairs, mama,” he argues, twisting the knob to find that it’s locked. “Lemme in.”

     “I am capable of doing it myself, Si.”

     There’s a pause and then a long exhale followed by muttered curses descending from your room. You huff with amusement, quickly running your fingers through your hair to make sure that you look absolutely perfect. What little makeup you’d put on earlier today still looks good, so you finally exit your room and gracefully make your way down the stairs. The soft padding of your feet alerts your husbands, and you can hear the collective sharp intake of air from all four men when they look at you.

     “Bleedin’ fookin’ ‘ell,” breathes Johnny, frozen in place with the pot of gravy in one hand and a dripping ladle in the other. 

     Kyle and Simon said nothing but held onto each other as though they can’t stand on their own. John damn near dropped the plate of roast and veggies, bright blue eyes wide with admiration. You walk further into the kitchen and have a seat at your usual spot, acting nonchalant even though you can practically hear their drool hitting the floor. 

     “Smells delicious, boys. Thanks for cooking,” you hum politely, loading your plate with mashed potatoes and a dinner roll. “You gonna serve the roast, or just hoard it, John?” 

     “No,” he grunts simply, setting the platter on the counter and inching his way towards you. “Not hungry.”

     “No’ f’r dinner, anyway,” growls Simon, cutting in front of the bearded man to get to you first.

     You yelp as you’re scooped into strong arms, furrowing your eyebrows in protest as the two younger men clear off the dinner table so that Simon can plop your ass right in the middle. You barely have time to steady yourself with both hands on the surface before your thighs are forcefully being spread, putting your bare pussy on display—there was no way in hell you were putting that damn g-string on just to suffer. 

     “Well, I’m hungry!” You pout, attempting to teasingly lock your knees together to no avail because Kyle and John have each taken a leg into their grasp. 

     “Shoulda thought o’tha’ ‘fore ya came down ‘ere lookin’ like a damn goddess,” Kyle tuts, playfully nipping at your earlobe.

     Johnny stares intensely into your eyes as he sits in a chair and scoots it all the way up to the table, nearly barking at Simon when he tries to do the same. 

     “Ah’m tastin’ ‘er first,” he snarls, fingers so tight on your hips that they dimple the fat. 

     The Scot wastes no more time, burying his face in the sweet, wet haven he finds between your pretty plush thighs. You tilt your head back with a prolonged whimper as he cards his hot tongue through your folds, moaning his own delight right up against you. Kyle kisses his way from the side of your face down to the sensitive spot on your neck while John trails one hand down to your sore tits, massaging them with gentle care, plucking at your nipples every-so-often. 

     “Si, c’mere,” you slur, batting your eyelashes up at the big man with his arms crossed. “Wanna make you feel good.”

     Simon’s not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He practically stomps his way over, leaning down to kiss you passionately as your hand feels around for his zipper. He smiles against your lips and helps you unzip his jeans, shuddering when he feels your warm, nimble fingers pull his cock from its confines. He’s already swollen, thick and heavy and leaking salty precum down the shaft. You palm his tip to spread the clear fluid around, then wrap your hand around his base and slowly start pumping him. 

     “F-fuck, sweet’eart,” Simon groans. 

     “S’it good?” You ask breathlessly, mouth agape with pleasure as Johnny sucks your clit between his lips, tongue swirling around the bud. 

     “Fuck yeah, it is,” he chuckles. “Think the others’re feelin’ left out, though.”

     You turn your head to find Kyle practically humping the poor table and giggle, waving him over to your other side. He makes sure John’s got a good hold of you before he eagerly complies, already pulling out his throbbing dick to make it easier for you. He tugs his bottom lip between his teeth when your hand makes contact, kindly coaxing you to wrap your hand all the way around him. He holds your wrist in place with a gentle grasp, rocking his hips and fucking your fist so you don’t have to do a damn thing. 

     “John,” you whine, pouting back at him. “Wanna suck your cock.”

     “Fuckin’ ‘ell,” groans the older man. “Bloody perfect, you. Sure ya can handle it?”

     You nod vigorously, an eager grin stretching across your lips as John carefully lays you completely on your back. The smooth surface is cool against your skin, but warm hands hold your head where it hangs off of the table. The bearded man just barely prods your lips with the thick head of himself, only daring to slide into your mouth when your tongue impatiently flattens against his cock. He takes his time working himself deeper into your throat, allowing you to get used to the intrusion and actually enjoy it. It feels like a reward when he looks down and sees your throat bulging with the shape of him, and he wraps his hand around your neck to feel that delicious lump against his palm. 

     Simon moves a bit closer to Johnny, but he’s so tall that you can still reach him with no issue. The younger man quirks an eyebrow up at him, but doesn’t stop feasting on you. Instead, he moans when Simon’s hand wraps around his cock and squeezes, sending a rough vibration ringing through your body. You can’t even warn them before you come, mouth stuffed full of John’s cock, but without missing a beat Johnny laps up the syrupy, slick spend that drips from your core. You tense as you reach your climax, and it gets all of your men groaning.

     “F-fuck, John, kiss me,” Kyle whines, pulling the older man in close and desperately slipping his tongue into his mouth as he uses your hand to work himself through his own orgasm.

     The kiss sends John over the edge, growls of pleasure ringing from above your hazy head. His cock twitches as warm, salty cum pumps down your throat, both soothing the rawness he’s caused and making you sputter. 

     “Simon,” Johnny gasps, beard still drenched in your cum as he bats his long lashes up at the blond man. “S-Si, m’gonna-”

     “Cum w’me, Johnny,” he grunts, giving you a wrecked, appreciative smile as you speed up your hand’s movements on him. “Yeah, lovie, keep goin’ like tha’, sweet girl.”

     Johnny bites down on his fist when he finally reaches that blissful peak, pretty whimpers going right to Simon’s brain until he’s spilling all over your hand. The silence in the kitchen is broken only by heavy panting and occasional whimpers as the pleasure dies down. John gently cradles your face as his thumbs wipe away the mess he made of your mouth, then slowly helps you off of the table and onto your wobbly legs. The five of you all exchange glances before you burst into a fit of giggles at the spent look on all of their faces.

     “I’m still hungry, y’know.”

[awkwardarbor]

At some point the scroll wheel click on my mouse gave out, and that was inconvenient, but not awful. I just dealt with it, rebound any keys that needed to use that when they did.

I dealt with it for a while. Aware that I needed to replace my mouse, but not bothering to order a new one. It took over a year and a half before I ordered a new mouse. It got delivered. I set it down.

Five months later i'm sitting at my desk, thinking, wow, I really need to buy a new mouse, this one is dying in all sorts of ways. I look to the side, and see a small box on the shelf by my desk, within arms reach. "What is that box," I think to myself. "It has an outline of a mouse on it. Is that the box my mouse came in?" I pick it up and am shocked to find a brand new mouse inside. I have no memory of buying this. It's been sitting within arms reach for five months - I checked the delivery date. I swear I have not seen it there a single day before this, but I do distinctly remember setting my sewing needles down on that little box innumerable times in the last few months, thinking it was such a handy spot to make sure I knew where I set my needles down.

It took me a further four months before I initiated the very simple task of unplugging my mouse and replacing it with the new one. This tool that I use almost daily. I could have replaced it nine months ago. it needed replacing two+ years ago. If not for the paper trail of evidence I would assume someone else bought it and put it there, but no. It was me. Those eighty HDs work so hard.

ADHD is so embarrassing. I ran out of conditioner and I've been too busy to go buy more so I've been showering without for like 2 days. I just turned around and finally noticed four bottles of conditioner on my shelf. I stocked up. I always stock up. How did I even forget that I stocked up? The bottles just faded into the background. What's wrong with me

[booksandteaandtears]

Sunday Kind of Love

Dr. Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x reader

A short fluffy piece because the weather has been lovely where I live and I'd like to spend it with someone. Also because Robby deserves some rest and peace and if the show won't give it to him then I will.

I hope you had/are having a lovely Sunday!

Summary: How you and Robby spend a slow Sunday

I really loved writing this one <3

(It's not grammatically correct at all, but ignore that please...)

Masterlist

Although Robby wasn't free every Sunday, you had perfected your routine for when he was available.

You'd start the day in bed, not awake so early that it felt like getting up for work, but not so late that you'd missed half of your precious Sunday rotting.

You'd usually roll out of bed first, your bladder forcing you. Robby had trained his during busy ER shifts. Afterwards you'd crawl back into bed, your head resting on his chest, trying to cuddle impossibly closer to him. His hand would draw figures across your back lazily, still half asleep.

You always snuck a cold foot in between his warm calves. You'd think he'd gotten used to it, but he was not really awake yet at that point and not aware enough to defend himself.

He'd suggested you use house slippers when you went to the bathroom, even buying some in your favourite colour for you, but you refused to use them. He secretly liked it as well, he liked feeling you try to warm up your body on his. It was your joke, your very own performance that made him smile every time.

He'd get out of bed to make coffee, whistling on his way down. By the time you had put on your socks and followed suit your cup was ready on the kitchen island. He always smiled when he saw you coming down the stairs in his hoodie.

You pulled a chair out and nestled yourself on to it. He'd start breakfast, usually something sweet. There was a little bluetooth speaker on the island, right next to you, there especially for this moment. You'd choose something soft and you'd hum along with the music, while appreciating the view of Robby's back while he cooked.

You'd move to the couch to eat, catching the news while you enjoyed your breakfast. Sunday mornings were the only time Robby was in charge in the kitchen, he relied on your superior cooking skills the rest of the week.

It was your task to bring the plates back to the kitchen and clean up. You would inspect the fridge and make a grocery list before flopping back onto the couch with Robby. He always pulled you closer to him and thanked you for cleaning up.

When the news was over you tippled back upstairs to grab your books. You were elbow deep in a Kirsten Hannah novel, Michael would switch between medical journals and, more recently, a couple of books about people struggling with their mental health. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance was on his bedside table.

Robby was usually working on your second cup of coffee when you came down. He'd hand you a glass of water as well, always concerned you weren't hydrating.

You'd spent a couple of hours like that, just being next to each other, both wrapped up in your own book. The music was still playing in the background, occasionally one of you put your book down to tell the other an anecdote about the song playing, or cite a beautiful line from your books.

You'd get up at some point, taking the stairs up to your ensuite to start the shower. You'd wash your hair, and when you were almost done, your hair mask marinating, you'd hear a knock on the door.

Michael would join you in the shower, kissing your shoulder and singing sweets songs to you. He'd make you laugh. By the time you rinsed the mask out he was done as well and you'd get out of the shower together.

You'd dry your hair, get dressed and head to a nearby farmers market. You both loved the walk over there, holding hands, stopping to talk to the neighbours, pointing out what flowers had been growing in the gardens around your place.

You'd do a quick loop of the market before settling in one of the cute cafés around it, too hungry to focus properly on all the market goodness. You'd have lunch while people watching, pointing out cute dogs and kids. Robby would tell you about his week, about funny things that had happened, times he was proud of how one of his residents had handled a situation. He talked about some of the tougher cases that week, young kids that were ill, people saying goodbye to their loved ones in a brightly lit ER. You would rest your hand on his knee, showing him you were there, you were listening to him. He'd grab your hand and squeeze it, forcing a small smile back onto his face.

After that you'd take a longer time at the market, talking with vendors, buying a sourdough loaf with a new, interesting flavour (and always a backup in case you didn't like the exotic combinations). You'd look at jewellery, LP's, olive oil's, fruit and veg, meanwhile checking your grocery list for what you needed.

You'd drag Robby away from the stalls where someone was selling some bullshit miracle ointment for some ailment, not wanting to get into it on your calm Sunday. But you'd write down the name of the product and leave reviews online about the lies they were spreading. Michael would sign the reviews with John Carter, MD, a nod to an old TV doctor that he used too look like.

You would stop by the grocery store on the way back, making sure that you were all stocked up for another busy week. Usually you took that moment to fill each other in on what you'd be doing that next week, figuring out when the two of you would have time for each other, Robby mentally taking notes on what days you'd have difficult work days.

You'd make soup with your fresh vegetables when you were home, enjoying it with the loaf of bread. Robby would set the table and pour the wine. You always tried to keep the Sunday evening meal simple, a little full from lunch still, but you couldn't contain yourselves at the market and always came home with a bunch of cheese, olives and dips. And you couldn't possibly wait another day to try them.

After dinner it was Robby's turn to clean up. You'd hop onto the kitchen island, talking while he was scrubbing a pot, the speaker playing another playlist. You tried to take sip of wine while he made you laugh and you nearly snorted it into your own face. He laughed even harder at that.

You'd take a sunset walk after dinner, too full to do nothing all evening, feeling that some movement is necessary for a good night's sleep. He'd pull you closer to him when the air would start to cool, offering you his jacket. You declined, not wanting him to get cold and preferring to get closer to him for warmth, snuggling up into his side while walking.

You'd put on a film when you got back. Sometimes you had enough mental capacity for a good film, one you'd heard your friends rave about. Most times you just wanted something simple, so you'd turn on one of your trusted favourites, one that you knew almost every line of.

Michael almost always fell asleep halfway through the film. He denied it, but you could feel his heartbeat slowing down, his breath growing deeper. You'd snuggle up, watching the rest of the film. You'd wake him when the end credits would roll, telling him it was time for bed.

He brushed his teeth half asleep, somehow managing to look cute doing it. He'd be in bed before you, fighting to stay awake until you were in his arms. "I love you." He'd whisper when you planted your face in the crook of his neck. "I love you." You'd whisper back at him. He always smiled when he heard you say it, even when you could have sworn he was already asleep.

[hyacinthleaves]

hello hello!!! may I request fluff relationship headcanons with eddie and volt? need to see more of my husbands and I plan on making another seperate request for two more characters so this wont be my last :)

also if its okay may I be referred to as 🌙 anon? :3

yeah bet. trying so hard not to write smut rn you can see it while i was writing. its like having a really funny joke that you cant say cuz everyones talking

Eddie and Volt:

I'm trying so hard not to be biased but this is actually one of, if not the most rewarding relationship to be in. Like, in comparison to all the other objects in the house, you are getting the most princess treatment from these two

It's def because they were so grateful for your help and not just because they're attracted to you. Because originally that wasn't their thing so the fact that your relationship literally went from 1 to 100 is one of the reasons why being with them is deadass all fun and vibes for the most part

Also I think it would be so fun to date them because unlike some other pairings in the house (cough cough curt and rod, harper and dirk, and maybe timmy/timothy if I can count them) there's no tension between one and the other where you're forced to come between them really

I feel like interactions with them heavily depend on how you're feeling towards them or what side you decide to show to them

Like I can see a more sassy/teasing s/o talking to Volt a lot and poking fun at Eddie (in a flustering way) because of how much he blushes around them

Just getting Eddie flustered has got to feel like the greatest thing ever. Keep reminding him how much he wanted nothing to do with you when you first met. Make him feel how thankful he is to have you by his side. Volt supports this and actually thinks its so funny. Eddie is getting you back for this. Don't think you can just get away with this

But I can also see a more kind and affectionate s/o being more clingy to Volt (which he loves and will accept all of it, despite how busy he is) and Eddie jokingly poking fun at you

Volt makes it very clear to everyone that you're his partner. PDA shakes in the presence of Volt. I swear he gets worse with every interaction with you

In fact I feel like he has to hold himself back a lot. You make him lose his composure so easily and he has to remember he's on the clock

If you ever give him a reason to, he wouldn't be too upset if he had to close the Breaker Box early. He would find the perfect time to do it though so it doesn't seem like anything TOO bad is happening

But his patience is pretty high so usually there's no need for it to get to that point...don't test him too much though. Or do. You're well aware where that will get you

You literally cannot get bored around them I'm so serious like 10/10 relationship

[no1blacksapphirefan]

Hi! I really love your self aware AU. I was wondering, how do you think the cookies would react to the player/reader trying hard to get their outfits? For me, I love Pure Vanilla’s Truthless Recluse and Pastel Blue outfits (used the cubes for the first and stars/crystals for the second). And Shadow Milk’s Sage of Truth one is pretty too. And similarly, how do cookies that don’t have any (yet) feel? I don’t think Black Sapphire has any (that I’ve seen) which shocked me. The only other outfits I adore are Milky Way’s, Stardust’s and Capsaicin’s, so there’s very few I try and get. But feel free to talk about any other character!

I made one for the wedding costumes here if you’d like to give it a read ^^

Here’s one down for the others though hehe

(Not proof read, I'll fix any mistakes when I can ^^)

Shadow Milk Oh how he loves how concentrated you look, how you press that pull button and pray, hope that little Mont Blanc Cookie does that special animation, getting your hopes up until it's just an epic. Oh don't get him wrong, he is going to love seeing you get his costume and he loves it more knowing how much you want it, but it's exactly that reason why he hopes it takes longer.

Just seeing your desperation as you farm, collect, do anything you can for more rainbow cubes just to even get a chance at seeing that special outfit is enough for him, it truly shows him how much you like him, so call him cruel, but he wants to watch just a bit longer, it'll make watching your face light up more worth it.

Pure Vanilla Oh if he could, he'd love to just give you the outfit outright, he's glad you enjoy his other fits. Though he will admit that the Truthless Recluse outfit of his does make him a tad bit iffy, nothing bad enough to make him look away, it just feels odd to see himself acting rather differently. He watches as you try everything to get his outfit, seeing if he can find someone to up your luck.

And when you finally do? Oh he's overjoyed, he'll happily wear the outfit if you so want him too, seeing you so giddy and happy over finally getting it warms his heart to no end, perhaps he should get another costume. He will admit, seeing you're happy face over getting it is quite lovely.

Eternal Sugar She only has one outfit, and at first she was a bit mad. You're telling her this outfit would be what she wore if she won? She could've won?? Witches dammit, she swears she was so close, though...seeing you want it so much, she pushes that thought away. Not that it's gone completely, she's still annoyed but she's willing to hold back on those feelings if it meant being able to concentrate on you pulling for it.

Oh how sweet her darling was, doing everything in their ability to get more. She'll giggle so much if you decide to even use money to get more (don't do this guys) She'll consider it a win once you manage to finally get it and put it on her. Sure it never happened, she never truly won but she's wearing the outfit of a timeline when she did. Plus as a bonus, she got to see your smile.

Black Sapphire He preferred the outfit he wore, if he wanted to wear something else I think he'd make it himself, while he doesn't really hate the idea he also doesn't want anyone else to make him one, preferring his own handiwork when it comes to outfits. But he'd be lying if he said that he doesn't want to see your face light up when you manage to obtain a new one. And as a deceit follower, that's exactly what he tells everyone anyways.

Oh but he's so willing to compromise, maybe if he made a new outfit and bribed Mont Blanc Cookie he'd be able to have his own gacha. It'll be a win win...everyone's happy, he'll still be wearing his own work but you'll be pulling for it. It'll make you happy, he's sure of it. He'll make sure to make an outfit so pretty you'll practically be swooning when you see him wear it.

Mystic Flour She doesn't mind not having an outfit and sure, many times have you been the exception to her apathy, things she usually wouldn't care about suddenly she cares if you show an interested but I don't think it'll be this way when it comes to outfits. Besides, it seems as though she's forgotten in the game she seems to be in. She'd be surprised if she even got a costume.

That's not to say she won't be looking forward to you pulling on her outfit if she even gets one, more so that she won't mind whether or not she got an outfit or not. All she really wants is for you to still like her, if you find her current outfit pretty than she'll wear it, if she gets a new one and you prefer it? She'll wear it for you. She will admit, she does get why everyone enjoys seeing your smile when you manage to obtain an outfit, you've done it before though so she's content with how things are.

[jokin-around]

yes I am well aware of the history of the comics code authority and it's effect on comics, though I disagree that it's influence led to a "death of creativity", only a barrier creatives had to climb over, the idea it's influence led to tonal rebellion AFTER it's removal is very insightful, tho, and likely the case due it's very strict guidelines and, explicitly homophobic and puritanical origins.

that said, similar to how BTAS and Beyond had to find creative (and often more horrific) ways to off it's antagonists in order to evade censorship from the FCC, comics from this era turned their focus away from petty crime or using horror as a form of click bait, and onto more bombastic things like science fiction and fantasy, you have batman going to space, you have batman fighting beasts from famous literature, you have an explosion of strange but ultimately non-consequential villains in colorful costumes running around like cosplayers and so on.

eventually this ""sanitized"" version of the character became SO popular it sparked the creation of Batman 66 which was a SATIRICAL, but ultimately kid-friendly, take on the character and the comic at the time, made very apparent by the introductory credits in the complimentary feature film:

unfortunately, being a tv show, and one based based on the comics, it had it's own barriers and restrictions, especially when it came to the subject of interracial attraction. despite this though, it still had depictions of crime & death, scantily clad women and many tongue-in-cheek jokes about batman himself or more "mature' topics

it also introduced many aspects of the franchise today, including Barbra's Batgirl, Riddler's suit, and the Bat-computer

anyway though, "eat hot chip, steal, lie" and whatever other tumblr meme shit isn't what was removed from the comics OR the show, there was still plenty of that when the Joker was carting off houses with air balloons and putting people in elaborate death traps, but there was a loss in the kind of stories that could comment on real world issues as the original comics often did, which were a response to crime waves and apathetic / deadly law enforcement during the great depression

when these restrictions were lifted, some used the newfound freedom to tell topical stories about social issues like crime, poverty, prostitution and racism, as many did in the 70's, while others used it as an opportunity for more nebulous and random things like character de-constructions, gratuitous violence, horror, extremely homophobic depictions of same sex attraction (ironically), exploring the "cause of mental illness" or using it as a tool to remove an unwanted characters

both of these era's led to essential aspects of batman mythos, and offer their own unique spins and stories, one even granting a bigger playground and more interesting character dynamics to the other after it's fortunate demise

the CCA was not a good thing, and in another timeline maybe American comics could have blossomed into something more bespoke and risky without it like they have in europe, but restriction ultimately does breed creativity, making you go places you normally wouldn't even if you had all the room in the world

how the edgification of the joker eventually led to the deterioration of batman's longevity as a character and the eventual death of Alfred Pennyworth, in this essay I will-

[veilishvixen]

“I hate that Lavellan always has to be the one to initiate contact with Solas.”

HOLD UP…she only technically initiates their first romantic scene together when she accidentally hijacks his dream and plants herself at the center of it.

Their second, third, and fourth are all TECHNICALLY initiated by Solas.

The balcony scene? Started by him when he stops us in our tracks to ask if we “have a moment.” Then HE proceeds to lead US to our OWN bedroom. Lavellan has to hold him back slightly from fleeing from the scene of his own making, but it’s still his scene.

The third is their dance at halamshiral where we will see Lavellan standing far from the crowd, trying to steal a quiet moment for herself before Solas comes skulking out looking for company. Talking about some “I’m not surprised to find you out here.” Shut up, like you ever lost track of her. Then he is the one to offer his hand and suggest that they dance.

The fourth and final we all know is crestwood. They’ll be talking about the well of sorrows, but then the topic will swiftly shift to where the future is taking them. I always choose the “I will have you at my side,” option but no matter which you choose, Solas (once again) will usher you into yet another secluded scene that you yourself can make no conscious decision to trigger. It’s all orchestrated by him.

He can also be the only one to ever say the words “I love you/Vhenan” throughout the entire main game if you choose. Lavellan may tell him she loves him while he’s breaking up with her, and she may call him Vhenan and tell him she “loved” him in Tresspasser, but choosing those specific dialogue options aren’t necessary to keep the romance alive. The only one that IS necessary is the promise she has to make him at the very end; “OUR love will endure.” This is always MY Lavellan’s first time telling Solas she loves him, even if it isn’t exactly direct.

Lavellan really only has to kiss him once in a dream, then treat him with grace and kindness afterward and Solas will eventually take up the lead if you leave it for him. Yes, he stumbles once on the balcony and she has to set him back on track again, but after that? It’s all up to him until the break up.

Afterward he will tell you your anger is justified and that he is furious with himself as well…because he knows; he played more into the relationship than perhaps even you did. He wanted your love more than his higher plans and it was selfish. Foolish because more than he loved you, he hated himself.

But apart from all of that, I think a lot of people forget that Lavellan is this man’s BOSS in inquisition and is well aware of her flirtations with him being inappropriate. She will immediately try to retreat after their first kiss, then again when Solas expresses disapproval/anxiety towards it when they wake the next morning. “If I’m pressuring you…” “If I misread you…I’m sorry.”

She was CONCERNED and more than willing to fumble her cracked mask of professionalism back into place if it meant putting his mind at ease.

Even the gossiping nobles outside will disapprove of the romance, saying they prefer a highborn scandal. A romance with Cullen would still be inappropriate, but a little less scandalous considering his high rank in society. Solas is nobody to the world…an apostate, a servant…and if he’s nobody to them, imagine what he looks like standing next to the Inquisitor. Lavellan is hyper aware of all of this and it makes more sense for her character to constantly be leaving the ball in his court rather than keeping it in her own.

Before knowing what I know now, I probably would have considered her more like I consider Mythal had she truly been the main instigator in this relationship; a woman willing to take advantage of the vulnerable and malleable to get what she wants. But she was never that to Solas and I think her vocalizing her anxiety about making him feel pressured only made me (and him) love her deeper.

[julietcpulet]

Sympathy, Accountability and Shisui

Many will probably disagree with me but if we’re going to hold Shishou to account for loving Shenmei and enabling her cruelty when it became obvious fairly quickly she was no longer the person he envisioned her to be, then at some point we have to do the same for Shisui. While she gets some leeway for awhile being young and having difficulties as a child raised in that environment, even she admitted that she knew fairly quickly her mother was never going to change. That her cruelty was just who she was.

The fact she was able to give an entire exposition on her mother’s background and understood the political situation undergirding everything says she should’ve been smart enough to walk away sooner. While I think it’s fair to be sad for her circumstances, I also believe there’s a place to say she’s as much accountable as her parents in ways because if she was aware of all this and chose to stay silent, the deaths of so many in her clan rest with her just as much as they do with anyone else.

Maomao and Jinshi are right at her age and have had equally difficult circumstances growing up, yet they didn’t shy away from accepting responsibility or trying to right wrongs where they find them. If Shisui had outed her parents, if she’d found another way to free her sister, who knows what kind of life they both might’ve lived. But even as she recognized, by the time she acted it was really too late anyway.

I think sometimes because of her sympathetic nature people want to make a hero out of her without remembering that she was very much aware of everything going on and stayed silent, how is that any better than what Shishou did or anyone else? Just because she’s young shouldn’t give her a free pass, difficult parents shouldn’t. She let her clan suffer when she knew the ending they were all likely headed for. So I think it’s why vixen and villainess does suit her in the end because while we can understand why she let things go on so long, it doesn’t mean she was right in doing it.

[happyk44]

[ID: 1. Text reading: [all caps] I THINK GOD LOVES EVERYONE BUT ME I THINK GOD IS ASHAMED OF ME THAT WHEN I SCREAM HE COVERS HIS EARS HE ROLLS HIS EYES AND GOES BACK TO SLEEP HE DROWNS MY SCREAMS IN THE SOUNDS OF PEOPLE PRAISING HIM BUT GOD, PLEASE DO YOU HEAR ME? [end all caps]

2. Black and white illustration. A person with a glow star for a head leans over a pool of water on their hands and knees, and gaze at their reflection. The sky is dark and speckled with stars.

3. Text reading: The Lord spat and held me by my neck

"I would die for you, I would die for you," he wept

The Lord held me by my neck

4. Illustration. A hand holds a white lamb's head upside down by its jaw.

5. Text reading: You are one of God's mistakes

You crying tragic waste of skin

I'm well aware of how it aches

And you still won't let me in...

6. A person sits nude in a thin plastick-y membrane stretched all around their body.

7. Text reading: Jan 10 2022

if god could heal me, why hasn't he yet. if god could heal me, why didn't he make me right the first time.

8. Text reaading: When I decided to wage Holy War It looked very much like staring at my bedroom floor

9. A woman's head is surrounded by six outstretched hands on either side of her head from the neck up. Her eyes are closed. She is lit in a soft yellow glow from the bottom up.

10. Text reading: But I always knew that in the end, no one was coming to save me

So I just prayed, and I keep praying and praying and praying

11. A young man is pulled from side to side by multiple people. Several of them have reach dramatically out to sky or behind them. They are all lit in red while he is lit in a white light. One person sits directly behind him with their hand resting over his shoulder and on his chest.

12. Text reading: and you begin to understand That you're no hero to this story You're just another wretched pawn

/end ID]

Post by @traumatizeddfox / Oracle by altioraem / Many Hands by Lingua Ignota / Art by lumierebelge / Song to Say Goodbye by Placebo / Bubbles by Courtney Starrett / Silas Denver Melvin / Girls Against God by Florence + The Machine / Taverna Miresia – Mario, Bella, Anastasia by Mario Banushi / Sun Bleached Flies by Ethel Cain / Photo of Pippin (New York Theatre) by Tony Winners / Sometimes by Nick Lutsko

[creatingblackcharacters]

This is maybe not the right place for this, but here goes anyway.

I run a small roleplay community for ocs! It's really great, and for the most part, members tend towards being pretty inclusive and thoughtful. We've had a couple incidents resulting in bans, but ultimately things are usually ok.

...usually.

The thing is, in an online community, there's no way to tell someone's race unless they've stated it. We have a few members who have mentioned at some point or another that they're Black, but far, far more who are ambiguous via anonymity! (i said small. its a couple hundred, but most are inactive)

So: a few times I've run into the issue where someone's Black character or character design COULD have some stereotypical or negative implications regarding their race..... OR this could be a Black person innocently creating a character that happens to have some traits that, while technically fitting a stereotype, are also just traits they like to see in their characters!

So I guess what I'm looking for is advice on it how to handle this like, delicately - it feels inappropriate to just ask 'are you Black' in response to someone describing a character who could be an Angry Black Woman or could be a Black woman who is angry (as a light example), especially as I myself am white! While I feel it'd be totally ok for me to call out other white folks, I'd feel REAL bad if I tried to say something about racism and then get told that the person I'm talking to is, well, Black.

No worries if this isn't the place for it, but I'm ready to listen if it is!

Sorry for the wait; I wanted to ask my partner in crime his opinion, but he's been bedridden for a few days. He is alive now, so I'll hand it to him:

☕Hot Chocolate: Hello! So first and foremost I think you're doing great with handling issues as they arrive. As you stated, it's very difficult to monitor and catch race baiters online because they never have to reveal themselves. The best you can do is ask them privately, and if something comes up later, you did your due diligence, ban them. In my experience (which is mostly outside of fandom spaces) when you ask a Black person if they're Black, they usually just say yeah? It's those who get overly offended that are the questionable ones, imo.

Ice: I will add this in addition; if you plan on approaching someone about racism you DAMN sure better know what you're talking about. Be sure that this thing you're discussing is potentially an issue. Tbh, you can solve that problem by getting a Black mod. Having leadership that is aware of something that you might not be would make those conversations smoother to have. You'd just need to make sure you're protecting that Mod from the inevitable disrespect they will receive from participants who think they don't have to respect the Black mod or treat their word as equivalent.

[smilesatdawnmain]

Could we hear about shadowpeach’s birth stories?

Absolutely! I got a long one for ya~

———

It was early fall the day Wukong gave a sharp cry to his mate. The leaves had only just started to change color, barely welcoming the season anew when Wukong felt a strange sensation to his lower half.

Then the sensation of water or something similar splattering to the floor between his feet. Wukong grasped the side of the chair, having only gotten up to grab himself a little snack.

Plate still in hand he slowly lowered it to the table. “Uh oh-” Well no, this wasn’t a bad thing, but he wished it wasn’t right in the kitchen.

He glanced around, half-embarrassed, half-euphoric, and called, “Moon! It's time!” The word bent out in a warble, echoing through the house in a way that made Wukong deeply aware of his isolation. Macaque had been in the garden, keeping an obsessive watch over the perimeter—like the squirrels might sneak in and make off with his mate—so he thundered in without hesitation, shovel still in hand, dried earth caking his fur at the wrists.

For a moment, Macaque only stared at Wukong’s feet, then at Wukong’s face, then back at his feet.

The shovel clattered to the tiles and Macaque stepped around the mess, scrambling to Wukong’s side. His hands jittered from shock or adrenaline, but his touch on Wukong’s elbow was gentle. “Already? Are you sure it’s time? It's a little early- I’m going to boil the towels—”

“It’s time,” Wukong cut in, and smiled, because Macaque’s voice was still like velvet even when it cracked. It had been a long wait. His legs were trembling, the back of his mind screaming in panic. The uncertainty of what was about to happen. The endless possabilities of what could go wrong.

A shade was lifting itself from Macaque’s feet, then another. One was heading out of the home to fetch the doctor while the other was scowering the home for the children to make sure they were watched while everything was going on.

Macaque pressed their foreheads together for a heartbeat, grounding both of them, then he swept into motion. Arms under Wukong, shepherding him toward the bedroom, leaving a muddy track and watery footprints in the wake. Along the hall, Macaque’s voice turned softer, almost coaxing, as if speaking to a wounded bird. “You’re going to do so well. You always do well. Remember how you said you’d probably break my hand squeezing it?”

Wukong snorted, but the sound muffled into a shudder. “I exaggerate for effect.”

“You’ll break both,” Macaque said, calm and matter-of-fact. They had prepared a room for this very event, with everything they would possibly need within.

Wukong let himself be lowered to the nest of duvets, arms splayed, breathing fast. The fall air from the open window billowed the curtains; somewhere faint was honeysuckle, then autumn from the leaves in the yard. Macaque knelt beside him, wiping sweat from Wukong’s brow with the corner of his sleeve.

“Can I have my snack?” Wukong asked, voice a bit quavery. It was a ridiculous time for it, but the smell of peanut butter and banana lingered from the kitchen and he craved it fiercely.

“Of course,” Macaque said, as if he could say now. “The Doctor said that you’d have contractions first so best you eat now in case you can’t later.” a shade was fetching it for them both.

The shade knifed through the air and returned with the sandwich, cut just how Wukong liked, the banana slices precisely even, the bread a soft pillow. Wukong ate hungrily, partly because he sensed it might be a while before the opportunity returned, partly because the act itself became a distraction from the chaos inside his body.

Macaque hovered close, occupying himself with the preparations. Bowls of water. Piles of towels, boiled to mythic sterility. Something floral in a little bowl, maybe for air, maybe for calm.

“They say it’s the worse possible pain in existence,” Wukong mumbled into his sandwich.

Macaque made a face, sharpened by worry, not mockery. “It’s not going to be that bad,” he replied, voice gentler than a shadow drifting over the sun. He hoped it wouldn’t. He prayed it would’t. “You punched me in the nuts two weeks ago by accident and that was have-you-considered-the-sweet-release-of-death level.”

Wukong almost choked on his laughter. It hurt, but the absurdity of Macaque trying to prepare him for childbirth with nut-punch analogies broke something inside him and flooded the moment with a golden nostalgia. He finished his sandwich in two bites, licked the peanut butter from his fingers, and settled back right as the Mountain’s Doctor, Doctor Gao, emerged from the hall, a shade following it.

The doctor was older, with threadbare fur faded nearly to gray, but his hands were steady and his expression impassive as a stone. There was nothing of celestial magic left in him, save for the glimmering depth of his eyes and a patience that had seen the fall of several gods. He glanced at Wukong, at the slowly spreading damp, and exhaled a slow, practiced breath. For a moment he flashed to the day this cheeky young man had handed him an immortal peach hundreds of years ago, forever including the man in the King’s company and his trust.

“How long between contractions?” he asked. Wukong started to reply, but found he wasn’t counting and looked panicked. Macaque answered for him, gaining a nod from the Doctor.

“I see. We have some time then,” he settled his bag down, making sure he had everything he would need as they waited for his assistant to arrive. His solemn gaze softened as a wrinkled smile pulled at his lips. “Four days early, hmm? Glad to see the child doesn't take after their Father’s tendency to be late,” he patted Wukong’s knee lightly.

Wukong flashed a quick, lopsided grin, but a searing tug just beneath his navel as a contraction hit bent the smile in half. “Just can’t wait to cause trouble,” he said, then stopped speaking, lips drawn in as the pain ratcheted up his spine and locked his voice under glass.

He reached for Macaque’s hand, and gripped it like a lifeline. He was better at hiding terror than most, but not when it counted. Macaque, seeing, folded Wukong’s other hand between both of his, cupping gently. “I’m here, Peaches. Just breathe, like we practiced.”

As they shared inhales and exhales, the assistant, Ya, stumbled from the hall, panting with a bag clutched to her chest.

“I’m here-! I’m here!” Ya wheezed 

The Doctor lowered her voice with a drop of his hand, signaling for her to be calm, “Easy. We are still in the early stages. I suspect possibly an hour with the time between contractions.”

As the contraction faded, Wukong eased back, his breaths deeper. He loosened his hand around Macaque’s. “I’m good… I’m okay.” he smiled weakly. He peered around, trying to listen, to sense- but found the baby was still draining too much of his abilities to tell. “Where are the boys?” He asked, curious where Haoyu and the twins were for all of this.

“With my shades,” Macaque murmured softly. “I’m hoping one of the Brotherhood, Gongzhu, or the pilgrims get here soon to help watch them. For now, they are playing in the play room.” he brushed a strand of hair behind Wukong’s ear. “Haoyu guess what is going on.”

Wukong tried to imagine the twins, sprawled across the fainting couch with books strewn in their laps, sneaking glances at each other and whispering. Haoyu would be sitting upright, shoulders nearly even with the window ledge, eyes focused as he stared outside- searching, scanning- narrowed at any sign of something unwelcome to their home.

Wukong pictured the scene easily: Haoyu, so responsible it was almost a flaw, training the twins in security protocols as if siblinghood were a paramilitary occupation. The knowledge was a comfort, even as his body clenched hard again—this contraction a deep, rending ache that left him speechless. Macaque wiped his brow, using the softest edge of his thumb, and the sight struck Wukong as funny enough to make him want to weep. It was only sweat, but Macaque looked like he was scrubbing away the world.

The hour passed in pulses: the sun trailing lazy rectangles across the floor, the world outside a blurr. The Brotherhood, Princess Iron fan, the Pilgrims, all had managed to make their way to the Flower Fruit Mountain home in breaking speed to help distract and ease the worries of their three nephews. The twins had been getting antsy, until Iron Fan and DBK arrived with their own rambunctious toddler, Red Son. Macaque could distantly hear the sounds of sharp chaos- the unmistakable clunk of small feet scrambling up and down stairs and the shrill peals of laughter.

Wukong lost track of time, or perhaps time lost track of him. He floated through the intervals on tides of sensation, the pain cresting and ebbing, sometimes bearable, most times not.

“We’re getting close,” Doctor Gao said. “My King, you are going to need to push for me when I say.”

Wukong nodded, his face pale and wild-eyed, but determined to get this. To meet this child he had been quietly talking to for months now. The one who loved pomegranates and pickles smothered in chocolate.

Macaque squeezed his mate’s hand so tightly his own veins bulged, the delicate bones of Wukong’s knuckles standing out in stark relief. The shade had dimmed the lights as the sun went behind the Mountain; everything turned golden and warm and a little blurred, as if the day itself was receding to make room for what needed to be born.

Macaque found himself talking constantly, trying to fill the room with noise, to pour reassurance into every corner where fear might hide.

He talked about the view from the garden and the smell of rain on the way, about how the twins have been singing outside, how Haoyu is whispering “Good luck Daddy.” even though the boy seldom likes to speak aloud. Wukong didn’t laugh so much as exhale with deep, shaking relief, like someone inching hand over hand across a rope bridge, keeping one foot on the story and the other in reality.

The doctor’s instructions, when they came, were gentle.

“Push,”

Wukong’s world shrank to the point of Macaque’s voice, the close heat of the room, the sudden cold of a wet cloth dabbed at his brow. In the gaps between pain, he remembered his own birth— which had been loud and alone, the egg bursting open on a sunbeam, crackling into the air with destructive force.

He squeezed, and pushed, and screamed until his voice was hoarse, until his hands went numb and his vision blurred. Then, it was over.

There was a silence, but it was not empty. The room breathed it—it stretched from Wukong’s mouth to Macaque’s hand, to the doctor’s measured gaze, the assistant’s trembling shoulders. Then, suddenly, the silence was broken by a single, piercing wail, fresh as thunder.

Sharp as lightning.

Wukong might have faded into unconsciousness for a moment, or perhaps he was too exhausted to really register the splintering of wood above his head. The scream of panic from the assistant Ya, and the rush of his mate from his side to the Doctor at his feet.

The smell of magic. The tremor of energy. And the glow of his child’s eyes.

Doctor Gao’s fur singed at the top of his head, eyes wide and stunned, holding the child out ahead of him as their eyes dimmed- the beam of light that had emerged from little eyes dimming and settling back into Auburn. A laser… was that the correct word?

Macaque was there, hands held below the child in case the Doctor happened to drop them.

But the old man did not. He only laughed in open astonishment, voice trembling somewhere between awe and terror as he adjusted the newborn in his grip. “That’s one for the record books,” he managed, and then, more softly, “Congratulations. You have a Princess.”

Macaque’s hands trembled, not with the nervous energy he’d shown earlier, but with some new, fragile awe. “A… A girl,” His words barely made it past the stunned hush in the room.

The child was long and slim, doused in the downy fur of an early autumn wheat field, sticky and pink like an strawberry bitten too soon. The little one’s fist clutched at air, already fighting, and the doctor managed to resume composure with an incredulous chuckle.

“Nobody said the child would inherit your, ah- eyes, your highness.” he murmured, carefully turning the child to the table. Careful- not to get burned to a crisp.

“Huh…?” Wukong lulled his head, confused and drowsy.

“Nothing,” the Doctor murmured, eyeing the hole above their heads. There was blood, and mess, and a rush of motion that swept everything else away.

“Is... is the baby okay?” Wukong’s tongue felt foreign in his mouth. He blinked and found that tears were falling from his own face, cool across his temple, his heart rabbiting to the point he thought he was dying.

“Yes. Healthy and strong,” The doctor ran a thumb gently along the infant’s spine, then wrapped the baby swiftly in a warmed towel fetched by the assistant, who was blinking wildly at the burnt thatch in the ceiling and the tiny, squinting culprit, now nestled and oblivious to her architectural crime. The child made a series of faces, each more indignant than the last, puckering her lips and scrunching her nose, until finally she quieted, exhausted by her own entrance.

Macaque, as if waking from a trance, extended his arms. The doctor laid the bundle softly into his hands; he cupped her head, cradling her with a reverence so transparent it stilled the room. “She’s beautiful,” Macaque whispered, stroking a finger over a miniature brow. The baby yawned.

He hiccuped, walking with wobbling knees back to Wukong to kneel beside him. “You did it, Peaches. You did it.” he sobbed.

The King couldn’t see the child yet through the haze, knowing the Doctor was checking the Baby over. He felt so empty. He could feel it- the child was gone- his baby.

Where was his baby? “Baby…” he turned his head weakly side to side, “Moon- Moon the baby-” he pleaded.

He heard the words. They didn’t feel real until Macaque, with trembling reverence, brought the tiny, squirming bundle to Wukong’s chest. Barely bigger than a clutch of figs, impossibly new but already so herself. She made a face belligerent—and Wukong barked a laugh that nearly split him.

“A princess… a princess…” he gasped, but the sound was lost against the newborn’s head, her fur a wild, bristly flame under his lips. She blinked, as if momentarily stunned that the world persisted, then opened her mouth and yawned so wide Wukong thought she might swallow destiny itself.

He pressed her to his heart. In the cavernous echo that followed, everything in him trembled—the ancient stone, the wild joy, the exhaustion, the want. She was so unbelievably light. Already she nestled herself against him as if born knowing every hidden seam of his body, and he could not tell at first if he was shaking from cold or the heat of her. But she settled in, rooted deep, and his arms locked around her like instinct.

She was so much smaller than her brothers. Born from stones they came out a little older, bigger. She… she was a newborn. A true newborn. 

It terrified them both how little she was. 

Macaque, kneeling, buried his face against the floor and sobbed openly, great racking sobs that flickered between terror and adoration. Wukong wanted to laugh, to tell him not to be ridiculous, but the words were wet in his throat and refused to come out. Instead, he reached a weary hand toward his mate’s shoulder, found the fabric, and tugged him up to face the moment. Macaque looked up, eyes raw, the downward sweep of his eyebrows so pronounced it was almost comical. .

“Hey, hey. Look what we made,” Wukong said, his voice hoarse but steady, and when he smiled it was brighter than the whole bloody sunrise. For a moment, it was just the three of them: the King, his mate, and a tiny, ungovernable comet of a daughter, burning holes in the ceiling with her very first tears.

She gripped his pinky in her minuscule fist, already stronger than any newborn had the right to be, and Wukong shuddered with a wild, unnamable pride. “Ow,” he joked, faking a wince at her grip.”She… her fur isn’t like yours, or mine…”

Macaque took that in, nodding hard, and then pressed his face into the curve of Wukong’s neck, breathing him in deeply. He shook silently for several breaths, then managed, “It’s your mask,” he slipped his fingers around a curl of pink. “She’s got the color of your mask.”

Wukong choked, “Oh,” he smiled.

And this, impossibly, was the part where time slowed: the doctor and his assistant worked quietly in the background, tending and tidying, ritual words traded in hush between patient and physician. The window was cast with late orange, turning the whole room lantern-bright, gold embers trembling in the crisp air. The baby breathed in, out, her fist relaxing and her face slackening in her sleep.

Wukong could feel the weight of her through every bone, every vertebra singing with the ache of newness. He let his head fall back, chest still bare, and just absorbed the sound of her tiny heart and the beat of her tiny heel against his ribs.

Wukong ran a finger along the bridge of her nose, the invisible seam between him and not-him, marveling at how this creature—her knuckles like peas, lips bruised with effort—had spent the last months inside him, then just… emerged,

They had a daughter. A sweet baby girl who was going to shake the very world.

“I love her,” Wukong whispered. He loved her. He loved her so much. He couldn’t get enough of her. He was crying- it was so much. He loved her.

It was not until Macaque pressed his forehead to Wukong’s and let out a trembling, wordless sound that Wukong managed to corral his feelings into something like a sentence. “What’s her name?” he asked, eyes still fixed on the baby’s squinched-up face.

Macaque toppled slightly, surprised—then delighted, flustered, panicking all at once. “You—you want to… pick now?” He glanced at Wukong’s tired, radiant face and probably remembered the thousand nights they’d fought over hypothetical girl names, usually overlong or overclever. Wukong watched the gears spin.

There had been one that they often went back to.

“Sying 星 .”

It shivered out of him, the syllable weightless and immense all at once. Macaque’s mouth rounded around the word like a stone dropped in a quiet lake: “Sying. Star.” He reached to touch the tiny sliver of fur at their daughter’s temple, already curling like a crescent nebula, as if the universe had been waiting for her arrival to pin itself together. The name fit her—a celestial troublemaker, a new sun to govern the sky.

Wukong hadn’t meant to cry again, but he did. The air in the room had become pure oxygen, too bright and too much to breathe. Macaque simply held him, soothing both his mate and his daughter.

Their family was bigger, their hearts were bigger, and the world was so much brighter.  

[galaxy-fleur]

༺ Warm Comfort ༻

Pairing: Post-ID!Leon/fem reader. Summary: Following his fallout with Claire, Leon finds himself struggling with increasing uncertainty about his choices. Falling back into his worst habits, he seeks out the only person who may have the answer to his inner conflict. What you give him proves to be far more invaluable than any answer could ever be. Notes: Hurt/comfort, smut. Canon-complient, set straight after the events of Infinite Darkness. Exploration of Leon's mental state post-ID. Ambiguous relationship: Leon and reader are implied to have had an unlabeled romantic/sexual relationship prior. Leon and reader are friends and coworkers. Reader has non textured hair. Drunk comfort sex with many feelings. Kitchen sex. Word count: ~ 20k words. AO3 Link. Credits: dividers by @/saradika-graphics.

You were all too used to receiving unexpected calls late in the night. In fact, they were really just a commodity by this point. Unfortunately for you, a possible call to action could happen at any time of day, regardless of your schedule. Whether you were bright-eyed and ready to take on the world, or barely out of bed and hardly stringing two words together.

No rest for the wicked, as one would say.

You were therefore not at all surprised when the all too familiar sound of your ringtone going off rudely broke through your cosy oblivion of sleep. Very disoriented and kind of annoyed, yes, but not at all surprised. This exhausting routine of yours was nothing new. You didn't even have to open your eyes as your hand reached for the vibrating device on its own accord, bringing it up to your ear and pressing the receiver button with practiced ease.

"-Yes?"

...Although making your voice not sound all groggy and slurred was still a struggle.

You weren't surprised to hear your name on the other end of the line.

You were surprised by the voice that said it.

Much to your bewilderment, it wasn't even one of the superiors you spoke with recently, nor was it your representative.

No, it was Leon. Though, your name was quickly followed up by a hurried ramble, a bit uncharacteristic for his usual charming flare you'd expect to hear from him: "-Shit, I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd actually pick up, I-"

Your thoughts and senses were still dulled by sleep, so you blinked your eyes open quickly to try and wake yourself up a bit. Your initial thought at the sound of his voice in your ear was that something really bad must have happened. A new major bioterrorism attack, or some macabre conspiracy, or someone's gruesome death, or... well. Anything of similarly grim caliber. As a result, you quickly jumped up in your bed, something you quickly regretted after being met with a harsh rush of vertigo hitting you with a vengeance.

With your eyes straining and your body swaying softly, you suddenly became vividly aware that you were very much half asleep.

"Wh- Huh?" Much like him, you slurred your words together, although in your case, it was due to sleep. You could practically hear your brain working, invisible gears groaning and creaking as they stirred to life with very heavy reluctance on their part. "Leon? What's going on?"

Your drowsy, perplexed tone made him laugh dryly and without any real humor to it. His voice still sent a small jolt through you, like electricity sparking through a live wire, even though you were not fully there yet. It's been a while since you two talked...

"God, I’m a mess…" You heard him take a sip of... something. You guessed it was not a glass of water or apple juice. Probably. He sounded more like he was talking to himself here. "It’s three in the morning and I’m drunk, and I called you. You should’ve just ignored me. I’m just… I’m sorry. I just wanted to hear your voice, I guess."

You grumbled and shook your head, but he couldn't exactly see that over the phone, of course.

"No, no, it's okay." Looking back at the electric clock on your night stand, you rubbed at your eyes. It was, indeed, three in the morning. Witching hour. "Why are you calling so late? Are you okay?"

Another puff of dry laughter left Leon's lungs. You got a feeling that he was upset. Your most recent encounter with him wasn't particularly... pleasant. But, in spite of everything, you still remained on the phone with him. Your first instinct was still to ask if he's alright. Of course it was, it always was. Because you were genuinely concerned. Because you cared. Because he was important to you, even if he was a frustrating asshole at times.

Though, your inability to grow a spine was something you kind of despised about yourself. But that was a thought you kept for yourself.

"I’m drunk, calling you in the middle of the night to beg you to talk to me…" Leon admitted sarcastically. "So, I think we both know the answer to that question. But really… I don’t want to talk about me. I just want to hear you talk."

That made you frown as common sense and reason gradually resurfaced in your thoughts through the fading haze of sleep.

"...Leon, are you okay?" You asked again, but with greater intent this time. This was not at all his usual behavior. For him to pull a stunt like this all of the sudden... This was a first. You were kind of seriously concerned for him now. More than usual, anyways. "And why are you drinking so late in the night? It's three am."

Once more, Leon let forth a bitter, self-deprecating laugh. It made you wince just hearing it.

"Like I said… I’m a mess. Always have been, really. Remember you used to say I was a 'workaholic', or that I didn’t know how to take a damn break. But I had you. At least," he swallowed, the sound more bitter than natural. It made your heart ache. He was rambling, talking unrelated nonsense, but you didn't have the heart to interrupt. Or maybe you just didn't know what to say to any of that. "-Remember you said I needed to have things in my life besides work…? That I’d work myself to death, if you didn’t remind me."

"-I didn't say that... I said you should take better care of yourself," you corrected him softly, not at all liking how he was rephrasing something that you said to him out of genuine concern into harsh criticism. "And that was, what... three months ago, I think? Why are you bringing it up now?"

There was a long period of silence during which you swore could almost hear his thoughts whirling inside his head, chaotic and frantic.

══════════════════

"…I miss you. I’ve wanted to hear your voice for weeks."

When he heard just how pitiful he sounded, he practically groaned, cringing inwardly.

Another heavy moment of silence followed. He could only guess that you were probably struggling to comprehend his words with your sleep-tinted mind as you tried to put them all together like scattered puzzle pieces. Something tugged at his heart a little.

Well, the answer to your previous question was painfully obvious. He was very clearly not okay. He didn't like how borderline whiny he sounded, his filter all but gone thanks to the fog of alcohol clouding his judgement. And three months...? He just had to blurt out something this specific, huh? You'd definitely ask him even more uncomfortable questions now. You weren't dumb. After all, that's why he liked you so much. It's not like you had any idea of his latest assignment. Or, more accurately, the awful parody of it. He didn't want to talk about it, and yet he also kind of did.

It was annoying.

"Why didn't you come see me then?"

As you blurted it out, the question seemed a little dumb, but it was excruciatingly direct, and there was absolutely no way for him to dodge it. To your credit, your own judgment was probably a bit clouded, albeit by sleep residue, not alcohol.

Leon could really only shrug to himself at that. The only person in the world who still wanted him for whatever reason, and he turned you away. With him, this seemed to have turned into a really annoying pattern at this point. What a fool.

"Because- I didn’t… I couldn’t just…" He was having trouble coming up with the right words to explain himself. Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he continued: "...Because I’m an idiot and I didn’t think it would be fair to you. Or... something like that."

The words left a sour taste in his mouth. And it was not one he enjoyed.

Silence. It felt almost familiar to him by now. What he blurted out was both too much and not enough. He wasn't really giving you nearly enough time or opportunity to unpack all of that properly right now. He was well aware that he wasn't treating you very fairly here.

He licked over his chapped lips, his throat suddenly dry and parched despite the amber liquid coating his tongue just seconds prior. Less out of annoyance and more as an effort to prevent his thoughts from getting any more out of control while he awaited your reply. Or you hanging up on him. If you did, he wouldn't hold it against you. He'd do the same to himself, probably.

"Well that's... silly," you muttered out finally. You were far too sleepy for complex, meaningful conversations, it seemed. That was good in a way. He was not all there, either. Furthermore, a lump formed in the middle of his throat from these few words of yours alone. So, he quit trying to pretend he was in any way fine. By the sound of it, you were just saying what your first thought was. It was better than suffocating silence, at least. "I would be happy to see you."

Leon looked at the empty space in his apartment and blinked flatly. He just… didn’t expect that. He was waiting for you to get upset with him. A very well deserved reaction in response to him for calling you at three in the goddamn morning like this. He thought you would tell him not to call again. Let him know just how much you were annoyed with him. But you… wanted to see him?

Even in his inebriated state, that seemed just too good to be true.

"-Wait, really?" He asked bluntly. He was not all that bothered by the obvious surprise in his voice that made him sound almost like a child. He nearly snapped out of his daze now. He actually had a chance. The fact that you still wanted to see him for whatever reason was a blessing in and of itself. In spite of everything he put you through. He couldn't make a mess of this. He swallowed. Then, consequences be damned, he just went for it: "Then… Can I come see you? Now?"

On your end, there was yet another pause. While your words were genuine, you probably did not expect him to take them this literally. As he waited for your response, he looked back at the clock again, as if the awfully late hour might suddenly shift backwards with the mere power of his will alone.

"Now? It's three in the morning," you repeated in a rather straightforward manner that rivaled his own.

But even though Leon knew it was utterly ridiculous, he didn't really to care.

"Please," he uttered, his gruff voice exuding a sense of desperation. A rather pathetic one, but, again, he just couldn't bring himself to care right now. He was already so very lonely and inebriated when he contacted you. There was no dignity left to salvage. So, he closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of his couch. "I just… I really want to see you. I don’t care if it’s the middle of the night. I can be there in half an hour or less if you let me."

You let out a deep sigh, and he stared out the window for a while. Well, it didn't look like there was any rain at least. God, he didn't think his night would turn out this way. However, he couldn't help but wish for you to lack the the heart to say no to him. At least not right now. Who knows what he'd do if you say no. Or rather... how much more he'd drink. It made him feel a bit guilty, as it was not your damn responsibility to deal with him or help him feel better when he was the one that got himself in this situation in the first place.

But... He was only human, at the end of the day. No matter how much he wanted to pretend to be nothing but a shield or a weapon.

"...Alright. But you are not driving, you hear me? Take a cab."

Without even realizing that he had been holding his breath while awaiting your answer, Leon let out a deep exhale of sheer relief. He was expecting you to decline, but you didn't. In fact, he gets to see you once more. It was more than he deserved for a man like himself.

"Alright, fine then. I’ll take a cab. But you... might need to come and unlock the door for me," he said, a hint of a sarcastic smile tugging at his lips.

Leon hung up before you could respond, immediately going to grab his wallet and keys off the table. He got to his feet, stumbling a little as his sense of balance suddenly seemed a little wrong. He was definitely drunk, but he was not going to let that keep him from seeing you. So, with a bit more effort than he would like, he eventually left his apartment in one piece and headed out outside, what little remained of his pride be damned.

He didn't do much else on the quiet drive there, his mind far too occupied by the mere idea of seeing you again. It wasn't exactly a joyful or memorable moment when you last saw each other in person. While it wasn't a full-blown fight, he did end up pushing you away when you were really just trying to help. At the time, he thought it was for your own good. A feeling that quickly morphed into deep regret and shame soon after.

...He just kept repeating those same old mistakes over and over again with people he cared about, huh?

He tried to push that bitter thought out of his mind. The cab eventually arrived at your apartment after some time that felt like hours upon hours to his muddied mind. He pulled out his wallet and hurriedly paid off a generous tip to the poor guy that had to deal with his stink of booze through the whole drive, before getting out of the car, stumbling a little in the process.

He could only hope he wouldn't fall down the stairs getting there. Showing up with a bloodied nose would be even more embarrassing.

Once he successfully climbed the stairs to your door with no unlucky accidents, he fished out his phone, staring at the lock screen for a good minute or two, almost like he was debating whether he should turn back on this stupid idea or not.

He realized that his fingers were trembling a little as he typed a short message to you:

'I’m outside.'

He suddenly found it difficult to accept that he was actually doing this. It seemed almost surreal. In a bad or a good way, he couldn't really tell yet. Either way, before his thoughts could spiral any further, you opened the door and he quickly met your familiar eyes waiting for him on your porch.

"...Hi."

The mere sight of you made his heart skip a beat. Although it should have been obvious in hindsight, he still could hardly believe you actually opened the door for him. That you were here, in front of him, and you still looked as stunning as ever. He didn't even care that he woke you up at this ungodly hour anymore, or that he was probably ruining your already poor sleep schedule with his visit. The fact that you were here was all that mattered. That you were real.

He couldn't help but just... stare at you for a moment, like an idiot. He hasn't seen you in months, and even though it was the middle of the night you still looked so painfully beautiful to him. Even if your bed hair was horribly untidy and you were wearing some sleep-crinkled pajamas, you still looked absolutely breathtaking to him.

"I... Uh, hey," he managed to croak out eventually. This wasn't like him. He's seen and experienced far too much to be anxious around anyone. But you weren't just anyone, were you. You were something very special to him.

Before he could say anything else, he stumbled forward, one of his feet catching on the threshold. He instinctively extended a hand to grasp the door frame in order to prevent himself from falling flat on his face in front of you. But instead, his hand ended up landing on your shoulder, his palm resting on your bare skin between your tank top strap and your collarbone.

You also staggered back, keeping him upright with your hands flying up to rest on his chest, steadying him. There was no hiding his drunken state. Stumbling over anything at all was a clear sign of exactly that for an agent whose reflexes were generally on par with a cat's. You sighed, and it was hard to ignore the note of disappointment in your voice: "...Jesus, you can't even walk straight? How much did you drink?"

At least he arrived at your apartment in one piece. That made him feel grateful enough as it is.

Leon's face brimmed with a sheepish smile. The alcohol made him feel warm, but it also made him feel extremely humiliated and embarrassed. Of all things, he was definitely not used to requiring assistance to just remain upright.

"I... I lost count after the fifth shot," he confessed, his cheeks flushing with shame. He should probably be a bit more cautious with his words, but he couldn't bear the thought of being alone with his thoughts anymore. The feeling of being alone. Even if you were just a figment of his imagination, created from excessive alcohol and lack of sleep. That was better than nothing at all, in his opinion.

"Leon..."

Your disapproving glance told him everything he needed to know, you didn't have to keep saying anything more.

But he felt the warmth of your touch through his shirt as he looked down at your hands still resting on his chest gently but securely. He yearned to lean into it, to step forward, wrap his arms around you, pull you close, bury his face in the crook of your neck and hold onto you tightly. However, he was well aware that he could not make such a thing a reality. Not like this. Not with the way he was acting. Instead, he stepped back, attempting to regain his composure. And failing terribly. But he could at least try to put up a believable enough front for your sake.

"I'm sorry. I know shouldn't have come here like this. I should've just called a friend or something. But I... I couldn't. I needed to see you. Really badly," he muttered, his words slurring together. As if he even had some other friend to call. Just a few hours ago, he shoved away the only person who could be considered as one. He tried to smooth his hair out by running his hand through it. It didn't really work. He was still all messed up. An emotional and inebriated mess. But he was here. With you. That was the only thing that counted.

You frowned. Although, despite him looking worse for wear, surprisingly, you didn't start making a fuss about it. Not to his face, at any rate. He'd take what he could get.

"Doesn't matter now that you're here already. Come on."

With a hand on his back to keep him from losing his balance again, you moved to usher him in. Leon followed your footsteps inside, nodding nimbly. He chose to bite his tongue even if it was a little excessive of you, in case he stumbled over something again. You were always very cautious, not wanting to take any risks. You definitely wouldn't have let him come over in the first place if you had known just how inebriated he really was. He didn't sound too drunk over the phone. However, it was much more difficult to pretend to be sober in person than it was over the phone.

When he finally entered your place, he looked around thoroughly. It looked just as he remembered it. Cozy and comfortable, with subtle touches of you strewn all over. He smiled, feeling a bit more comfortable now that he was here.

"Seriously, thanks for letting me come over. I know it's late and I'm... probably not in the best state to be visiting anyone." He did a poor job at trying to hide his embarrassment in his drunk state. His attempt at being humorous wasn't quite successful, either. He was way too intoxicated to be his usual witty self.

A tiny sigh escaped your lips as you shook your head. If you were disappointed with him, you didn't show it outwardly. Which was more than he most likely deserved. "Well, I'd rather have you here where I can keep an eye on you. You'll make it up to me some other time."

He looked around your apartment again, soaking in all the sights and smells he remembered. It was comforting to be here. Interacting with you again. He had absolutely no desire to leave. He wanted to stay here. Forever, really. But he knew that he couldn't. He would eventually have to return back home. Back to his empty apartment and lonely life. His chest hurt at the thought.

He turned to face you with hazy, unfocused eyes.

"...I missed you. I missed you... a lot," he said, his voice thick with underlying emotion. He couldn't care less for appearing strong right now. "Honestly, I don't know what I would've done if you hadn't answered my call. If you hadn't let me come over. I just... I needed to see you. I know it's selfish and shitty of me, but..."

As you silently looked him over, you sighed again. While you probably weren't expecting him to show up all pristinely neat and tidy this late in the night, it was also pretty obvious that he wasn't feeling well, to put it mildly. On the other hand, he assumed that it was pretty clear from the very start of the call.

"It's okay, you're here now. So..." you started, obviously unsure on where to begin. A shared sentiment between you two. "...What happened?"

Leon's eyes widened slightly, wincing slightly. He didn't expect you to ask him that. At least not so directly. Not when he was already feeling so uncomfortably vulnerable. He inhaled deeply as he tried to collect his jumbled thoughts. Where does he even begin? With the outbreak in the White House? With the submarine job? With his argument with Claire? Or with the endless nights of drinking himself into oblivion, just to forget his fuckups?

In annoyance, he tugged at his hair a little as he ran a shaky hand through it.

"I... I don't know where to start. It's been a fucking nightmare, to be honest," he admitted lowly. He started pacing around your living room a tad, unable to stand still despite the wobbliness in his legs. His body seemed tense, as if he was carrying a burden he just couldn't shake off his shoulders. Which... wasn't all that far from the truth. He huffed: "My last job... it was bad. Really bad. I... lost people. People I cared about."

Literally and figuratively.

He couldn't help but grimace as Shen Mei's face flashed before his eyes, her reckless desperation in achieving justice that was never to be properly fulfilled weighing heavily on him. A desperation that Claire would've honored, damn all the risks. She was recklessly righteous like that. However, for him, those risks were just too great.

Was it selfish of him to prioritize the safety of someone he cared for over the greater good? Perhaps. He didn't know anymore. He didn't even know if there was greater good in this world, to be completely honest.

As you looked at him quietly, your eyes softened, the frown that was previously pulling your brows together slowly relaxing. With a soft sigh, you came up and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Even though it was a simple little gesture - one of the simplest ways to show someone you cared, really - it nevertheless made his breath hitch.

"...I'm sorry."

Although it was small, it was far more than the awful silence of his apartment. And maybe that was all he needed to hear right now, anyways. With a forceful swallow, he suppressed the memories that were just about to overwhelm him again and nodded, continuing.

"And then... Then there's Claire... We had a fight. A... pretty big one, I think. I'm not sure. I did something she didn't want me to do. I think... she's real mad at me. I don't blame her, honestly." He turned to you, his blue eyes muddled, filled with an ache that went deeper than just one unfortunate incident. "I'm just... I'm so tired. So fucking tired of all this. I'm sick of feeling like I'm... failing people. I don't know if I did the right thing. I thought I did, but... I don't know anymore."

Considering how much he was already intruding, he was borderline ranting to you at this point, pouring out far more than you should be hearing, but he couldn't stop. He didn't want to. His human, selfish side, which he usually kept under an iron lock and key, was now gaping wide open and demanding an answer. One that he wanted you to provide. Despite the fact that you shouldn't. Hell, you shouldn't have let him come over in the first place. And now he was torturing you with his inebriated babbling, too.

However, you remained silent, simply rubbing slow, deliberate circles with your thumb over his shoulder. It was almost unfair how much he craved that. How selfishly he wanted to seek out more than just that.

"I'm sorry," you repeated, your voice quiet. Sympathetic. He was aware that you were merely saying this to show him that you were paying attention, to allow him to express himself freely, regardless of how sad or repulsive his words may be. An underlying 'go on, it's okay' that he did not really deserve. You were far too good for him, bless your heart.

He buried his face in his hands and practically collapsed onto your couch. He didn't care that he was probably being kind of messy. Getting this out was all that mattered to him. Getting all of this off his chest before it swallowed him whole.

"I just... I needed to see you. Needed to know that I'm not... alone in all this. That someone still cares. That I'm not just... a fraud now," he whispered, his voice muffled by his hands. "I really am sorry for barging in like this. For being a mess on you. I just... I didn't know where else to turn."

There was silence for a moment, broken only by his soft trembling breaths and the monotonous ticking of your wall-mounted clock. A part of him was scared to look up at you now. Another wanted to apologize and storm straight out the door. And another one on top of those two kept him seated on your couch, hoping for comfort you were not at all obligated to give him.

When he did not continue his tirade any further, you broke the silence with actual conversation: "It's alright. I'm glad you called. So... You had a fight with Claire? That's a... first. What happened?"

You promptly followed him to the couch. sitting a short distance away. He couldn't exactly blame you for focusing on that part. He was just as surprised by it as you were. Or, well... he would be. If he wasn't the sole reason behind that fight it the first place.

Leon looked up at you, his eyes puffy and red-rimmed from both the drinking and some unshed tears he didn't dare acknowledge. He wasn't sure why he was telling you this. Why was he giving you such an uncomfortably intimate glimpse into his heart? Yet, he was unable to stop himself. There was something about you that made him want to open up and let you in. Even if he knew he shouldn't.

He laughed joylessly. What happened, you say. Now that was a pandora's box if he ever saw one.

"God... Where do I even begin?" He grumbled, running a hand through his messy hair again. "I've messed up with her a lot lately. There was that covert mission I was assigned to, and..."

"-And?" This time, when he looked up at you again, you had your brow raised at him expectedly, stopping him in his tracks before he could cut himself off. He sighed resolutely. He understood what you were implying with no words being said. It wouldn't be fair on you for him to go silent on this when he just ranted out all his recent issues like you were his paid therapist. He ought to at least answer all of your questions. For better and for worse.

Nevertheless, the recollection of all the recent events made his stomach turn.

"...And that's not even the start of it."

"Well... you came all the way here and woke me up in the middle of the night. Might as well get on with it," you said, more as an encouragement than a demand. You leaned back against the couch cushions, keeping your gaze fixed on him.

So he started talking. And you listened. You listened to him disclosing the White House hacking and the following unexpected outbreak, the subsequent submarine mission, the treason and conspiracy, everything that could possibly go wrong going wrong all at once, Wilson's corruption, the covert use of B.O.W. in Penamstan, and Claire becoming entangled in the whole thing. And how he withheld the chip with apparent evidence of the government's involvement in the whole disaster, refusing to give it over to her to expose everything per her and Shen Mei's wishes.

He told you, of course, that he did that to protect her. After all, if Claire was to go public with it, she'd undoubtedly be put in great danger by many powerful people not wanting to get their dirty laundry out in the open for the world to see. And he knew how ugly that could get more intimately than anyone else. However, Claire's frustration was also entirely natural.

"...Sounds like you had one hell of a week," you muttered eventually, once there was nothing left to spill but his still aching heart.

Leon's eyes were fixed on the ceiling as he nodded numbly. Although he didn't see anything worthwhile up there, staring at nothing allowed him to concentrate on your words instead of his own messed up thoughts. To listen to the sound of your voice. Your words were comforting, even if they were still like a small punch to the gut.

"That's putting it mildly," he joked bitterly, his voice hoarse. "I fucked up. I fucked up badly. But I also... would do it all again. I'd still push her away. I... don't know what it says about me. And that scares me."

You reached out to him, sighing. This time, your hand landed straight on his knee, and it got that much harder to not read too deep into it. He was already doing it, hell. "...It says that you care. You did what you thought was best. Protecting someone you care for doesn't make you a bad person."

You both were aware of how insignificant this comfort really was. But it was better than nothing.

He raised his head, swiping at his eyes briefly. His skin felt hot and clammy. He was still sweating despite the coolness of your apartment. It was a cold, disgusting type of sweat than clung to his skin like invisible strings of cobweb. He blamed the alcohol, but he realized it was much more than just that. It was the burden of everything he has done. Everything he has not done. Everything he has witnessed. He has lost the closest person to a friend, and he had no one but himself to blame for it this time around.

Jason's words rang in his head for the countless time today, almost like a mockery of his unraveling state of mind.

"I keep... thinking if I was right or not. It was undeniable evidence that could've brought down the people responsible for everything that's happened. Everything that's still happening. She could have been right on this... you know?" he admitted, his voice shaking. "I did it to protect her, but... I don't know if that's enough."

"Well... Maybe you should put a bit more trust in her next time around?" You suggested softly, tilting your head a bit in his direction. If he wasn't already feeling vulnerable as hell, he'd probably be a bit insulted from you baby talking to him like this, like he'd break or something if you said one word harsher than needed. But... the bitter truth was that was exactly how he felt right now, and there was no place left for pride, or what little was left of it by this point. He raised his gaze at you, your eyes meeting. You continued: "I know how protective you can get, but... Claire is a strong woman. She can protect herself. Hell, sometimes you need to let someone else protect you for once."

You were right, of course you were right, he already knew all of that. But despite him knowing that, he chose to do what he did.

And he would do it again, too.

"How can I make this right with her, though? How can I fix this?" He knew that there was no simple solutions to this. No quick answers to the problem at hand. But he still couldn't help but hope that you would have some magical insight to any and all questions, just maybe. Some magical wisdom to guide him would be pretty damn helpful right about now. "I just... I know it's stupid, but... I don't want to lose her, too."

With another sigh, you moved slightly closer to place a hand on his shoulder.

"It's... a messy situation alright. But your heart was in the right place." You glanced away for a time, trying to think of the right words. You clearly really understood both sides of the argument here. Then again, it would be easy for anyone to relate with Claire. Having your choice taken away from you is not a pleasant experience, to say the least. Even if doing so meant protecting you. "You two will sort things out. Eventually. I know you will. Just give her time, hm?"

Leon let out a deep sigh of his own, his shoulders hunching under the weight of your words. He knew that you were right. He knew that he and Claire would eventually have to find a solution to move past this. For Claire to forgive him for the harm he has potentially caused by knowing inaction on his part. But right now, when everything was still so raw and hurtful, he found it hard to accept that.

His shoulders relaxed under your hand ever so slightly, though. It may have been small, yet it made a difference nonetheless. It was nearly frightening how easy it was to let loose in your presence, even if that meant being a pathetic mess. He breathed in deeply, then breathed out.

"...Yeah. I... I'm hoping we will." Leon glanced over at you again, examining you thoroughly for the first time in months. Your hand on his shoulder, the way your hair was pretty messy, your collarbones peeking out from under your tank top...

Seeing you like this, in this vulnerable state, was stirring up some old feelings within him. Feelings he had tried to push down for the last several months in hopes of getting over them. Feelings that were now coming back with a vengeance, particularly since you allowed him to enter your place at this hour for whatever reason.

There was another long stretch of silence during which you both simply sat. This silence was even more deafening at this late hour, with little to no noise coming from the streets outside or through the walls. It was obvious that you didn't know what to say or whether you should say anything at all. He didn't know if he was even truly seeking your advice on all of this, either. In any case, you had little to offer. The damage has already been done, and anything else you could say would either unfairly blame Claire for a perfectly justifiable reaction on her part, or kick him when he was already down. You didn't want to do either of those things. So, eventually, you just sighed and pat his shoulder encouragingly.

"...Do you want some tea? I made some just before you arrived."

Tea was the last thing he expected you to offer him at this moment. Nevertheless, after all the alcohol he's had, he found it strangely enticing to think of something warm and comforting in his gut. A small, half-hearted smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he nodded.

"Yeah, tea sounds good, actually. Thanks," he said softly. He rose, slighty swaying on his feet. But he was determined to get to the kitchen by himself, even though he was still a little unsteady on his feet. He was not willing to be any more of a burden to you than he already was tonight.

He followed you into the kitchen and leaned against the counter as you poured the tea silently. He had to steady himself with one hand on the countertop, the movement painfully awkward on his part. Still, he marveled at how your pajamas fit your shape as he watched you move around the tiny room. He swiftly reverted his gaze, though, feeling guilty for shamelessly ogling you like this.

He cleared his throat, hoping to switch his focus to something more appropriate: "-So, uh, how have you been? I know I've been a bit... absent lately."

He was well aware that during the past few months, he has been a terrible friend to you, constantly avoiding you and vanishing without notice. He's been so preoccupied with his own issues that he wasn't there for you when you needed him. It was unfair to you. It was still unfair to you. He felt like he was endlessly indebted to you, though that was a sentiment he strangely didn't dislike all that much. After all, being indebted to you meant securing a connection with you. Even if it wasn't a particularly good one.

You shrugged slightly, totally focused on the art of making tea to notice his blatant staring. Or maybe you just purposefully didn't mention it to him.

Though... simply pouring remaining tea for him and adding a couple teaspoons of sugar was hardly art. The tea really only required some pouring and stirring on your part, which took no more than five minutes at most, since it was technically already prepared in advance, with your own unfinished cup still sitting on the table nearby. You probably helped yourself to some tea as you waited for him to arrive.

"Fine. You know nothing much goes on in my life when I'm off duty. I've been stuck at home for the most part." You moved his cup over to him: "...Blackberry."

Leon accepted it from you, encircling the cup with his fingers as the warmth permeated his palms. He lifted it up to his nose, inhaling the sweet blackberry aroma. It was a cozy scent that took him back to the carefree Sundays he used to spend preparing breakfast for the two of you in his own kitchen. Though he kept that thought to himself. Savoring the taste on his tongue, he took a sip. Not his usual choice of beverage, but it was pleasant nonetheless.

"Thanks," he murmured, taking another sip of the tea. It was hot and pleasantly bitter, though it had a little too much sugar for his liking. But he wasn't complaining. You've always enjoyed your sweets, so he was not at all surprised. He was just glad that you were even allowing him to be at your place so late at night.

He silently took a couple more sips of his tea. He glanced around the room for a moment, studying the setup. All things considered, it appeared really minimalistic in contrast to his own place, which has been rather disorganized lately. Everything was more... neat and tidy in here. More orderly. Everything had a designated spot for it, and it stayed in that spot most of the time. It stood in stark contrast to his own apartment, where appliances would get misplaced almost on the daily, what with his mind being far too occupied to keep track of things. He turned his gaze back to you once more, eyeing you in the charged silence that now fell over the room.

As you took a sip of your own tea, leaning on the table a little distance away from Leon, he couldn't help but admire you in silence. There was a certain tiredness to your eyes, but you were just as beautiful as ever. Hell, he found himself so distracted by you that he forgot to drink his tea, his eyes too caught up in your familiar features. Eventually, he set his cup down on the table next to you and spoke up, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you... ever think about us?"

You were obviously uncertain about what to say or if you should say anything at all to that. This was hardly a normal circumstance, after all. And your mind was still muddled just enough with the remnants of sleep to dull your usual sensitivity to long, awkward silences. You blinked into the distance a couple of times, but you did turn your head to look at him: "...Us?"

"Yeah. Us." His eyes were fixed on you, searching for any sign of recognition or understanding. He was aware that the topic was loaded and that, given his current state, it might not be suitable to ask. No, it was definitely not suitable to ask. But he couldn't help himself. He shouldn't be here with you in the middle of the night in the first place. It was not a good thing when everything was so honest and raw between you.

As he swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes fell to the floor. He was fully aware of the danger he was in here, but his mind was far too clouded with alcohol and, quite honestly, he was unable to bring himself to care at the moment. His gaze met yours again as he approached you slowly, carefully. You were still too far away from him for his liking. "...Do you ever think about us? About... what we used to have?"

Without uttering a word or displaying any visible discomfort, you maintained eye contact with him. It was hard to read you. He hoped it was a good sign, though.

Finally, you sighed and put down your cup as well.

"I... Sometimes," you admitted, seemingly deciding to be honest, even if it meant making things messy. You looked away, almost sheepish, in a way. "Isn't that only natural, though?"

In an effort to get even closer to you, he leaned in. He longed for your touch. He yearned for it. For months now, he's been without anyone to rely on, unable to hold onto anyone for almost as long. In his buzzed out state, this sense of absence was nearly excruciating. Even if it was only for tonight, he wanted you to be the one to filll that absence inside him. He wanted you to want to fill it for him.

"Do you want the truth? I think you were... You were the only one who understood me the way that you did," he mumbled quietly, the alcohol making him feel more vulnerable than usual.

You looked unsure of whether or not to do anything as you watched him steadily come closer and closer. That is, you had no actual intention of doing anything about it. You didn't mind his close proximity. The issue was primarily about boundaries. Despite the fact that he was essentially doing nothing. So far. So, you allowed him to move in, the kitchen feeling just a little bit smaller as a result.

"...You’re saying it like it's different now," you muttered quietly due to the quiet of your apartment and his closeness alike. "You're still important to me. It's not like that has changed."

Leon's heart skipped a beat. He was expecting a gentle rejection, maybe a soft turn down of his advances, hell, anything but this. Instead, here you were, communicating to him that you still thought highly of him. That he was still important to you, for whatever reason. He felt a steady wave of warmth spread through his chest, making his insides buzz with nervous energy he hasn't felt in a while. It was more than he could have ever imagined. His eyes were now fully locked with yours as he stepped closer to you again. Now he was dangerously close. He was so close to you that he could almost feel your breath waffling across the skin of his cheeks softly. It was intoxicating. In a way no liquor could ever be.

"...I know," he murmured, his hand reaching out to gently take yours. He's missed this. He's missed you. "You're still important to me, too."

You appeared surprised, but, once again, you did nothing to stop him. Insead, you glanced down at his hand, which was now gently holding onto yours, testing the waters wordlessly. You did not jerk your hand away from his, nor did you push him off to create some much needed distance between you.

Instead, you seemed... almost puzzled? Stunned? Unsure? He didn't know.

He just knew that, as you gazed up at him once more, your hand still warm and soft in his own, he briefly forgot how to to breathe.

"...Leon?"

He silently looked into your eyes for a few more seconds as he waited for the moment to pass. There was an unspoken sense of tension brewing between you in this moment, and he knew that you felt it too. A charged moment of suppressed need and longing, of unspoken feelings that he has been attempting to repress for months but could no longer control.

So, he didn't try to control them anymore.

He leaned in, his nose almost touching yours, throwing all caution to the wind. He waited a second, then two, then three, then four. And when you did not try to pull away from him, his lips cautiously brushed against yours, causing his eyes to flicker closed. Your breath hitched a little the moment your mouths met, a subtle sound that he eagerly swallowed. Although he was careful, he was not at all hesitant. This weightless kiss alone was making him feel as though he was drowning. God, he has missed the sensation of your mouth against his own so much. Your lips were soft, and warm, and they faintly tasted of blueberry tea, sending a sharp, pleasant shiver down his spine, one that ended up spreading throughout his entire body. As he pulled away, he whispered your name against your lips, the sound of it tethering him back to reality.

And, oh, for this brief, fleeting moment, what a lovely reality it was.

It was not like he surprised you or anything. He was very unhurried with his every step, giving you ample opportunities to express your discomfort, should you want to. Additionally, you trusted Leon to back off if necessary. But... you didn't do anything. You purposefully didn't do anything to stop this from happening. He didn't really know why, but you clearly didn't mind him being so close. If it weren't for the ensuing repercussions of that.

"...What... is this exactly?" You whispered eventually.

Leon held his breath and opened his eyes to look at you. He saw the confusion and hesitation swimming in your gaze, and he suddenly felt shitty for putting you in this situation in the first place. Even though he was aware that he was going too far, he couldn't stop. He did not want to. Your hand shouldn't be in his, and he shouldn't be so close to you. But, God, was he too weak-willed to do the right thing right now.

He was tired of doing the right thing in spite of his own desires.

Struggling to find the appropriate words to convey even a fourth of the chaos raging in his mind, he swallowed hard. He didn't intend to scare you or cause you any discomfort, but he couldn't deny the feelings that have been accumulating inside of him for so long. He could detect the underlying strain in your voice, which was a clear indication of your own internal conflict as well. He couldn't help but notice that you were not moving away from him, either. You seemed almost... curious to see where things would go, if anything.

Or perhaps he was simply deceiving himself with this.

"This...?" He asked, his own voice still barely above a whisper. "This is me being selfish. This is me wanting you, even if it's only for one night."

Your lips parted as though to speak, but then closed again, your eyes widening a little. At least you were not yelling at him. "...Why?"

The answer to that was fairly simple.

As he spoke, he moved in closer, his lips brushing your ear: "Because I've missed you. I've missed you so much it hurts."

You swallowed. His words left very little room for interpretation. He made it very clear what he intended to do. If you let him. Which was good, but his words also left you very little room to be vague yourself. And you loved being pretty vague with him.

"Doesn't seem like a very wise thing to do," you murmured.

Leon's heart sank a little. He knew full well that this was not a very wise thing to do. Far from it. As far as it could be. He also knew that he was going way too far and actively endangering your friendship with this. As if he could even afford that, when he had so few people to call his friends left in the first place. And after today, there would be one fewer of them. But he was powerless to stop himself. His affections for you were making him stupid, and alcohol was making him reckless and irresponsible on top of that. He was acutely aware of the need to withdraw from you before it was too late, but he was unable to do so.

"...I know," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear. "But I can't help myself. I haven't been able to think straight since I came home."

As you swallowed again, your throat slightly bobbed. He didn't even try to hide the way his gaze followed the movement, transfixed.

"Yeah, but... Is right now really the best time for this?"

You were acting responsibly and sensibly. It would be commendable if it didn't leave him as frustrated as it did right now.

He inhaled deeply while trying - and failing - to regain his composure.

"-Right now, all I want is to be close to you." He paused for a moment, which gave you another chance to back off if you wanted to. He was hoping that you wouldn't do that, though. He was hoping you felt even a small portion of what he was feeling right now. "If you don't want this, tell me to stop."

That caused your eyes to widen a little and your face to briefly flash with genuine surprise. A part of him felt bad for putting you on the spot like this. But he needed a definitive response from you. And he needed it now. Your mouth opened, then shut: "Leon, I-"

"-Tell me to go home if that's what you want. Because right now, I don't think I have the strength to leave unless you tell me to."

You seemed conflicted as you stared back at him, holding your breath. Of course, he got that. It was difficult to be sensible and accountable when he was so close, overwhelming all your senses. When he came over, you definitely didn't have this in mind. You exhaled at last: "...You're making this very hard for me."

He felt a sense of guilt for putting you in this situation, but he also felt a selfish glimmer of hope. You would have pushed him away by now if you really didn't want this. And yet, your hand was still resting in his own, your breath was still mingling with his.

He put his free hand on your cheek then and stroked the skin of your jawbone tenderly. He was keeping a close eye on your expression, trying to determine if you were being sincere or not. He wanted you to surrender so he could have you. Yet, he had no intention of hurting you or, god forbid, pressuring you into this, either.

Although... on some level, he supposed he was pressuring you right at this moment.

Guess he was a bastard after all.

"No one else is here," he whispered. "For once, we only answer to ourselves. So... just answer me. Tell me what you want. Whatever it is."

When you realized there wasn't really a way out of this, you sighed. In a figurative sense, of course. It wasn't like you were forced or pushed, but what you were forced to do was admit your inner feelings. You knew what you wanted. You just didn't know if you should act on it or admit it. It was difficult to pull away when he was so close, looking as beautiful as ever with those blue eyes of his, his hand warm and soft where it was touching your cheek. And you felt particularly drawn to be with him at this moment, after witnessing just how much he was hurting. Thus, you accepted defeat. In a sense.

"...I want to kiss you."

He searched your eyes for any sign of deceit or regret, but found none. Only an openness and sincerity that he has come to recognize over the years of your friendship. He had been so certain that you were going to tell him no. But to hear you genuinely express your desire for him? That you wanted this just as much as he did... It was almost too good to be true. You raised your head to look into his eyes as his fingers moved through your hair shakily.

"Then I think we should stop talking," he whispered.

And then he kissed you.

This time, you expected it, closing your eyes and leaning forward just an inch to meet him halfway as your mouths met again. He felt you shiver a tiny bit as you moved your lips over his in a tentative dance that grew more assured and bold as the seconds ticked by. He felt a rush of emotion and desire once your lips pressed against his own properly, fully. The taste was both bitter and sweet, a hint of alcohol lingering on his breath, mixing together with the sweetness of blueberry tea. You didn't appear to mind the strange combo.

He was only able to concentrate on the feel of your mouth against his as everything got delightfully hazy. The way you tasted, the scent of you, the way your hair felt between his fingers. He's missed all of this so much. The ache of loneliness he's suffered with over the past few months was finally feeling just a bit less hollow.

When you separated with a gentle sound of lips parting, the kiss was over. It didn't go further than that. At least you retreated before it did.

With hesitation, Leon breathed in, his eyes darting open to meet yours. He was still cradling your face in his hand, with his thumb gently brushing over your cheekbone. Even though he was finally holding you like this, he was still not ready to let go of you. The simple act of kissing you almost made his heart burst as his chest rose and fell faintly with every breath. There was a big part of him that longed for more. He's been feeling so utterly lonely for a while now, and he needed to get closer to you.

"That..." he murmured, breathless from the kiss, "...wasn't enough."

He examined you, looking over your untidy hair and Sligh flushed cheeks. You were stunning. There was no denying the simple beauty before him. And he needed you so much. To touch you, to feel you. He needed to be close to you. Closer. Close enough to forget where you ended and he began. His free hand grasped at your wrist, his fingers gently curling around it, his thumb brushing against your skin.

"Come here," he urged, pulling you toward him with no sense of subtlety.

You did just that, much to his surprise.

You shuffled closer to him and softly pressed your body up against his, your warmth reaching him through the barrier of clothes, a slight shiver jolting your shoulders at the contact. It wasn't much, considering that he was already standing pretty close. But this new level of intimacy, however tiny, still made him hold his breath for a second.

Like this, he could feel almost every dip and crevice, every inch of your form, fitting so perfectly with his own. He actively suppressed his need to groan outloud at the sensation of you being so close to him. Barely. Rather, he just held you against him by putting his hands securely around your waist. You reciprocating his affections was almost enough to make him feel weak at the knees. It was an overwhelming feeling to hold you in his arms again. You were overwhelming. With his chin now resting on top of your head, he leaned forward and blatantly inhaled the scent of your shampoo. He didn't bother to try and keep it subtle anymore.

"...You smell nice. Still that same shampoo?" he whispered against your hair, feeling you nod into him. It made him smile, the first genuine smile from him in a while now. He held you like this against him for a few moments longer, just allowing himself to enjoy the simple sensation of your soft and warm body pressing against him. He nevertheless yearned for more in spite of everything. He yearned to feel every part of you against him. Skin-to-skin. So, he moved his hands towards the bottom of your tank top and gently tugged at the hem: "Off."

Even though his objectives were quite obvious from the beginning, your breath still caught a little at the unexpected turn. However, he supposed this made it that much more real. But you still didn't move to get out of his grasp.

"You're pretty quick," you murmured, not really protesting nor encouraging. Though, you did that often. Maintaining a middle-ground stance without actively pursuing either option laid out for you on the table. He found this avoidance of yours pretty troublesome at times. Your inability to make a decision. "We haven't even kissed properly yet."

Through your shirt, his hands felt the warmth of your skin as they moved over your back now. He couldn't help but laugh at your words, though. Indeed, he was acting quite pushy. But he was impatient, and the thought of getting your clothes off was driving him crazy.

"I'm thirty years old," he whispered, planting soft little kisses against your jaw. "And you haven't touched me in months. I think I'm entitled some urgency here."

As he shifted ever closer, he slowly pressed you back against the kitchen counter, his body now flush against yours. The counter dug into your back a bit as you leaned back against it. Not that you were pushing against the idea. His hands were still lingering at the hem of your shirt, his breath leaving your skin heated.

"I want," he mumbled, lips brushing under your jaw now, making you tilt your head back with a soft exhale, "-to touch you. And I want you to touch me."

"I still want that kiss from you though," you murmured back, your fingers twitching at your sides slightly, as if you were unsure of what to do with them. Which... was partly true.

So, his hands seized both of your wrists and placed them firmly on his chest. Your breath hitched at the gesture, your heart doing a little flip in your chest as you looked back at him, feeling the steady warmth of his body beneath your palms.

"Touch me, then," he whispered, pressing himself further against your hands, silently encouraging you. "Anywhere you want. I'm yours, for tonight."

You definitely felt a certain way about his blatant eagerness, but you weren't quite sure how to outwardly respond to these feelings of yours.

"...That makes it sound a bit sad," you noted instead, your gaze wandering over him for a moment before returning back to his eyes. Your hands drifed downwards to his middle, then slid over his sides and back, until you lightly incircled your arms around his midsection under his leather jacket, bringing him in into a sort of an embrace, although there was still his undershirt serving as a barrier between you. Leon's breath caught at your touch. Of course, you were aware that this wasn't what he was looking for from you exactly. You let out a sigh: "...Like you're going to leave in the morning or something. Or I'll kick you out."

He moved in closer, his forehead resting softly against your own as he closed his eyes. He cupped your cheek and ran his thumb over your bottom lip. His heart beat faster in his chest with every little touch you gave him, pumping fresh, heated blood through his veins, making him acutely aware of every little touch, every little sound.

"-And what if you do?" He mouthed, a hint of vulnerability creeping into his tone. "Kick me out in the morning, I mean."

At that, you wrinkled your nose, as if in complete bewilderment at the mere suggestion.

"Why would I do that?"

There was a glimmer of doubt in Leon's eyes as they opened back up to scan yours silently. This type of vulnerability was... kind of new to him, and he wasn't at all used to feeling this way. He didn't care about this sort of thing usually. He was far too old to feel all broken up over not staying the night with someone. But with you, he couldn't help but wonder...

A mixture of relief and sadness alike washed over him as he let out a small, soft laugh. He ought to have known that you wouldn't just dump him on the curb again. You were too kind. Too sweet.

Far too incredibly sweet for him.

Being with you would probably give him cavities.

He'd take that any day, though.

"I just..." he sighed, lowering his head back down against yours, nuzzling his nose over your own slightly, "I guess I just wouldn't blame you if you did. I've been pushing you away for months. And showing up like this, drunk and needy at three in the morning... I don't really deserve your kindness."

He pulled his arms around you tighter: "...I'm a bit of a mess."

"-Maybe you are," you admitted. He didn't really linger much on the thought that you were both basically standing here, embracing one another. He reasoned that since neither of you objected, that was all he needed to worry about at the moment. You slipped one of your hands from under his jacket and reached up to comb it through his hair a bit, brushing a few strands out of his eyes. "But I care about you. That means accepting you even when you are a bit of a mess."

Leon was instantly drawn in by your touch like an affectionate mutt, his eyes fluttering back closed. He couldn't remember the last time someone touched him with such earnest gentleness and care. His chest ached from your touch and comforting words, making him let out a trembling breath. For so long, he hadn't received any physical or emotional affection from anyone. The act of holding you alone was almost enough to make him fall apart right then and there. But he needed more, he needed to be closer. He gripped your waist, fingers digging into your skin slightly.

"-Don't stop," he whispered, his voice rough with want. He slid his hands down from your waist to the bottom of your tank top again, grasping the edge of it. "Now, please. I need you to touch me. Or I'm gonna go crazy."

His voice had a tone of extreme desperation to it, and you could both hear it clearly. His words were practically begging. It was a vulnerability that he rarely got to show, but somehow, the fact that you made him feel so exposed was only making him want you even more.

It wasn't like you were resisting much before this, but you fully gave in this time. Your gaze softened at the silent vulnerability he displayed, but you didn't address it directly. For that, he was grateful. The hand that was brushing through his hair moved down to instead hold his cheek in your palm.

"Okay. I'm here. Right here," you murmured. And with that, you leaned forward, your intention clear.

'I'm here. Right here.' Four little words, but the sheer meaning behind them made his heart slam against his ribs with painful urgency. With an almost burning longing, he closed the distance between you and kissed you again.

He pushed you against the counter once more, every inch of his body seeming to ache for yours. You kissed him back despite the tiny gasp of surprise that escaped your lips. Though you expected it, this kiss was not at all like the ones before it. It was open-mouthed, deep, and fervent. This third kiss was somewhat rough, possibly even messy, and his hands were everywhere on you: one sliding onto your hip, the other grasping at your waist, squeezing tight. One of his knees pushed between yours, and there was no mistaking the hardness that touched your thigh through his jeans.

You sucked in a breath through your nose, your thighs parting to accommodate him. But even that touch wasn't nearly enough. He wanted more. He groaned as his mouth slid against yours, deepening the kiss further. Your breath stuttered at the hot sensation of his tongue brushing yours for the first time, though you reciprocated the favor with no reservations on your part, quickly turning a heated kiss into a full-blown shameless makeout session.

You struggled to maintain your balance under his intensity, but his firm grasp on you ensured that you stayed steady on your feet. This new, even closer proximity was making his heart race. As soon as he broke the kiss with a wet, smacking sound, you gasped for air. There was a thin strand of saliva connecting your lips before it broke off, the sight making him shiver. That kiss was as obscene as it gets. Even though neither of you cared much. If at all.

There was nothing but pure, hot need running through Leon's body and mind at this point, and he could practically taste your own need for him in every shaky breath that came out of your mouth. You both wanted the same thing. The sound of your breath and the taste of you on his tongue were nearly overwhelming. It was not enough. Not even close to being enough.

He needed more.

All of you.

So, he slipped his hands under your tank top, grabbed at your sides, and quickly raised you up to the kitchen counter. You gasped lightly, the smooth surface cold under your thighs. Your heart raced upon the realization that he intended to remain in the kitchen. It seemed that this was happening right here. His hands quickly reached for yours, grasping your wrists and guiding you towards his chest again, physically urging you to touch him.

"Please," he breathed against your cheek, his lips tracing over your jawline up to your ear. Holding on to your wrist, he directed your hand down to his belt, his abdomen tensing lightly under his shirt as your palm glided over it."Touch me. Here."

He was definitely... upfront. In a way, you found that exhilarating. You turned your head lightly and pressed your lips to his cheek, your hands leniently moving to undo his belt without any more hesitation to your actions. As Leon enjoyed the small yet intimate gesture of your peck to his cheek, a shiver ran up his spine. His belt jingled softly, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet kitchen. You murmured to him: "...In the kitchen?"

He's always been a man of action, and your approval and encouragement of his haste simply added to his motivation to keep pushing.

"Right here," he grunted, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your shorts up as he stepped between your legs. The counter creaked softly beneath you as he creeped in closer, the heat of his body radiating against your skin, easing away the coldness under your thighs. "I need you too badly to wait any longer."

Your bodies were now squished together as he tugged you to the edge of the counter, sliding his hands up your shorts and palming at your ass shamelessly. The hard length pressing against you was unmistakable now, with only the fabric of his jeans and your thin shorts separating you two. He again sneaked his hands under your tank top and pushed it up, allowing it to bunch up over the skin on your stomach. His mouth attacked at your neck, hot and wet as he sucked and nipped at the warm skin. He moaned into you, the sound rumbling deep in his throat, his breathing labored. You exhaled shakily, the sensation of his mouth on your neck hot and overwhelming, and the sound of his voice only fueling the flames that were steadily blooming in the pit of your stomach.

"Please," he breathed again, the word a desperate plea as his hand guided yours lower. At this point, it was impossible to focus on anything but your touch, given how he was touching you in practically every way, not that you minded that fact.

"This is going to be messy, then..." you murmured, more to yourself than to him as you followed his guidance yet again, your fingers working on his jeans to pop open the button and pull down the zipper with no further delays, sliding them down over his hips just enough to free his hardened cock from its uncomfortable confines, your hand immediately wrapping around it to give it a couple of gentle strokes.

He let out a low, guttural groan as his hips twitched forward in response to your touch. Your fingers were almost too much for him to handle and he had to quickly let go of you and grab onto the countertop with both hands to keep himself stable on his feet. The heat between you was causing his heart to race wildly in his chest, and a visible sheen of sweat was already forming on his skin. The feeling was incredible, but resisting the urge to give in immediately was a challenge that he had to overcome, somehow.

It would be downright humiliating to come this damn quickly. Though, it was probably a bit ironic how that was something he was insecure about, out of all the embarrassing things he's done already. To be fair to him, he hasn't been touched by someone properly in almost a year. And his own hand just didn't compare one bit.

"Messy is good," he said, his voice still strained. "I want messy. Want you to make a mess of me."

A tiny smile tugged at the edges of your lips as you giggled lightly at that, in spite of yourself. However, his words still managed to surprise you. In a positive way. "...Yeah?"

His body leaned closer to yours, pushing you back against the counter. He kissed up your neck, your jaw, your mouth, his lips hungry and eager on yours. Despite their frenzied and messy nature, you tried your best to return his kisses as he pecked at your lips, your mouth chasing after his before he broke off. He slid his hands under your tank top more, finally lifting it up and off your body.

You had no problem with your tank top being thrown away somewhere on the floor. Since you were in your pajamas as it was, there was no bra underneath it to take off, leaving you completely bare from the waist up. You brushed over the back of his neck with your free hand as he continued to shower you with open-mouthed kisses that made your heart race. Leon groaned lowly into the crook of your neck, making you smile against his hair as you whispered: "...Want me to make you just stop thinking for a while?"

There wasn't even a lot of teasing on your part here. After all, it was pretty evident that he was feeling very stressed and tense. You genuinely wanted to help him with that, no games involved.

Your words caused him to hesitate, and a tremor spread across his body. Goddamn, you really just said that.

"Fuck yes. I need that more than anything right now," he breathed out shakily before planting another desperate kiss on your lips, his tongue swiping over yours shamelessly. He eagerly touched at your newly exposed skin as he outlined the lines of your figure with his hands. "I'm always thinking, always planning. It never stops."

He nipped at your lower lip lightly as he pulled back, his eyes dark and stormy as he returned your gaze.

"...For once, I just want to feel." He tugged anxiously at the waistband of your shorts. He wanted them gone, wanted nothing to separate your bodies. He needed to feel your naked skin against his own, to get as close to you as humanely possible. You didn't protest against it, swiftly hooking your legs over his hips and kissing him back, trying to match his energy as your mouths moved together, hot and fervent. Leon felt a pulling ache in his chest. His cock throbbed against your palm, pre-cum already dribbling from the head as he ground himself against your touch instinctively. "Please..."

While your hand left his cock to creep over his shoulders, the one that was on the back of his head moved down to rest on his jawline, cupping his face.

"This is... a tad claustrophobic," you muttered onto his lips with a small chuckle, feeling the kitchen counter dig into your body in a somewhat uncomfortable manner.

With his hands firmly grasping at your hips, Leon gave you another little kiss on the lips, laughing along sheepishly. He knew he should probably be a tad gentler, take more care with you, but God help him. He was just so insanely desperate for you. Indeed, it was somewhat cramped in here; you were correct, as you always were. But the way you were pressed against him, your legs wrapped snuggly around his hips, your breath hot on his lips, made him not particularly care about it. So, he just kissed you once more, his tongue sliding into your mouth with a hungry groan rumbling in his throat, his hands coming down to clutch at your thighs like a lifeline.

"-Don't care," he choked out between his kisses. "You feel too good for me to care."

He rolled his hips against you, his body practically aching with need, his breaths coming in small, shaky puffs as he continued to kiss you repeatedly.

You seemed to not mind at all as you generously kissed him back every time, your shared breaths and small groans mixing together into one muffled symphony. His hips moving against yours caused a delicious, hot jolt up his spine, the feeling only doubling once you pushed yourself back against him to the best of your ability, considering your position on the kitchen counter. With the remaining barrier of clothes putting things somewhat up to his imagination, there was something undeniably sensual in the sensation of grinding against you in this way. Though, he sure hoped this wouldn't be the case for a long time. The feeling of you moving against him was too enticing, and the warmth of your breath on his skin caused him to shudder helplessly.

Your hand that wasn't on his jaw moved up and down his back, gently pushing the leather jacket off his shoulder.

"You're a bit overdressed, no?" You murmured in-between yet another session of your kisses, gently tugging at his bottom lip between your teeth as you looked back at him through your lashes, meeting his gaze.

He let out a low chuckle at your little comment, his eyes dark with lust as he looked back at you. You still kissed at his lips as your body rubbed up against his, your hair a complete unkempt mess. It was a bit hard to focus on your words when you looked this damn ethereal to him. Still, you were right. You always were. Despite your partial state of undress, he remained fully clothed. Selfish as ever, he was.

"Suppose I am," he said with a small smirk, quickly shrugging off his jacket and letting it fall somewhere to the floor, discarded. He didn't hesitate to start on his shirt as well, shedding layers of clothing with little care for where they ended up. He wanted to feel your skin pressed against his own, no clothes between you and him. He wanted nothing but you, and he wanted you now.

With your eyes sweeping over him with appreciation, you swiftly reached forward and moved your hand down his chest to his middle. A few clearly recent cuts and bruises were visible here and there, a reminder of the disaster of a mission he mentioned earlier. If you weren't limited to your kitchen counter, you'd have kissed them for him, scars old and new. But alas, your hand would have to do.

Leon took a sharp breath and let it out through clenched teeth. Your touch was tender and sweet, and he felt his heart skipping a beat at the fact that you've obviously noticed his battered state. Your obvious affection and desire made him feel like the most beautiful man alive, even though he was well aware that he was a mess right now, with countless scars and marks littering his skin. If only for a moment, he could forget about them, though.

"You're very beautiful," you murmured. Although it may have sounded cliche, you couldn't think of anything else to say. Moreover, that didn't make your statement any less truthful.

Your palm moved slowly down his stomach, causing him to instinctively quiver and flex his abs slightly. He missed how you used to take care of him, how your gentle touch could soothe almost every ache and pain, both physical and mental, the way your lips would press against his skin...

Though, at this moment, all you could do was press your palm against his chest, considering your rather restrictive position, feeling his heartbeat thump steadily beneath your fingers.

"...So are you," he echoed back, his voice rough. He reached out and grabbed your hand, pulling it up towards his lips. He adorned your palm with quick little kisses, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on yours. You let him do as he pleased, your breath hitching a bit as his lips glided over your palm. The gesture seemed fairly reverent, and his heart stuttered in his chest once more. The fact that you were still here in front of him, letting him have this closeness again, still calling him beautiful... It made his heart ache. "God, I've missed you."

With your other hand, you gently brushed a few strands of hair away from his eyes, your fingertips barely grazing his cheek. Leon leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment. He tucked his nose into the palm of your hand and kissed at the warm skin softly.

"I didn't know you could get this soft."

You made an honest comment; there was no hint of teasing there. He's always been one for physical affection, but this... this was something else. Something that was closer to the heart, something that was more in-depth than simple clinginess on his part. A feeling that caused his heart to race and his breath to catch in his throat.

"Don't get used to it. Besides," he said, even as he nuzzled against your hand, the stubble along his jaw scraping gently against your skin. He reached out to grasp your hips again, his grip firm. "I'm feeling pretty... hard at the moment."

He softly rolled his hips up against yours again to show you how much you've really affected him. You gasped lightly, looking up at him with a small, subtle chuckle. Leon grinned at your breathless laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked down at you, letting out a little laugh of his own. Oh, how he loved the way you looked back at him, the sparkle of humor in your eyes, even as your cheeks flushed with darker hue. You dropped your hands and softly gripped his arms, partially for purchase and partially to hold onto him in some way. "...Can't argue with facts."

He bent down, seizing your lips in another fervent kiss, his tongue swiping over your upper lip with a soft breath. As your grip on his arms tightened, your nails dug into his skin, and he shivered from the sharp but pleasant sensation. He couldn't help but think of your nails digging into some other places. His body straining against yours, his longing for you only intensifying with every second passing, he dipped his head to press passionate, open-mouthed kisses against the column of your neck.

"Damn straight. You know," he muttered, his tongue tasting the salt on your skin. One hand stayed on your hip, his thumb rubbing small circles against your skin, while the other steadily started to wander. It gently splayed across your stomach after skimming up your side and following the contour of your ribcage. His fingers span over your skin, his touch light and almost ticklish, "-you're still wearing far too many clothes for my liking."

You shivered, releasing tiny, trembling breaths from your lips. It was quite overwhelming. Of course, in a positive sense. You tilted your head to the side, biting your lip. You softly placed one of your hands on his back, fingers tucked into the hairs on the back of his neck.

"Well, technically, you're still more overdressed than me. Jeans are thicker than pajama shorts, are they not?"

Leon looked up at you and let out a low laugh that rumbled through his chest. Your hair was all messed up from his hands, your cheeks were flushed, and your bare chest heaved with each little gasp and breath. Seeing you like this because of him felt too good to be true. His hand flexed on your hip as he nipped at the delicate skin of your neck with a low groan falling from his lips.

"Semantics," he mused, gently rolling his hips against yours once more, letting you feel the hard line of his bulge through his jeans. Or what remained of them as they hang on his hips loosely. "Besides they're easier to get off."

At that, you stopped and bit your lip. "...Fair enough."

"-Lift your hips."

Considering your confined space, you had to exert some effort to quickly raise your hips off the countertop, but most impressively, you did so with no questions asked. Leon wrapped one arm around your waist, supporting you, his other hand reaching for the waistband of your pajama shorts. The feel of your exposed skin against his fingertips made his heart to race. His touch was slightly shaky as he started to slide the fabric down over your thighs.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, "-been dreaming of this for months."

Your breath caught softly as his confession made your insides buzz. The feeling of his arm hooking over your waist and holding you securely was both grounding and exhilarating. He could easily hold your entire weight up, and you knew you were perfectly fine and safe like this. Guess there were some upsides to his lifestyle.

"You should've come sooner then," you said quietly, your legs hooking around his hips again once the shorts were completely off. "I didn't lie when I said I would've been happy to see you."

After a brief pause, Leon pressed his forehead against yours and tightened his arm around your waist.

"I know," he whispered, "and I'm so fucking sorry I didn't. I didn't think... I didn't think you'd want to see me. Not after..."

"Hey," you coaxed him gently, your tone softening up significantly. He looked back up at you as you moved to cup his cheek again, your eyes so damn kind and warm as you met his gaze. Additionally, he swore that he felt his knees somewhat give way when you smiled at him. He would've stumbled if he wasn't holding you. "You're here now. Okay?"

He lowered his head, his mouth hot and wet on your neck as he left a couple more kisses there. He tasted the salt of your sweat as his tongue slid over the skin there.

"...I'm here now," he repeated after you, his voice almost a growl against your skin, his hands roaming over your now fully exposed thighs, kneading at the soft flesh. Sure would be nice to have his head crushed between these thighs of yours. "-So you're just going to have to put up with me for the night."

He sucked on one particular spot on your neck hard enough to leave a mark but not so hard as to cause you too much discomfort. You jolted slightly, a tiny noise leaving you as you felt the subtle sting. Byt judging by the way you pushed your hips back against him, gently placing one arm around his neck, you didn't mind him leaving a mark one bit. And the sensation of you rocking back against him like that made Leon groan as he inadvertently tightened his grip on your waist.

"Think I can manage that just fine," you mused back to him quietly.

The rough fabric of his jeans created a deliciously frustrating friction against your fully exposed cunt as he ground his hips into yours. He wanted to feel you against him, wanted to feel every inch of you pressed up against his body. He wanted to trace every curve and contour of yours with his hands and mouth until he knew you better than he did himself. Only, he wasn't sure he had the patience for it tonight.

"Oh I bet you can," he murmured against your neck, his voice low and heavy. His hand moved up your side, over the swell of one of your breasts, his thumb gently brushing over your nipple. The soft feel of it beneath his touch was so intense that he couldn't refrain from groaning aloud, just from that alone. He had a strong urge to take it in his mouth and suck on it until you were writhing under him, begging him for more than just that. But he wanted to worship every inch of you until you were fully satisfied, not rush through this for his own satisfaction alone.

Even if the urge was definitely there, and something told him that he wouldn't be able to perform up to his usual standards tonight.

You hummed in approval, your free hand gently tugging on his unbuttoned jeans and boxers as they slid downward.

"-This can't be comfortable," you noted.

Leon took a sharp breath in, his hips thrusting forward a little because of the sudden stimulation. He's been so focused on teasing you and touching you that he hadn't even considered his own discomfort. However, now that you've brought it up, he was painfully aware of the tightness in his jeans and the uncomfortable strain on his poor neglected member still partially stuffed away in his boxers. He's been so worked up and desperate for your touch that he's been ignoring his own needs.

"You're right," he murmured, his voice strained as he reached down to help you push his jeans and boxers over his hips. "Lemme... lemme just..."

In order to give himself the room to remove his jeans and boxers down his thighs properly, he separated himself from you for a little while. Once free from its confines, his cock sprung up, slapping against his stomach lightly and leaving a tiny smudge of pre-cum on his skin. He was already leaking so much it was downright embarrassing, but he couldn't stop staring at you and your reaction to him nonetheless. Your eyes showing nothing but pure hunger for him made his heart race, and his cock to throb alike. You looked at him with nothing but admiration, appreciating the beauty of his naked body, even though he was fairly close. You wanted to touch and caress him all over, making you wish for more room for you to move around. But, alas. The only way to do that was with your eyes alone.

So, you silently drew him closer for another languid kiss by the nape of his neck, striving for direct contact between your bodies, skin against skin. To get him going, you deftly wrapped your other hand around his cock and gave it a few gentle pumps, nothing getting in the way now. Given his painfully worked up state, you really had no need to do anything for him. But you wanted to regardless.

Leon groaned as his hips bucked forward from the kiss. He was so hard it hurt. The skin on his cock was hot and tight, and the sensation of your soft fingers wrapping around him alone almost made him see stars. He ground himself into your palm, practically fucking into your fist as he kissed you back, hard and desperate. To guide your strokes along his length, he slid his own hand down and wrapped his fingers around yours.

Fuck, that felt so good, his brain hazy with nothing but lust and pleasure now. He wanted to fuck into your hand forever, wanted to use your fist to bring himself to the edge again, and again, and again, until he was completely spent, and his brain was blissfully empty of any and all thoughts besides just you and your touch alone.

However, he was aware that he must slow down and proceed at a pace that would please you both, not just himself. So, he suddenly pulled away from you, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. His cock was flushed deep crimson, the veins along it pulsating gently with each heartbeat, his head slick and glistening, pre-cum running down the length of it.

"I need you," he rasped out, his hands roaming over your body fervently, grabbing, squeezing, kneading. "Can't wait anymore."

When he opened his eyes to gaze at you, a mixture of need and pleading filled the depths of his irises.

"Please."

You merely gave him a kind of dreamy smile, feeling a little dizzy from the kiss and the sensation of his bare skin against yours alike. Though, he figured that you'd become even closer soon enough. You moved your other hand from the base of his neck to the underside of his jaw, brushing his chin lightly with your thumb. "I think my answer to that's pretty obvious, no? I want you."

You planted another brief, delicate kiss onto his lips before drawing back. Leon's heart swelled with your words, and he grinned like a fool as he leaned into your touch. He relished in the way your fingers felt against his skin and the soothing warmth of your thumb as it stroked his chin so lovingly.

Without further ado, he moved and shifted against you, his hands sliding down your sides and gripping onto your hips tightly. He drew you in, allowing you to feel the full expanse of his body against yours. He was so hard and ready, leaking and twitching against your stomach, and he couldn't wait to finally be inside you. He's missed the way you looked at him and touched him, like you were really seeing him. He's missed it so much.

He pressed a tender kiss to your forehead as he leaned in.

"Hang on," he instructed. Carefully, he shifted his grip on you, grabbing you by the back of your thighs to help you hold onto him properly as he straightened up and easily lifted you off of the counter. He moved a few careful steps back, away from the counter, and then lowered himself onto the kitchen chair that was closest to him, which he'd conveniently been sitting on prior.

He settled you onto his lap, your legs parted around his hips, his arms wrapped around your middle. This time, it was you who was on top of him, your bodies still pressed tightly together, his body-warmth filling you. You chuckled softly, looking down at him with mild amusement swimming in your eyes, your arms wrapped around his neck.

"...Why am I not surprised that I'm on top?"

Leon's eyes lit up with mischief and desire as he grinned at you. He loved how you looked straddling him, your hair framing your features just enough to cast a lovely shadow over your face, cheeks still flushed and lips swollen from his kisses. He moved his hands down to grab your hips, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles over your hipbones.

"You got a problem with that?" He mused, his tone almost coy as he looked up at you, a small, cocky smirk playing on his lips. Despite his teasing tone, his touch was anything but. His hands still wandered over your figure, nearly reverently following the lines and contours of your body. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and heavy-lidded, filled with a need that was more profound and primal than just physical.

You smiled and leaned in to get more comfortable.

"Zero," you stated bluntly. Without any further dancing around, you shifted up to gently guide yourself to sink onto him slowly. Your hot cunt surrounded his aching cock, making Leon's breath catch sharply in his throat. As you slowly but surely sank onto him fully, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, a low, guttural groan escaping from his lips. A small 'mm...' sound left your own parted lips as you felt him stretching you out, not painful or uncomfortable, but a tad tense. Still, you knew that it was only temporary. Your focus was immediately taken away from the minor ache of the light stretch by those dazed blue eyes staring back at you.

Fuck, you felt absolutely fantastic, like velvet and silk and everything he has ever desired. He had to resist the urge to start thrusting up into you immediately, to fuck into you hard and fast until you were both trembling and exhausted. But rather, he forced himself to stay motionless so you could get used to him being inside of you. He knew that he didn't exactly get to prepare you properly - damn his drunken horny impatience - that you were tight and possibly a bit sore, and he didn't want to hurt you on accident. He wanted to make this a damn good experience for you, and he wanted you to feel as amazing as you made him feel. Even though that was a high bar for him to aim for.

His fingers stretched along the bend of your shoulder blades as his hands moved over your back. He drew you in closer, until your chest was pressing against his own, allowing him to feel the soft swells of your breasts cushioning his chest. His lips rested in the hollow of your throat as he leaned in to pepper kisses along the side of your neck softly. He took a few moments to just breathe, to try and compose himself enough to speak, but he was so damn aroused that he was finding it hard to even think straight, much less form coherent sentences.

"...Don't move yet," he managed to breathe out, his voice rough with need. "I'm... gonna come too fast if you do. Just- give me a minute, ok?"

Despite the fact that the sound was not at all mocking in nature, you couldn't help but laugh out loud. You combed one hand through the hairs on the back of his neck, running your fingers through the strands gently. "Seriously? I just put it in."

You weren't making fun of him. Honestly, you found it rather sweet. Regardless, Leon chuckled nervously, his face flushed and his breathing labored as he looked back at you with an embarrassed smile.

"I know, I know. It's just... been a while," he admitted, his hands squeezing at your hips gently as he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. He leaned towards you with his forehead resting lightly against your shoulder, his eyes fluttering shut as he concentrated on the sensation of your warmth surrounding him, the way your inner walls were fluttering and clenching around his length, a blissful promise of what's to come. His touch was gentle and reverent, reaching up to cup your cheek despite your current state. "Just... let me look at you for a moment."

His eyes moved over your face, ravenous but tender, as if he was trying to commit this moment to memory. You smiled and put your hand on top of his, turning your head slightly to press a small kiss to his wrist.

"Hey, there's no rush. And... just for the record, I wouldn't care if you came too fast," you reassured him. Although you teased a bit, you didn't want him to feel genuinely embarrassed over disappointing you or anything. You really just wanted him to feel good tonight, even if that meant you might not get that intense finish at the end of this.

Leon's tensed up muscles relaxed slightly, a subtle, genuine smile blooming on his lips. He leaned in to kiss your cheek, his breath warm against your skin.

"...Thanks," he murmured, meaning it with every fiber of his being. "That means a lot."

He inhaled deeply, feeling a little more in control now. Still, he took a few more additional moments to simply feel the heat and tightness of your cunt before speaking again.

"You can move now."

For a moment, you just held his gaze, as if you were trying to figure out just how sincere he really was: "You sure? I told you, I really am okay with waiting. There's no rush."

You were too kind, God...

He nodded, his touch tender as he ran his hands over your thighs.

"Yeah, I'm sure, don't worry. Slow at first," he grunted, his eyes meeting yours. "Just... move slow at first."

"-You got it," you said, returning his gaze with a small smile. You weren't about to go against him. So, in order to get things started, you placed your arms over his shoulders and gave a slight little roll of your hips. You exhaled shakily at the action, your eyes fluttering shut. After all, it's been pretty long for you, too.

Fuck, the feeling of you moving on top of him, your warm cunt enveloping him so perfectly, was almost too much to take. He had to swallow back a gasp, his own eyelids fluttering closed as he concentrated on the sensation of your body against his own, your shape fitting so wonderfully against his own.

"Yeah, like this," he managed to grit out, his voice strained with pleasure as he guided your hips in a slow, sensual rhythm. He was taking his time, being gentle and careful with you, making sure you were both enjoying every moment of this unplanned reunion.

His hands moved up your back, his fingers splaying across your shoulder blades. He pulled you in closer, until your chest was pressed flush against his own again, until he could feel the softness of your breasts cushioning his muscles. His lips lingering on the silky, smooth skin, he lowered his head to kiss the top of your left breast reverently, just above your heartbeat. You chuckled at that softly, the delicious drag of him moving inside you making your breath hitch in your throat, the fire within the pit of your stomach strong and ravenous.

"-Yeah?" You breathed out, your hands skimming over his own shoulders briefly as you moved on top of him, caressing him. "We're doing this slow and steady?"

If so, it wouldn't bother you. To be honest, you were just fine with that. Leon's eyes were dark and fierce when he stared up at you. He gently brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, reaching up to cup your cheek again.

"For now," he muttered, his gaze fixed on you again. "I just want to feel you. All of you. Slowly."

You smiled shakily and leaned into his hand: "...Then slowly it is."

He was now firmly grasping your hips, his fingers pressing into your flesh. He swallowed.

"But I won't be able to hold back for that long." He raised one hand from your hip and glided it up your side, his fingers lingering on your waist, ribs, chest. He cupped one breast, gently squeezing at the soft flesh for a moment, before his touch continued upwards, moving up your neck to cup your face next. His gaze was deep and passionate as he caressed your lower lip with his thumb. "...You're so damn beautiful."

Your lashes fluttered just before you opened your eyes back up to stare down at him, your breath hitching at his touch. You found it hard to maintain the requested slow pace for a moment there, your hips stuttering, but you resumed your languid rolls after the brief hang-up. You wouldn't speed up without his go-ahead. Instead, you settled yourself by nuzzling into his hand, throwing all caution to the wind. To hell with it, you weren't ashamed to show that you very much adored him. You parted your lips for him, letting his thumb press further into your bottom lip as you maintained eye contact with him.

"...That's something we can both agree on," you breathed out. "You have no idea how beautiful you look right now, either."

His hands slid into your hair at the back of your head as he leaned up closer to you and pulled you in. He gently gripped at the strands as he leaned in until his forehead rested against yours, your shaky breaths mingling together.

"I think I have some idea," he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with a yearning he could hardly express in words alone. "Seeing you like this, feeling you like this... it's... everything I've been dreaming about for months now. Seriously."

He was glued to you. His hand on your face was trembling slightly as he ran his thumb over your lip again, his touch reverent. With his other hand snaking around to grasp the back of your neck, he leaned in and planted another sloppy, wet kiss on your lips. He pulled you in closer, his body shaking slightly as he tried to resist just grasping at your hips and thrusting up into you like some animal in heat. He broke the kiss briefly to speak, sounding raspy and breathless.

"...Faster."

This was not a request; this was a command.

"Yes." You nodded, speechless and breathless yourself, both from the kiss and the continual sensation of him going in and out of you. Once his hands slid back to your hips, they felt steady, and you were grateful for that feeling. Knowing you, you would exhaust yourself quickly. But for now, you would give him your best. So, that was what you did.

As you slowly but surely increased the speed of your motions, thrusting down on him with increasing weight, you chased after his lips once more, kissing him. The sound of skin slapping against skin now contributed to the symphony of this moment. The intensified sensations prompted you to moan into him, tightening your grip on his shoulders during the kiss. You were just as reminded that it's been pretty damn long since you felt pure physical pleasure from fucking someone like this.

You might have needed some stess-relief as much as he did.

With each roll and grind, Leon groaned as he felt your heat enveloping him, taking him deeper. He tightened his grip on your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh, creating small half-moon indentations on your skin, but he knew you wouldn't object to it. He could tell you wanted it just as much as he did.

He broke off the kiss once more, his breath coming in ragged pants as his lips moved back down to your neck, his hands roaming around your body. Kissing and and biting at the delicate skin there, his teeth skimming over you as he fought to hold back just a little bit longer, his body quivering with effort, your name leaving his lips in a ragged groan: "Fuck..."

You tossed your head back, partly in a conscious effort to give him more space to work with, and partly in a natural reaction to the ever-growing pleasure blooming within the pit of your abdomen that now filled all your senses as you gasped breathlessly with each thrust. You kept up your pace without stuttering, even as the fire between your legs became unbearable in the best of ways, spreading upwards like liquid fire in your veins. One of your hands cradled the back of his head, your fingers buried in his hair, your nails scraping sharply against his scalp. He didn't seem to mind it at all. If anything, the whine that got muffled into your neck as you tugged at his hair a tad more harshly was an encouragement, not a protest.

"L-Leon..."

He was only pushed to begin thrusting up and meeting your movements when you gasped out his name like that, slamming his hips up against yours. He left a constellation of messy, open-mouthed kisses on your skin, his hands roaming all over your body, his touch leaving a trail of fire on you. He was quickly losing control, his breath coming in laborious pants, his body shivering.

"S-Shit, I'm not gonna be able to hold out for long like that," he muttered hurriedly, his voice strained. He reached up with a single hand, his fingers entwining in your hair and pulling your head back, forcing your to gaze to meet his own. You emitted a faint mewl as his hips drove up into you, only intensifying the feelings coursing up your spine, while the tug on your hair drew your eyes to meet his own. His blue eyes resembled a storm, dark and deep, with a hunger that extended beyond just physical need. "I want you to come for me. Can you do that?"

That was a genuine question on his part, and a warranted one, considering he didn't get to please you properly before things went from second base straight to home run with nothing in-between. Still, with how pent up you were, you honestly didn't have much trouble with it.

It was tough to remember to breathe with the hungry stare he was giving you. It was also tough to make yourself speak. Both from the constant physical reminder of him moving inside you that stole all words that did manage to form and transformed them into a series of gasps and moans on your part, as well as the pleasant fog that filled your head like cotton. While his request would probably embarrass you in other circumstances, right now, you didn't have the capacity or the desire to care.

So, you merely gave him a shaky nod, slinking one hand down your body to rub tight, quick circles on your clit in tune with his thrusts. Shuddering, it didn't at all take long for you to arch your back against him, your mouth falling open in a silent moan. Your muscles spasmed as a sharp wave of pleasure crashed over you, making your vision flash white for just a split second.

Maybe there is some good in not getting any action in a while.

The sight, the sound, the sheer sensation of you clamping up on him as you reached your orgasm, were downright heavenly. Leon tried to stifle his own whine by biting down on his lip, his hands clenching on your hair and hip. As his eyesight blurred at the edges, the waves of bliss almost overwhelmed him. He's been anticipating this for so long, and now that it was here, all around him, he felt as if he was drowning in all these sensations, as if he was drowning in you.

"Oh god-" he gasped out, your name escaping him in a breathless mantra, his voice raising itself higher until it broke off into a muffled whine as he spilled himself into you, warm and throbbing. Slowly and gently, he loosened his grip on your hair, his touch softening as he ran his fingers through the messy strands, evening them out a bit. His heart was thumping in his chest, he was panting, his breaths deep and shaky.

He tucked his face into the crook of your neck and gently kissed at the skin. The lightness of his touch and lips against you was a stark contrast to the fire that burned in him just mere moments earlier. Your thighs were shaking slightly from the aftershocks of it all, your body slumped over his as you breathed heavily, panting. As you two sat, gathering your bearings, your head moved to rest on his shoulder, your arms wrapping around his middle as the noise of your shared breaths filled the silence of your kitchen. You gradually grew aware of his presence as reality settled back in, bit by bit. You hummed lightly, raising your own hand to run your fingers through his hair, even though your hands were a bit shaky.

Leon closed his eyes as he leaned into your touch. As he wrapped his arms fully around you, holding you close, he was still struggling to catch his breath, his heart pounding. He nuzzled against your neck, inhaling your scent and holding your body close against his own. The previously heated and fervent atmosphere was now peaceful, almost normal, and for a moment, he could just relax and enjoy the present, the past and future be damned.

Though, a few seconds later, he raised his head and gave you a soft, gentle kiss on the lips. His touch was soft and reverent as he poured all his remaining emotions into that kiss without speaking. Once Leon interrupted the kiss, he drew back to look at you. His eyes were still stormy, but there was also a softness there, a vulnerability that wasn't present there before.

"...I don't want to overstep," he said quietly, some hesitance to his words. "But... can I stay?"

He ran his hand over your back in a soft manner. While he was asking for more than just a few more hours together, he was willing to settle for just being close to you at the moment. You drew back, unable to contain your breathless laugh as you glanced down at him in pure disbelief.

You looked uncertain whether to be amused or slightly insulted. Was he seriously asking you this right now?

"We just had sex in my kitchen. I think I am fine with you staying the night, Leon."

Leon laughed quietly, showing a faint flush on his cheeks. He knew he must look like a sight right now, still panting and covered in a sheen of sweat, his hair disheveled, and his eyes hazy with fading remnants of lust. Still, he found a feeling of contentment and pride that he hadn't felt in a long time as he watched you, looking all satiated and just as flushed as a result of his actions. Even if this was far from his best performance. He told himself that he'd make sure to make it up to you later and treat you like the queen you are.

"Sorry," he murmured, his voice still rough but a bit lighter now. "I just... I don't want to assume anything. Didn't want to push my luck. But... yeah. I'd be really happy if I could stay. As long as you'll have me."

His gaze was still fixed on your face as he ran his hands through your hair again. He leaned up, leaving another brief but nonetheless tender kiss on your lips. One that you returned wholeheartedly.

Of course, he realized you still had a lot of stuff to figure out, but for now, he was simply glad to be here with you and have this second opportunity to make it right.

Still, he saw your brows raise in silent surprise as you withdrew from him slightly. He didn't have to be specific to convey the essence of that last sentence to you. 'As long as you'll have me'. It was a hidden promise, there for you to latch on to if you wanted to, or discard it away with no judgement on his part. And you wouldn't have expected something like this from him.

In any case, you already knew your answer: "You can stay for as long as you'd like."

Leon felt a sudden surge of emotion blooming in his chest, making his breath to catch in his throat again, but for a completely different reason this time around. The magnitude of what you just said was beyond him, he found it hard to believe it. He could tell right away that you truly meant it by the simple earnestness and warmth to your eyes. He leaned in, mesmerized by the sight of you, the warmth of your breath mingling with his own.

"For as long as I'd like," he repeated, a soft, disbelieving whisper. He brought you closer, tightly wrapping his arms around your middle and lightly nuzzling against your temple. "...That could really be forever, you know."

You gently humed against him, your hands slowly moving up and down his back in soothing caresses.

"Is that bad?"

He chuckled.

"I'm just not sure I'm ever going to want to leave." His lips lingered on your shoulder for a moment, giving you another gentle kiss, before he spoke again: "It's just... this feels like... home. Being with you, holding you, touching you. I don't... I don't want to lose that feeling again. Even if it makes me sound like some sappy loser."

The simple vulnerability of his words made your heart ache, and the want to just hold him suddenly overwhelmed you. Then again, there was no obstacle holding you back from doing exactly that. Thus, you don't hold back. Your hands slid around his own middle and up his back as you simply held him close with a small sigh of your own. It was a little nasty and sticky, what with you both sweaty and still unseparated, with him remaining inside you since neither of you had moved yet. But you didn't mind the messiness all that much. As far as you were concerned, you would rather have his sweat and odor than blood and grime.

"You don't have to," you murmured simply, looking ahead as your head rested on his shoulder snuggly. "I told you. I don't mind you being here. I like you being here."

Leon trembled. This, being held like this, feeling so safe and wanted by someone, was something he was not at all used to. But with you, it felt so natural, it was almost scary. His arms wrapped around you like a vice, pulling you in impossibly close. He was still struggling to wrap his head around the idea that he could just... stay. That you wanted him to stay. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, his grip on you intensifying as his hands firmly clasped at your back.

"...You better mean that," he choked out shakily, "-because I'm not going anywhere. Not this time."

He felt strangely... complete. He felt like all the parts of himself that he thought he had long lost were finally coming back together. He didn't realize he was missing that feeling until now, when it was back again.

As your own hand gracefully glided up his back, he felt your fingers running through the hair at the nape of his neck softly. Leon shivered slightly, letting out a soft, content sigh of his own. The feeling of being so intimately close to you, in more ways than one, was downright heavenly. Despite his awareness that this feeling would fade away once you inevitably pull back from him. But that was fine.

"I wouldn't lie to you about something like this," you said simply. "Would be a bit cruel of me, don't you think?"

"-You're many things," he sighed. "But cruel is definitely not one of them."

You grinned at him, tilting your head slightly as you pulled back. He could recognize that subtle playful glint in your eyes, the one he knew well by now: "Yeah? What am I then?"

He bestowed a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering for a moment more than necessarily. "You're kind... and thoughtful, and smart. And way too good for me."

He sighed softly, feeling your hand still continuing to play with his hair; the sensation of your fingers dancing along the wisps of hair at his nape sent nice little thrills down his spine. His eyes fluttered closed again, his head resting against your shoulder, and his body relaxing as he takes simple pleasure in this peaceful moment. He was utterly worn out. Not simply because of the drinking and the sex, but because of the weight he's been carrying for a long time now finally being lifted off his weary shoulders, albeit only partially. But that was sufficient enough for him. Now that he was in your arms, it felt like he could finally put away some of it behind him, even if just for a short, precious moment in time.

For a while, you just held each other in silence. It was... nice. Even though he understood that it wouldn't continue on forever. Eventually, as you started to feel your eyelids grow heavy, you pushed yourself up a bit, pulling back from him again. In a situation like this, this was hardly the ideal spot for you two to fall asleep. You smiled at him faintly, your hands resting on his shoulders.

"...Think we better clean up and head to bed, eh?"

Leon leaned back and blinked up at you slowly, emerging from the shroud of sleepy blissfulness of his own. His eyes were still heavy-lidded and hazy, but he smiled softly at you from the corners of his mouth.

"Probably a good idea, yeah," he agreed, his voice a low, gravelly murmur. "Not that I don't love having you on top like this... but yeah. Probably not the most comfy place for a night of sleep."

He knew you were right, yet he was still hesitant to let go. He took another moment to just look at you one more time, taking in the sight of you in all your tired, disheveled, but still-gorgeous glory, before he reluctantly released his grip on you. You nodded thanks and climbed off of him slowly, hissing slightly as you felt his now soft cock slide out of you with an unceremonious squishy noise. Leon's cheeks flushed a bit at the sound, a mixture of pride and a bit of chagrin running through him. He really did that to you, huh. He was now more than aware of a sticky mess between your thighs as the initial afterglow has faded.

A part of him found it pretty amusing that you just rode him on your kitchen chair, of all places. In the moment, it was not easy to think rationally, though.

Giving him another somewhat awkward but genuine smile, you extended your hand to assist him in standing up. He was still drunk, after all. "C'mon, let's get cleaned up."

He took your hand and let you pull him up. With a bit more effort than necessary, he stood up after you, wobbling on his feet for a moment since everything was still so intense that his legs were shaking. The remaining alcohol in his system didn't help with that, either. Though, this time, he chose to laugh it off instead.

"You... might've tired me out a bit." With a trace of mischief to his eyes, he laughed gently as he surveyed the sticky mess between your legs. "...And I made a bit of a mess, didn't I? Think you might... let me help you clean up?"

He took a step closer and lightly touched your inner thigh, his fingers sliding up, up, up until he gathered some of the still warm stickiness on the pads of his fingers. Your eyes slightly widened upon touch, your breath hitching in clear surprise. But somehow, you had a good hunch about where this was going exactly.

"Oh my God, Leon, don't-" He pulled his fingers up to his mouth and licked them clean before you could even finish, tasting the salty flavor of you two mixed together. God, he wouldn't mind cleaning you up in other ways. Preferably involving his mouth between your legs. But he was pulled from his horny fantasies with a disbelieving groan coming from you, quickly followed by a laugh, and as he looked back at you, he saw you slapping a hand over your eyes. "Nooo, Jesus, you're so gross!"

It was obvious that your exclamation was devoid of any genuine revulsion on your part. If anything, that stupid grin pulling on your lips told him more than any words ever could. Leon's own amusement was just as obvious as he smirked at your horrified laughter. Taking his fingers out of his mouth with a pretty shameless pop, he held them up and gave you a mean grin of his own.

"Hey, don't knock it 'till you try it," he teased, his voice now low and flirtatious. "Besides, I couldn't let all that go to waste... I put it there. It's only fair I clean it up, don't you think?"

His face was split in a roguish smile, not the slightest trace of any shame or embarrassment in his expression as he looked back at you. If anything, he seemed delighted by your flustered reaction, relishing the chance to tease you and see you all sputtering and speechless. You just lightly slapped at his shoulder once you were done laughing, knowing full well your face was undoubtedly flushed now, what with how hot your cheeks felt.

Regardless of how insufferable he was, it was nice to see him laughing and joking again. You'd take his raunchy humor over those sad, hollow eyes you had to see before any day.

"...Dork," you simply said, shooting him a smile that nullified any thought of actual annoyance on your part. "Come on, let's go shower already."

Leon's smile only grew at your playful swat. In fact, he seemed emboldened by it, his hand reaching out to catch yours and bring it to his lips. He gave you a lingering kiss on your knuckles, his gaze fixed on you.

"Dork, huh?" He repeated, pretending to be offended. "Why, you little-"

With no further warning, he lifted you off the floor, throwing you over his shoulder with baffling ease as he chuckled under his breath at your yelp of surprise, his hold on you both secure and gentle.

"Leon, the hell are you-"

"-Oh, no, you're not getting away that easily, missy. You think you can just call me a dork and get away with it? Nope."

You just laughed along as you held onto him. The whole situation was rather ridiculous, all things considered, but you found the light, playful atmosphere to be pleasant, especially considering how it's been quite a while since you saw this silly side of him: "What happened to 'you might've tired me out a bit'!?"

Leon snickered as he adjusted his grasp on your back, holding you steady. He gently squeezed the curve of your hip as he smirked back at you over his shoulder.

"I might be tired, but I've still got enough energy to handle you." Before long, the short walk to your bathroom was complete and he set you down in your shower, busying himself with making sure the water was just right. You let him do as he pleased, not minding getting pampered for a bit. "And besides, you calling me a dork is unacceptable. I have a reputation to maintain, you know."

"Sure you do."

He looked over your bare physique appreciatively, smiling to himself as he watched you step beneath the water's spray on your own. He admired the way the water flowed down your skin, tracing its path through the lines and planes of your body as it trickled downwards, leaving tiny translucent paths along your skin. Leon took a minute to simply look at you before finally entering the shower himself, his body close to yours in the cramped space. Not that either of you minded that fact.

"...Gotta admit, this is a nice view."

You just shook your head slightly and laughed. He was being quite cheesy with you now. You didn't mind. It was nice to see him be his usual corny self. You simply reached over for the body wash and promtly started soaping him up from the shoulders down after squeezing some into your palm.

"Well, I hope it's a nice compensation for smelling like cherries. Not the most manly scent there is, I'm afraid."

Leon clearly more than enjoyed the feel of your hands gliding along his skin as he tilted his head back against the wall, chuckling softly under his breath.

"Hey, I think I could get used to smelling like cherries if it means I can be around you every day." Your hands slid across his shoulders and down his chest, forcing him to fully lean back against the shower wall and briefly close his eyes in quiet bliss. "-And trust me, I've had worse smells on me. Way worse."

You gave him a knowing smile and snort out a little laugh of your own at that. You supposed cherries were the lesser of the two evils between them and smelling like a rotting pile of garbage. However macabre that was.

The atmosphere between you now felt warm and almost... domestic, in a way. He tried not to dwell on that thought too long, though. But you placing a quick little kiss to his shoulder made it ten times harder. "You could say that again."

Without much thought, he seized the bottle of body wash from you, squeezing a substantial amount into his own palm, and then setting it down again.

"My turn," he murmured, his hands immediately moving to your body, almost impatiently. You didn't protest, simply turning around to let him wash up your back. He was gentle, his touch light and reverent as he traced the outlines and planes of your body with a familiar touch. He moved slowly, making sure to cover all of you with fragrant soap. Or, well... He really just wanted an excuse to touch you some more.

As you relaxed against him, you momentarily closed your eyes and hummed in quiet contentment. Being cared for and caring for someone in such a way was... nice. Really nice. Even your touch aside, he realized how much he missed just being with you like this, sharing a quiet moment of domesticity he didn't know he needed. After rinsing the body wash off of you, Leon held his hands on your hips for just another extra silent moment. His lips brushed against your ear as he whispered to you softly, drawing you in closer: "...I really did miss this, you know. I missed you. So damn much."

Your head rested back against his shoulder: "I missed you too."

He wrapped his arms fully around your waist to draw you even closer to him, grinning to himself like a total fool. This was the first time you actually said it back to him properly, ever since he first blurted out his feelings to you over the phone. Unable to contain his inner glee, he gave you a couple of gentle kisses down your jawline. He held onto you like this for a small while, simply savoring the sensation of your bare body against his own, the gentle warmth of the water cascading over you both. He paused, his gaze moving over your face silently, seeing the faint, comfortable smile blooming on your lips and the way your eyes were fluttered closed in quiet bliss. Quite a sight, he must say.

"...I know we can't go back to the way things were," he said softly, his thumbs rubbing slow circles against your hips. "But right now... right now, this is perfect. Just us. Just... together."

You offered him a faint chuckle and a sweep of some damp hair away from his eyes as you turned to face him, your hands resting on his chest.

"Well... I'm glad I made you feel better. In whatever way it was."

His eyes closed as he leaned into your touch.

"-You always make me feel better," he murmured, his voice so unbelievably soft. He took one of your hands in his, lifting it up to his face, and pressing a gentle kiss to your palm. "I'm going to sound corny as hell, but you're like... a breath of fresh air to me, you know? In this crazy, fucked-up world, you're the one thing that somehow still makes sense to me. The one thing that I can still count on."

The heat of the water and his body's warmth surrounded you as he shuffled a little closer, his body brushing against yours. Wrapping his arms around you, he pulled you right back into his tight embrace, nuzzling into the crook of your neck again.

"...I don't ever want to lose this feeling again. I don't ever want to lose you."

You moved to wrap your arms around him in turn, holding him close and secure.

"You won't."

This was the type of warm comfort he didn't know he craved. Not until you gave it to him without asking for anything in return. And it was the most precious gift he could've hoped for.

[diabolicalevil]

OK how do you think the primarchs would react to their partner or maybe their crush flirting with them or giving a (sort of lewd) compliment?? :3

How would the Primarchs react to flirting?

ohh this is a fun one, I'll go with crush since I think partner flirting has been done alr, if I find it I'll come back & link it. I have negative rizz so I will not be writing anything specific and this is a bit longer than my usual headcanons.

Warnings: mentions of flirting being a kind of inherent "permission." doesn't go anywhere in here but take that as you will.

Lion El'johnson: Affronted that he's feeling anything other than utter indifference to a person. Often goes out of his way to avoid you, rude when you do meet, etc. So when look at him fondly and flatter him endlessly regardless? Completely baffled. Once he's past the initial arrogant feeling having his ego strokes gives he starts moving like a rusty robot. It's the cosest he's ever been to stuttering in his entire life. Alone in his room he's fighting demons (emotions) to convince himself not to put on a huge display of power for no one but you. (it's not working)

Fulgrim: He's delighted! It was rare he was hesitant about approaching someone but you had him questioning. A part of him was self assured that romance was inevitable but another was absolutely doubting. When you initiate, throw him off his feet a bit, not only is a thrilling experience it's also a relief that it isn't one sided. From then on he'll take whatever flirting he's already been doing up a notch.

Perturabo: Scoffs and grumbles quite a bit. He assumes any compliments are teasing and assumes any teasing is intended as a lethal attack. He doesn't quite believe you when you flirt but he does want to. Replays it over and over while he's alone and it starts to drive him a bit crazy.

Jaghatai Khan: normal guy award keeps going to him. He is smiling like he's just won an award. Doesn't begin to court you immediately, could just be a one off since you two are getting closer, but he does keep an eye on little things you do. Standing close to him, searching for him, the way you speak and the words use. It's like he's keeping a tally of all the "intimate" things you do until he feels comfortable pursuing you.

Leman Russ: you are lucky if he doesn't pick you up and declare you his new spouse. Exaggerating, but you can see him get new ideas of how far he can take this. He's not an oaf, he knows the procedures of romancing a human (even if he and his legion take it to the extreme) but you can tell he'd much rather elope back to Fenris then and there.

Rogal Dorn: Silently ecstatic. hes done weeks, perhaps months, of carefully planned flirting. He thinks he's been overt and expects an overt gesture in return. So it's a shame you have entirely different ideas of flirting. Once you crack the code that what he really wants is discussions and compliments of the structural integrity of his buildings, things get substantially easier.

Konrad Curze: Scrunches his face, looks all annoyed and slinks off for the rest of the day. He's weird like that so you pay him little mind. In reality he's overjoyed you've finally given him permission to kidnap court you. He's busying himself tying up any loose ends in his leigon to make sure your future cell home with him is as comfortable as possible.

Sanguinius: He relishes moments of real human interaction very deeply. Privately, you're encouraged to joke with and treat him like a friend, even if being in the "friendzone" starts to sting. You've been like this too long and now you have to be explicit with how you flirt. If you're successful? Wings immediately extend out to the length of the room. It's unconscious and he apologises for knocking things over. But the urge to pursue you, while always there, has just hit him full force. Because you've just given him permission, haven't you?

Ferrus Manus: He does not see it as a crush. You've made him aware of how weak baselines truly are and his mission is not to rectify that. You're not his beloved, you're a project, so he tells himself. It's unfortunate that you seem so averse to his augmentations. He's no monster however, and instead tries to convince you rather than force you. Once you seem receptive to at least the idea of it hes thrilled that you're coming around a bit. Watching you sat quietly, obediently, as the apocathery evaluates your body he's struck with a sense of awe he would never feel towards a mere project. He realises he feels it because it's you. His ultimate goal has not been improvement but assimilation. He already loves you, now he must make you prepared to stand at his side and with his legion, awful as they may be.

Angron: The butchers nails colour every second of his life. He could never hate you truly, you're too much like how he once was. But the way he acts doesn't reflect that in the slightest. And yet you stay kind to him and you stay patient. You offered him a fruit, something about there being too many to go around around your colleagues. Ridiculous really, he was far too big for it to have any value to him. And yet he took it. Of course, he didn't stay long. The physical strain to not crush it in his mighty palm was too great to ignore and for once he did not wish for you to see him so cruelly.

Roboute Guilliman: He is so tired all of the time. The few minutes, perhaps a cumulative hour, a day he gets to see you are what keeps him going. So of course he allows you certain freedoms. Of course you have free reign to enter his office, of course you can sit on his desk and watch him work, of course you can distract him and tease him about how he's going to lose his muscle at this rate, of course you can ask to see them- wait, what? He takes your immediate laughter as a sign it was a simple jest but he spent the rest of the day unusually unfocused.

Mortarion: weird, weird man he is (affectionate). He is far worse at flirting than Dorn. Flirts through gift giving and does it in the rudest way possible. He's shoved books into your arms, informing you that your lack of literacy in a subject is embarrassing and reflects poorly on the leigon. Regardless, you smile and thank him for caring about you. He seems almost insulted by the implication and runs off quickly. The next time you meet you get a surprisingly quiet, "I'd like you to see Barbarus some day." you cannot even begin to comprehend his mind.

Magnus: A terrible flirt and terribly bad at it, really. The urge to simply manipulate you and make it quicker for both of you is strong but he does not. Clumsy as it may be, his diatribes and esoteric book recommendations and general cockiness are charming to you, he can tell. It pains him to be absent from you for some days but he must. Amd when he returns he's greeted with a genuine, "I missed hearing you speak." If he were a lesser man, perhaps one of his brothers, he may have swept you away thar instant. But no, he's learned that patience is key. He has all the time in the universe to win you over after all.

Horus Lupercal: Like Roboute, his work is all consuming. He kept his charms though, of course. Can't get enough of how shy you get when he so openly flirts with you. It does hurt his pride a bit when you turn him down regularly, giving one excuse after another, but he can just put that up to you being more reserved. The first time you enthusiastically replied to his flirting he almost stopped dead in his tracks. Almost, as he could tell you were about to backtrack and he would not let this slip between his fingers. The hours after that seem to move in slow motion, but it doesn't bother him as it normally would.

Lorgar Aurelian: Not flirting, idolising. Even the smallest things give him reason to put you on a pedestal and kneel at your feet in reverence. You're a little embarrassed, you're just one person among trillions in the Empire. But a small, vain part of you decides to humour him just once. Rather than try to jump off, you lounge on the pedestal like you belong there. To embrace his worship with open arms is to watch him fall even deeper into his religious fervour.

Vulkan: For a long time he refused to let himself want you. He was used to his sons having pseudo families on Nocturne, but this was different. He was a Primarch and especially huge at that. However, it did not change how much he cherished you. Vulkan accepted, albeit did not reciprocate, flirty remarks, they were his little guilty pleasure. Today he was far more loose lipped, responding to a compliment of his forge work with one aimed at you. He had known you long enough to know that you'd smile and take it sweetly, yet it still struck him silent. There were so many reasons to not pursue you but he couldn't help wanting to see more of that delightful smile.

Corvus Corax: Loving you was a challenge, not because of anything you did, but because he was terribly aware of your places in life. He could never help himself though. He knew his place was in the shadows watching over you, and yet he stayed at your side. Complimenting his hair most likely meant little to you, but to him it was yet another selfish reason to cling on to what he knew would be fleeting.

Alpharius/Omegon: Every moment, aside from maybe your first encounter, was carefully calculated on Alpharius' part. It was impossible to truly know his intentions, but he was aiming for romance, that much was clear. Omegon didn't love you, but he certainly found Alpharius' affection amusing. He'd take his brother's place, how cute that you didn't even notice. He knew he was receiving words and confessions meant for another, but what was the difference, truly? They were two halves of the same man. He continued acting as your lover when Alpharius wasn't present. It was a far faster way to hear the words he desired from you than to be honest about who he was. Perhaps his brother's interest wasn't unfounded after all.

okayy, thank you for reading. apologies if this isn't what you had in mind but I really cannot flirt for shit lol