Vika 𝜗𝜚⋆₊

“I’m fine,” He stated, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that barely carried across the tense room. “Ribs heal. The job doesn’t wait.”

“The job isn't going to have an agent left if you keep treating your body like it's expendable!” You stepped closer, your soft frame trembling with a combination of anger and genuine fear for him. You wanted to grab his shoulders and shake him, to make him understand that his life actually mattered to someone.

“You’re not thirty anymore, Leon. You can’t just keep taking these ridiculous tasks and throwing yourself into the meat grinder without a second thought. You need to start caring for yourself. I care about you.”

An odd mist of vulnerability shrouded your quiet, final words.

Leon’s hand stopped moving. The pen pausing against the seemingly never ending forms. Slowly, he lifted his head, his dirty blonde bangs falling over his eyes, blurring a gaze that had suddenly gone cold and defensive. He was exhausted, and the weight of his own mortality was a pressure he didn't like being reminded of.

He stood up, his tall, broad frame instantly imposing over you, casting a heavy shadow across your face.

“I’ve been dealing with this shit since Raccoon City,” Leon grumbled, his tone sharp, cutting through the air like a combat knife. “I didn't ask for you to care, and I certainly don't need some assistant constantly trying to manage my life. Mind your own business.”

The words hit you like a tidal wave. You bit the inside of your cheek, attempting to prevent the slight tremble in your lip. Breath hitching in your throat as the sheer dismissal of his tone sank in.

Silent realisation had inundated Leon’s expression. His hand slowly reaching toward you, but before a single apologetic sound could leave his lips, the static filled electronic chirp of his radio shattered the silence.

“Agent Kennedy. Active quarantine breach reported at the primary facility. you’re needed on site immediately.”

Leon’s jaw tightened. Averting his regretful gaze and reaching down. He grabbed his heavy tactical belt from the chair, clasping it around his lower torso with mechanical efficiency. He turned his back toward you and strode out into the dark hallway without a lingering backward glance, the heavy office door clicking shut behind him.

The resonating void of his presence had left a week long, haunting silence in the room.

A rigid seven days had passed in an agitating blur. Seven days of fixating on blank post mission files, organising useless documents and listening to the rain palpitate relentlessly against the building's windows.

It was nearly midnight when you heard the leaden handle of your small office door finally click.

You didn't look up immediately, forcing your eyes to stay focused on the paperwork in front of you, but the familiar, heavy tread of combat boots instantly gave him away.

Leon stepped into the warm, muted glow of your desk lamp. He looked completely spent. His hefty jacket was gone, leaving him in a tight, navy compression shirt that clung to the rugged contours of his chest. His hair was damp from the downpour outside, sticking to his forehead in messy patterns. But what made your heart swell with a dull ache was the fresh, livid purple bruise blossoming across his jaw.

You stare into the files on your desk like they’re a personal threat, your voice shifting into a flat, professional monotone. “Welcome back, Agent Kennedy. Your post mission reports are on the left.”

Leon stopped, the permanent furrow in his brows deepening, the formal title cutting deeper than any blade. He let out a low, rough sigh. “Agent Kennedy? Right. Guess I earned that one.”

He stood there by the door for a moment, just studying you. When you stubbornly refused to acknowledge him properly, he let out a deep exhale through his nose and leaned himself against the edge of a filing cabinet. You kept your head down, expertly shifting a stack of papers, refusing to grant him the satisfaction of a response.

Leon diverted closer to your ignorant presence, his boots thudding softly against the carpet until he stopped just a few feet from your desk. He looked down at his own bruised, bandaged knuckles, the facade draining out of him all at once.

“I shouldn't have said that shit to you last week. I was tired, but that's no excuse. You're one of the only people left who actually gives a shit if I make it back alive. I'm sorry.”

Tentatively, you let the documents drop from your hands and onto your desk. You finally stood up from your chair, softly stepping out into the open space between the desk and his remorseful figure.

The anger you had shouldered for seven days dissipated into a thin fog, leaving only an actively dispersing ache. Your eyes welled with tears as you looked up at him, looking profoundly hurt by the dismissal of his parting words and the blistering week of wondering if he would even come back alive. You looked so vulnerable, your soft curves completely yielding under the strain of the silence.

Seeing that shattered look on your face broke whatever wall Leon had orchestrated. In one swift, desperate stride, Leon concluded the distance between you. His large, calloused hands came up to frame your face, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear. The contrast of his rough, combat tested palms against your soft skin made your breath hitch faintly.

“Hey, i’m okay” He murmured, his voice dropping all its buffers, turning dense and desperate. “Don’t ruin those pretty eyes over me. I’m right here” Leon whispered, pulling your soft frame an inch closer to his chest.

The tension that had simmered for a long, torturous week dissolved completely.

Leon didn't just lean down, he seemed to collapse into you, his broad shoulders dropping all their stiff tactical weight as he captured your lips in a resonant, bruising kiss. It was the desperate act of a man who had been starving for seven days, heavy with ardent deprivation.

You whimpered against his mouth, a soft, feeble sound that was irrevocably swallowed by the domineering hunger of his lips. Your hands flew up to grip his biceps, your fingers digging into the solid, adamant muscle beneath his compression shirt. You pressed closer, your soft frame yielding against him seamlessly, your plush stomach flattening against his rigid torso. He groaned into the kiss, his hands shifting down your back to grip your thick hips, pulling you so tightly against him that you could feel the hardening ridge of his desire through his trousers.

Without breaking the kiss, Leon softly guided you backward until the backs of your thighs hit the sturdy oak of your office desk. With a solitary, sweeping motion of his arm, he wantonly knocked the stack of folders onto the floor. The papers scattered across the carpet with a loud rustle.

There goes your weeks worth of agonising work…

“I’m sorry sweetheart,” Leon muttered against your lips, his voice entwined with a sudden, sharp urgency before he kissed you again.

He lifted you by your hips, hoisting your soft weight onto the edge of the desk. Stepping between your thighs, his broad shoulders blocked out the rest of the dimly lit room. His movements slowed down altogether, the initial frantic rush relenting into a dense, deliberate focus.

His large, calloused hands slid methodically under the hem of your pencil skirt. His rough palms scraped deliciously over your thick, smooth thighs, his thumb tracing slow, warm circles into your soft skin. He leaned down, embedding his face gently into the crook of your neck, taking a long, ragged breath to inhale the alluringly sweet scent of you that he had been starving for all week.

“You’re beautiful.” His teeth gently nipped at the sensitive skin of your neck, making you arch your back and leave out a hushed whisper of his name. “I don't think I breathed a single clear breath all week until now.” Leon muttered softly, his blue eyes hazy with pure affection as his palms shaped your full hips.

Leon broke away from your neck, his breathing still uneven, but his movements became incredibly careful. His dusk clouded eyes searched yours with an intense, quiet vulnerability.

“Sweetheart,” His words rolled out like thick velvet, vibrating right against your chest. “Let me make it up to you.”

Your breath hitched at the raw desperation in his eyes. Fraying your fingers gently into his dirty blonde strands, you allow yourself to nod softly. “Leon. Please.”

He slid his hands to your full hips, his fingers sinking into your soft flesh with a gentle squeeze. Leisurely, Leon sank down to his knees on the carpeted office floor, settling himself directly between your trembling, parted legs.

Reaching up, his fingers hooked into the waistband of your panties. He didn't tear them away, just carefully slid them down your thick thighs with a quiet reverence, tossing them onto a patch of carpet nearby. Under the faint, warm light of the desk lamp, your inner thighs quivered mildly. Leon studied the soft curve of your hips, your rounded stomach, and the aching heat of your warmth waiting for him.

“Leon...” You whimpered quietly, his name echoing in the quiet atmosphere of your office.

Leon pressed a feathery kiss against the inside of your thigh, his hands smoothing over the trembling muscle.

“Shh, I've got you,” He murmured, his gravelly voice dropping even lower, vibrating against your skin. “Just relax for me, sweetheart.”

His large hands gripped the undersides of your plush thighs, lifting your legs and draping them gently over his broad shoulders. The position exposing you completely to him.

As your breathing finally began to smoothen out, the cloying, defensive tension that had held your body stiff for a week dissipated into your entanglement. Your hips sunk into the oak of your desk, your trembling legs mellowing where they were adorned over his strong shoulders as you let go of a long, shaky exhale.

Leon felt the soft, pliant change in your posture instantly. A low, deeply satisfied hum vibrated in his chest.

“There you go,” Leon murmured into the suppleness of your inner thigh, his plangent voice dripping with heavy devotion. He gave your plush hips a gentle, claiming squeeze, his thumb tracing a comforting circle into your skin. “Good girl. Just like that for me.”

Leon inched closer, his warm breath faltering as he felt the radiant heat emanating from you. When his tongue made contact, a deep, slick swipe right against your aching center, your faintly quivering hips bucked off the desk. A soft, shameless mewl echoed through the dim space.

“Leon..oh fuck-” A simmering plea leaves your blossoming lips.

A verbal answer had decided to remain in Leon’s throat, instead he buried his face entirely between your soft thighs. His tongue working in long, resolute, achingly languid strokes, using his lips and tongue to swirl over your sensitive bundle of nerves until you were dewy and painting his mouth with your juices.

Over the deliciously lingering friction of his tongue against your skin, his hands remained tethered on your hips, his fingers gently squeezing your soft flesh, holding you steady as your body began to writhe beneath his unyielding touch. Amid the deep, wet sounds of his tongue devouring you, Leon began to mumble into your warmth, his voice vibrating against your splintering pleasure.

“Mmm... I’m sorry,” He mumbled, his hot breath humming against your wet flesh. “So sorry, sweetheart... hated myself the second I walked out that door.” He took a deep, voracious lap, tasting the sweet nectar of your climax as it began to build. “Missed you... fuck, I missed you so much. Missed this. Every single day.”

The desperation in his muffled confessions, combined with the relentless, expert friction of his tongue had quiet moans of his name leaving your lips. He didn't pause, his rhythm growing deeper and more ravenous as he felt the tight, delirious fluttering of your muscles foreshadowing your release.

Your fingers tightened desperately in his damp hair, pulling him impossibly closer, pressing his face even further into your heat. Letting your head tilt back, the ceiling bleared out of focus as a vehement, trembling orgasm ripped through your body.

You clamped your thighs constrictively around his head, eliciting a desperate grunt from Leon’s throat. Your soft flesh trembling as an influx of pleasure collided over you.

Leon clung onto you, holding your hips firm, consuming every drop of your saccharine release, his tongue continuing to trace soothing, gentle strokes against your warmth until your panting breaths finally began to slow.

Slowly, he pulled away from your core, looking up at you with wet lips and a dark, completely satisfied smirk splitting his bruised face.

“Now,” Leon whispered, his voice dripping with absolute devotion as he stood up and began to unbuckle his belt, “Let's see if I can remember how the rest of this protocol goes.”

The cold dusk air filtering inside as they disappeared together. The door swung shut and you visibly deflated. With your drink nearing the bottom of the glass and no official reason to occupy a booth meant for four people, you slipped your bag over your shoulder and wandered toward the bar. 

Somehow, every stool seemed to be taken. Groups of friends crowded together, couples leaning into each other's conversations. You almost kept walking, until your eyes drifted further down the counter. 

One seat remained. 

Next to him.

He looked slightly intimidating, not because he was actively glaring or acting weird. If anything, it was the opposite. 

He sat perfectly still, broad shoulders relaxed beneath a fitted navy shirt that looked unfairly good on him. His forearms rested against the polished wood, one hand loosely holding a glass of whiskey, idly observing as the liquid swirls around the glass. 

His hair was a little longer than most men his age tend to have, soft strands of dirty blonde falling across his forehead, touched with a few silver strays near the temples. Stubble shadowed his jaw and faint lines framed eyes that somehow looked both exhausted and constantly alert. 

He simply existed in the warm lights of the bar. Comfortably alone. 

You couldn’t even begin to explain why, but something about that drew you in. 

You cleared your throat slightly. “Is anyone sitting here?” 

His gaze lifted slightly. 

Blue, a shade paler than you expected. 

For a heartbeat, he simply looked at you. His gaze hadn’t lingered, he didn’t obviously check you out either. A stare made to assess. He then glanced at the empty stool.

“No.” His deep voice rumbled through his chest. A little rough around the edges.

You smiled slightly. “Mind if I steal it?”

“It’s not mine.” He replied.

“Well, that’s not exactly permission.” You look at him, expectantly.

One corner of his mouth lifts imperceptibly. “Go ahead.” 

You settled onto the stool, smoothing your dress out before setting your bag onto your lap. 

“So…” You glanced at him. “Thanks.” 

He gave a small nod before returning his attention to his half empty glass of whiskey. 

Well. This was going brilliantly. 

The bartender approached you with a practiced smile. “What can I get you?” 

You take a quick look at the amber liquid in the older man’s glass. 

“I’ll have whatever he’s having.” You say confidently, crossing your arms under your chest. 

His eyes flicked toward you. “You don’t want this.” He intoned.

“Oh?” You turn to him and raise a brow.

“It’s whiskey.” He answers.

“I know what whiskey is.” 

“I’m not convinced.” He said with an authoritative weight.

“Excuse me??” You reply. 

“You’ll hate it.” He says it like it’s a fact, like that assessing stare earlier had told him everything about you. 

“That’s for me to decide.” You say stubbornly. 

The bartender hid a small smile as he poured another glass of whiskey. 

You took a sip. And immediately every muscle in your face tried to protest. 

It tasted like chewed acorns.

You forced yourself to swallow the throat burning liquid. “That’s awful…” 

A low chuckle rumbled beside you. “I warned you.” He says, slight smugness laced in his voice.

“Don’t worry, it grows on you.” 

“I sincerely hope not.” You reply before asking the bartender for some water. 

“You don’t have to finish it.” His statement had offered you an easy way out. But were you going to listen? 

No.

“I refuse to lose a battle against a drink.” You say firmly.

“You’re stubborn.” The man beside you states, turning towards you properly for the first time tonight. 

“I prefer the word determined.” You say as you take a quick sip of the water the bartender had just placed on the counter.

“I don’t.” He replies, with a slight shrug.

You scoff slightly with a smile. “You don’t even know me.” 

“I know enough.” He states, bringing the glass of whiskey up to his lips.

“Oh?” You question him.

“You ignored good advice.” He rumbled, before finishing the glass in one take. 

You sigh softly. “Fair…” 

You found yourself smiling at him. There was something unexpectedly easy about talking to him. His sense of humour wasn’t exactly flashy, it was dry. Quiet. 

For a few moments, the conversation shifted into comfortable silence… and you couldn’t help stealing another glance. 

God.

He really was handsome.

Not in the polished, influencer edited kind of way.

He looked real. Like someone who’d lived through enough sleepless nights to earn every faint line around his dusk coloured eyes. His shoulders stretched the fabric of his shirt, his forearms looked strong enough to lift furniture without much needed effort, and the pale scars decorating his skin disappeared beneath pushed up sleeves that hinted at stories you doubted he’d ever share. 

You realised you’d been staring. 

And of course he noticed. 

“..Something on my face?” He said with a chest vibrating depth. 

Heat flooded into your cheeks, a rosy hue painting your face. “I was just thinking.” You say. That wasn’t exactly a lie. 

“I’m afraid to ask.” His words rolled out like thick, dark velvet, as he assessed you for the second time that day. 

You smile softly at him, resting your head on the palm of your hand. 

“I think you might be the most attractive man in this bar.” You say honestly. 

He blinked once, before releasing a slow breath from his nose. 

“That’s one way to start a conversation.” 

You shrug slightly. “I wasn’t trying to start anything.”

“No?” He looks at you, the permanent furrow in his brows lifting slightly.

“No.” You say innocently. “I just appreciate good looking people.” 

He studied you for a second longer this time, eyes glazing over your appearance. 

“...How old are you?” He asks, curiosity laced into his deep monotone. 

You smile into your glass of water. “Twenty five.” 

Your answer seemed to settle over him like a weight, his shoulders dropping subtly. 

“..Right.” He exhaled.

“What?” You ask.

He rubbed his thumb against the rim of his glass. “I don’t get involved with women half my age.” 

There wasn’t any clear arrogance in the statement. No smug assumption that you wanted him. If anything, he sounded slightly tired. Like it was regulation he had repeated to himself more than once. 

You tilt your head softly. “Who said I wanted to get involved with you?” 

A corner of his mouth lifts indistinguishably. 

“I said you were attractive.” You repeat.

“I noticed.” 

“Those aren’t the same thing.” You smile, voice like fluid silk. 

“No?” He questioned.

“No.” You reply.

You lean against the bar, body pressing against the counter.

“Maybe I just thought a handsome older guy deserved a compliment.” 

He looked at you for a long moment. Then, to your satisfaction, he smirked faintly.

“You always this persistent?” He says with a low melodic hum. 

“Only when people keep trying to put words in my mouth.”

For the first time since you had sat down next to him, the lines around his eyes had softened. 

“..I’m ___” You say softly. “And you?”

“Leon.” 

No other arrangement of letters could have captured him so well. Strong. Simple. 

“So…” You say with a feathery cadence. “What brings you here, Leon?” 

He rolled the whiskey around his second glass, watching the amber liquid reflect the warm bar lights before taking another slow sip.

“....Needed somewhere quiet.” 

You look around the crowded room.

Someone near the speaker had just burst into an offkey cover of ‘In the Closet’ by Michael Jackson. A group of young adults playing pool erupting into cheers after someone landed an impossible shot, while the poor bartender struggled to note down three different drink orders. 

Your gaze drifts back to Leon. 

“You’ve got a very interesting definition of quiet." 

The faintest hint of amusement displayed on his features. “I’ve had louder.”

The answer was so simple. So casual. However, something about it made you stop yourself from asking what he'd meant. There was something behind those three words. Something heavier. You had the distinct feeling that if you kept digging, you'd find stories no one should have to tell.

“What about you?” He murmured.

"What about me?" You ask curiously.

"You asked why I was here."

"Oh." You realise. 

You rested your chin in your hand, as if you’ve had enough of that situation. "My friend abandoned me."

His brow furrowed immediately. "Abandoned?"

"She found some incredibly handsome stranger." You say with a soft nod.

"I don't like where this is going."

"I didn't either." You laughed softly.

“Yeah, well, people in bars usually have questionable judgment,” Leon muttered, before setting his glass down.

Silence stretches between you both in the loudest way possible, the music vibrating through the warmth of the bar. 

"So..." you began, resting your elbow against the bar. "What do you actually do?"

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he watched the bartender pour syrupy liquids into freshly washed glasses. 

"I work for the government." 

You stared. “That’s it?”

He looked over at you again. “That’s it.” He repeats.

You glanced at him, subtly checking out his muscular build. "How long have you been doing... government things?"

"A while." He intoned.

"That's not an answer." You press further.

"It is." He states.

"No, it's a time frame."

"It's both." 

You let out a dramatic sigh. "I swear, getting information out of you is like interviewing a brick wall.”

"I've heard that one before." He stated.

"I doubt you've heard all of them." 

"I've probably heard most." He muttered in his low baritone.

You take another sip of your water. "I mean..." You gestured vaguely toward him. "You've had longer than me to hear them." 

The second the words leave your mouth, you turn to him. “I didn’t mean-”

Leon slowly turns his head towards you. “I see how it is, so you think I’m old?” He questions.

“No!” You reply, almost too quickly. "I meant..." You groaned, covering your face with one hand. "I meant you've lived longer."

"...Which generally comes with being old." He takes another slow sip of his whiskey.

"You know that's not what I meant." You pout slightly. 

He stayed silent for a few seconds, deliberately making you wait. "...Right."

"What?" You look at him expectantly. 

"You almost had me feeling good about myself." He mutters with a slight smirk. 

"Leon–"

"Then you reminded me that I’ve got one foot in the retirement home." 

A soft smile bloomed onto your lips, warm and genuine enough that it seemed almost dreamlike in the loud warmth of the room. 

“Are one liners your thing?” You enquire the older man.

"I've got a limited selection." He replies. 

"Only a limited one?" You smile.

"Government budget cuts." 

Pressing your lips together against a laugh, you listened to the cheesiest jokes imaginable. Sarcasm had rolled off him so effortlessly it felt like his primary dialect. 

“So do you think I should be asking the bartender to blend my drinks?” He mutters with a slight grunt as he downs his whiskey.

Your smile drops slightly, guilt eating at you, letting your forehead fall lightly against the edge of the bar counter with a soft groan.

"I can't believe I accidentally called the hottest man I've seen all year old." You mumble.

For the first time since you'd met him, Leon looked genuinely caught off guard.

His eyebrows lifted ever so slightly.

"...That's quite the recovery."

"It wasn't a recovery." You sit up and look at him.

"Oh yeah? I’d say it is.” The words vibrated in his chest.

You sigh softly, the subdued blush from earlier making a comeback as you smooth down your dress again, painfully aware of how tight it seems to be enveloping your chubby figure. 

“I meant what I said.” You mumble, needing to say it a little louder just in case he couldn’t hear you over the deafening environment of the bar. 

He cleared his throat. "...You're direct aren’t you?" 

“Not usually.” He studied you for a moment, the teasing expression fading into something quieter. 

“Am I the lucky exception?” He rumbles, glancing sideways at you.

Your lips curled into a small smile as you looked down at your drink, absentmindedly tracing the rim of the glass with your finger.

"Maybe."

Everything blurred until there was only the heat of Leon’s mouth against yours. 

His hands roam your clothed body, your figure sliding onto his lap, framing his hips with your plush thighs as you settle against him. Your dress exposing more skin than designed. 

His apartment was minimalistic, as if he was constantly on the move. You weren’t sure what you had imagined, something colder, maybe. Something that matched the intimidating man from the bar who carried himself like he was always waiting for something to go wrong. 

But it was filtered with a gentle quietness. The lights were warm rather than harsh, casting a soft glow over your bodies. Everything had a place. Nothing was left carelessly scattered.

There was no teasing remark waiting on his tongue, no dry one liner to break the moment apart. Just the warmth of him, the steady way his hand settled against you like he was still giving you every opportunity to change your mind. 

You didn’t, fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his navy shirt, feeling the unremitting rise and fall of his heavy breathing beneath your desperate touch. The same man who had spent the entire night keeping you at arm’s length was now touching you like he was afraid that if he loosened the grip on your hips, the moment would disappear. 

It almost made you smile, letting him kiss you like he was trying to remember what it felt like to want something without immediately convincing himself he shouldn’t.

When you pulled back softly, his eyes drifted to yours, blue and immeasurably more mellow than they had been when you first met him. He looked slightly off guard, eyebrows furrowing with new found lenience.

You couldn’t resist the small smile that tugged at your subtly swollen lips. 

“Something funny?” He murmured as his large hands squeezed at the soft flesh of your hips.

You shook your head. “No, I'm contemplating.”

His expression had shifted into immediate suspicion. 

“That’s not a good sign.” He muttered.

You laugh quietly at his words, arms resting around his neck. 

“You know…” You whispered. “I thought you don’t get involved with women half your age?” You tease.

A quiet breath left him, not quite a laugh. More like the sound of a man realizing he had walked directly into a trap and had no one to blame but himself.

His eyes narrowed slightly, though the amusement behind them was impossible to miss.

“Is that what we’re doing now?” He spoke in an unfaltering, deep cadence. 

You smiled innocently, your position proving otherwise. “Doing what?”

“Keeping score.” He states.

You tilted your head. “I’m just pointing out an observation.”

“An observation?” 

“Mhm.” 

His hands remained resting at your hips, before slipping under the fabric, hands moving absentmindedly against the soft skin of your thighs. Your breath hitched softly.

“Weren’t you the one that spent the entire night diverting my attention towards my age?” He said.

His hand seemed to be inching further under the fabric of your dress, muted whimpers leaving your lips. “I did not.” You manage.

“You implied it.” 

“You’re the one who brought up the retirement home.” You argue softly.

His lips curled into an arrogant little line. “Because you decided to call me old.”

“I called you attractive.” Your breath hitches again, his hand not stopping its teasing movement. 

“Before calling me old.” He leans in impossibly closer.

I scoff softly. “Details.”

He shook his head, eyes glazing over your flushed face as if he was genuinely trying to understand how you managed to argue your way out of everything. 

“You don’t make this easy.” A sonorous, effortless depth had made even his casual words sound important. 

“And yet..” You whisper softly, lips only a small distance from his. “We just made out in your apartment.” 

Leon’s thumb brushed lightly over your clothed wetness as he looked at you. “You really don’t let things go, do you?”

“No.” You manage a soft answer, attempting to steady your racing heart.

The kiss started slowly, almost like Leon was giving himself one last chance to stop. But then your fingers slipped into his hair, and whatever internal argument he had been having disappeared. His lips moved against yours with a tenderness that felt almost unexpected from someone who carried so much weight behind his eyes. Every movement was deliberate, like he wasn’t rushing to take anything from the moment. He was savoring the sweetness of your lips.

Your dress had come off in a matter of seconds, Leon’s breath audibly catching. His calculating eyes dropped for a split second, taking in the sight of your softness, then snapping back to your flushed face, as if he was seeking silent consent from you. 

You nod softly, and his calloused hands hover for an aching moment. Slowly he reaches out to trace his hand along the softness of your stomach. A test. A muscle ticks in his jaw as restraint wars with desire. 

“You’re staring, Kennedy.” You breathe out. 

The corner of his mouth lifted faintly. “Hard not to.”

“That a compliment?” You tease slightly. 

“You want it to be?” 

You smiled. “Maybe.”

The kiss resumed, more desperate this time, filled with all the things he struggled to say out loud. The quiet affection. The hesitation. Your hands reach out towards his navy shirt, tugging on the hem like a yearning succubus. 

Leon’s movements begin to grow urgent, pulling his shirt over his head in one fluid motion with a quiet grunt. Without the barrier of the navy fabric, the full reality of his imposing frame hit you all at once. A dusting of dark chest hair, lightly peppered with silver at the center, contoured the heavy muscle of his pectorals before tapering down into a distinct, enticing happy trail that disappeared straight into the waistband of his trousers.

As you reached out, your palms smoothed over the broad expanse of his chest, feeling the frantic, heavy thud of his heart hammering against his ribs. Decades of survival had carved his torso into dense, hard muscle, every line of his abdomen flexing as he adjusted his weight. Your hands slid upward, your fingers catching on the raised silver tracks of old battle scars peppering his shoulders. Leon let out a low, ragged rumble from the depth of his chest as his large, calloused hands locked onto your hips once again, anchoring you effortlessly to his lap.

His eyes flickered down briefly, catching the way your confidence faltered beneath his attention. The corner of his mouth lifts subtly.

“You were awfully confident at the bar.” He mutters. “Starting to lose your words now?”

Crimson stole across your features. “Shut up.” You whisper before capturing his mouth again, using the kiss to hide your burning cheeks. 

Your thighs tighten on either side of his hips as you tilt your head to deepen the angle. The sudden pressure of your soft body flush against his bare, hard muscles caused Leon’s breath to hitch, eagerly meeting the desperate, hungry rhythm of your lips. You sigh faintly into the kiss, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it slip off of you finding its new place on the floor. In the blur of the moment, your panties had also vanished, guided down your thighs by the heavy, urgent sweep of Leon's calloused hands without either of you breaking the rhythm of the kiss.

The kiss deepens instinctively, the prominent veins running along the backs of his hands and up his forearms flexed as his hands glide up your bare back. A reverent exploration, tracing your shoulders, spine, mapping every new curve now exposed to him. As if trying to memorise your body from touch alone. 

Leon’s breath stalls as your hands slide down to the waistband of his trousers. “Easy..” He breathes out. 

He doesn’t stop, just lifts his hips slightly to aid in your actions. Letting you pull the fabric and the soft cotton beneath them down his thighs in one single, determined motion. 

The fabric disappears..and now there’s no barrier left between you two at all. Just bare skin meeting skin. You glance downward at his length, thick and fully aroused, standing proud against the dark line of his happy trail. Inexplicably you had started to feel modestly intimidated. 

Leon notices your less than subtle glance downward, and the way your blush had deepened in colours. A low exhale escapes his nose, before his large hand slides up from your hip to gently cup your jaw, his thumb tracing the warm flush on your cheeks. He applies a soft, steady pressure to guide your eyes back up to meet his.

“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to that low, velvety resonance that instantly calms your racing pulse. “Look at me. There's no need to be nervous. Just tell me what you need sweetheart.”

His other hand slides down to cradle the small of your back, guiding with silent reassurance. You lifted your hips, aligning his length with your aching warmth, before slowly sinking down. The breathless contact made you gasp as he filled you, his dense tactical frame completely unyielding beneath your weight. Leon’s hands clamped tightly onto your hips to anchor you, grunting softly as your bare skin met in the most complete way possible.

The gentle warmth in his tone completely strips away your defenses. You lean forward until your forehead rests against his collarbone, breathing in his familiar scent.

“Just stay like this for a second,” you whimper against his skin, your fingers tangling into the coarse texture of his chest hair. 

The moment you sink onto him fully, Leon’s body tenses, his jaw clenching, a ragged breath punching out of him. Holy shit. 

It’s overwhelming, not just the physical sensation but the intimacy of it. You trusting him like this, letting your bodies connect so completely. The internal heat between you flooded outward, making the air feel thick and heavy.

As the initial shock of the fullness began to soften into a deep, pulsing ache, you let out a trembling whimper against his collarbone. Your hips gave a tentative, involuntary twitch, a soft upward tilt that drove a low, subterranean groan right out of Leon’s throat.

His grip on your hips tightened with a sudden, possessive urgency, his knuckles whitening as your subtle movement ruptured whatever fragile restraint he had left. 

“You okay?” He murmurs, voice strained with increasing urgency. One hand lifts to brush hair from your forehead, checking on you even as his hips twitch slightly beneath yours, a subconscious urge to move. 

You give a breathless, quiet nod against his skin, your voice dropping to a needy whisper. “Yes..” 

With that final confirmation, you lift your weight slightly and begin to move, setting an agonizingly slow, deliberate rhythm. The friction of the contact is immediate and dizzying, your syrupy walls sliding along his thick length as you ride him. Leon lets out a rough, gravelly gasp at the first downward press of your hips, keeping you flush against his lap to meet every single rise and fall.

Leon’s head falls back against the headboard, eyes fluttering shut at the slow, experimental rolls of your hips. Every movement sending sparks up his spine. He lets you take the initiative, letting you set the pace, watching through half lidded eyes how your soft body moves above him. The way your hair falls forward with each teasing motion, how focused you look. 

His hands slide up to grip your thighs, squeezing the soft flesh like he needs something to ground himself. He feels the softness under his fingers, memorising it as you pick up speed. A breathy curse slips out. “Fuck..”

His cock twitches deep inside you, swelling even thicker under the sudden, friction-heavy heat of your accelerating pace. The sound of his deep, breathless curse rolls over you like dusk, instantly sending a matching shiver straight down your own spine.

Driven by the raw desperation of the moment, you tilt your pelvis forward, sinking down fully to grind your slick warmth flush against the unyielding ridge of his pelvic bone. The rhythm turns more deliberate, bodies syncing in a way that makes heat coil tight in both of you. 

A low groan rumbles from Leon’s chest, unfiltered. His abs flexing involuntarily with each upward thrust meeting yours. Preemptively, he can’t stay passive any longer. One hand shifts around to grip your lower back, helping lift and drop you onto him with fractionally more force, still allowing you to lead. 

“Leon..” You let out a soft moan of his name, the syllables trailing off into a broken, breathless sigh against the column of his throat. Hearing his name on your lips completely undoes him. Leon’s breath catches hard, his chest locking beneath your palms as a sudden, intense shudder ripples right through his heavy frame. His grip at the small of your back tightens instinctively, pulling you so close that there isn’t a single fraction of space left between your bare chests.

Encouraged by your pleasure echoing in the quiet room, his grip tightens on your back, helping you bounce with more vigour, each downward motion now meeting an upward thrust from his hips as he grunts. The bed creaks softly beneath you both, but neither cares about anything but this. The slick heat between your bodies, the moans spilling from your lips, Leon’s own breath coming faster by the second. 

Your lips are swollen from extensive kissing, eyes teary from pleasure, and face flushed with a blossoming pink as you move your hips faster. You feel yourself falter slightly as an ache settles in your burning muscles. Leon groans softly, crashing his mouth onto yours. The kiss is messy. Teeth clashing, tongues tangling as his hands roam everywhere at once, the pace turning feverish. Leon’s restraint snaps completely under the hypnotic friction, a low grunt ripping from his throat as his large, calloused hands slide from your waist down to your thighs.

With the fluid, effortless strength of an elite operative, he shifts his weight. In one smooth, breathtaking motion, he lifts you and rolls, reversing your positions until the mattress catches your fall. You let out a small yelp at the sudden change in perspective, leaving your head spinning as you find yourself flat on your back, the cool sheets a sharp contrast against your flushed, sweat adorned skin.

Before you can even catch your breath, Leon hovers over you, his massive, bare chest heaving as he traps you beneath his frame. His heavy thighs settle securely between yours, pinning your legs wide to completely claim your space. He looks down at you through the messy, sweat-dampened strands of his hair, his blue eyes dark, entirely consumed by an obstinate force of need. Without giving you a single second to acclimate to the shift, his hand slides under the small of your back to arch your hips upward, aligning his length before driving back inside you with a deep, relentless thrust that knocks a loud, helpless moan right out of your lungs.

Aggressive thrusts. Fast, deep strokes that make your soft body bounce slightly with each snap of his hips. He leans down, whispers sweet praise against your ear. “So perfect.” He murmurs between ragged breaths.

A contrast of the sweetest tooth decaying words and the feral movement of his cock against your gummy walls as his hands grips your hips hard enough to leave marks. 

Leon’s body moves with years of discipline, every thrust precise, tempestuous, lost in the heat of your tightening warmth. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, his rough, silver-flecked stubble scratching pleasantly against your sensitive skin as a dark, needy growl vibrates directly against your collarbone. Leon’s movements turn entirely frantic, the disciplined precision of his strokes melting away into a raw, unbridled desperation. His large hands squeeze your hips with a bruising pressure, pinning you down into the mattress as his thrusts become faster, shallower, and completely relentless.

Saccharine words spill out of his mouth.”Look at you…taking me so well.” You mewl in reply as he leaves a kiss just under your jaw. “So fucking beautiful.” He mutters.

His teeth graze your neck, honeyed moans leaving your swollen lips before his mouth claims yours again in a searing kiss that matches the intensity below. 

A sheen of sweat glistens on both your bodies. The air in the room is heavy and wavering, charged with an intensity that seems to blur the world outside. Every breath feels shared, a frantic rhythm that underscores the deep connection between you. Leon’s gaze is locked on yours, his usual composure completely replaced by a raw, unfiltered vulnerability that he only ever reveals in moments like these.

You moan enticingly, some drool leaving your puffed lips as the tip of his length continues its feverish abuse against your cervix. “Leon…fuck..” You mumble.

His name lingered on your tongue like a prayer, every sound falling from your lips fueling him further. 

Leon’s curses spill out in a guttural stream. “Fuck.. atta girl.” Each word ragged with pleasure as your core tightens around him like an alluring vice. 

He can feel his own climax barreling toward him, yours not being far from reach either as he kisses you vehemently through the storm of sensations, lips smushing against yours, noses bumping messily. A shudder consumes his body when your walls squeeze around him.

“Gonna come..” A deep, broken whisper escapes him.

“Me too,” you whimper against his lips as his thrusts grow erratic, your fingers digging tightly into the muscles of his back as your own climax begins to fracture. “Come with me, Leon. Please.”

Leon’s control threatens to shatter at your whimpered request, obeying with a guttural groan. The erratic thrusts turn final, three bruising hurls against your cervix as his release hits him like a personal offence. Hips stuttering against yours while warmth floods you.

The sudden, pulsing rush of his warmth inside you acts like a fuse, completely splintering whatever fragile hold you had left. Your own climax fracturing instantly, as a blinding wave of pleasure ripples through your core as your walls lock around him in a tight, desperate cadence. You let out a high, helpless cry into the crook of his neck, your entire body trembling beneath his heavy frame as the tension snaps. 

Leon doesn’t stop moving, just gentles his thrusts to ride out your high with soft, slow rolls of his hips. He presses the softest haunting kiss to your lips.

As the aching waves of your release began to slow into a quiet, heavy hum, you couldn’t bring yourself to let the stillness take over. Your fingers, still dug into the skin of his chest, tightened slightly. Gathering what little strength remained in your burning muscles, your pelvis gave a slow, deliberate, friction-heavy tilt, a silent request rolling your hips up against his resting length.

Leon’s breath hitched instantly, his head dropping into the crook of your neck with a low, defeated chuckle that vibrated right against your collarbone.

“Aren’t you greedy," he rasped, his deep voice thick with a rough, post-climax gravel. His large hands slid back down to clamp firmly onto the soft flesh of your hips, his thumbs pinning you into the mattress with a steady, commanding pressure. “I thought you were intimidated, sweetheart. Now you’re looking for a round two?”

A breathless, flush-faced smile blooms on your lips as his hands kneed the fat on your hips. You tilt your pelvis up against him again, a tiny, defiant challenge in the friction.

“Maybe I just changed my mind,” you whisper, your voice dropping to a needy murmur. “Are you going to keep talking, or are you going to do something about it?”

Leon doesn’t answer right away. The provocation hangs in the thick air, followed by a heavy, sudden silence where the only sound is the frantic rhythm of his breathing against your neck. He goes completely still over you, his jaw clenching so hard a prominent vein throbbed along his throat. For a heartbeat, his dusk coloured eyes burn down into yours under heavy lids, a placid, intense calibration as he processes the sheer audacity of your request. He lets out a single, low exhale through his nose, his remaining restraint dissolving.

Before you can even register the shift, the pause splinters.

Leon’s large, calloused hands grip your waist and flip you onto your stomach in one seamless motion. Your lips let out a soft yelp for the second time that night.

The weight of his presence is anchoring and solid against the plush, soft curves of your frame. The mattress catches your chest as your view spins, the sudden change in perspective leaving you breathless. He settles against you, his strength a striking contrast to your own fullness, creating a sense of being entirely enveloped by him. 

Leon lets out a low, ragged sound, his hands resting with a steady, possessive pressure on the soft curve of your hips. He seems completely fixated on you, steadying himself against your figure as if transfixed by the way you fit perfectly in his personal space. 

You lift your hips imploringly, the mixture of your previous release leaking out of your puffy warmth. An unbearable ache for the filling sensation Leon had given you overtakes all your senses. 

The eager display of your arched body sends a thrill through Leon, one large hand pressing against the space between your shoulder blades, enough to push you down against the pillows on his bed. His other hand grips his own coveting length to guide it back into your wet heat from behind. With an eager push and an embarrassingly loud squelch, he’s fully sheathed again with a soft groan. 

Your moans muffle into the pillow. “Fuckkk.” A long involuntary curse leaves your lips, the fullness returning, deepening with the new position. 

His hand shifts from your shoulder blades down to your waist, his calloused fingers burying deep into the soft flesh of your torso. He tethers you firmly against the mattress, using his thumb to trace the plush curve of your waist as he begins to move. The friction from behind is thick and immediate, a slow, heavy drag that forces another breathless mewl right out of your lungs.

He doesn’t wait for you to acclimate this time. Driven by the lingering heat of your challenging words, his snaps become more deliberate, his heavy thighs driving flush against your plush ass with a wet, rhythmic slap that ricochets in the quiet room. 

Every deep, relentless hurl bounces your body forward into the pillows, leaving you completely at the mercy of his effortless tactical strength. Your fingers claw at the bedsheets for comfort, your walls clamping tight around him with every single stroke. 

His thrusts drive a new moan out of you each time, muffled into the thick fabric of his pillow. One of his hands slides under your waist to cup your breast, a low growl vibrating in his chest as he watched himself disappear inside you over and over, obsessed with how perfectly your body takes him. The veins along his length drag against your gummy walls with each thrust, and Leon hears every gasp it pulls from you. 

A particularly deep snap of his hips makes him groan. “Fuck..such a good girl for me, arent you?” He mutters before leaning over to bite gently at your shoulder as his pace stays unremitting.

Your eyes glisten with honeyed tears of pleasure, spilling over your flushed cheeks each time his hips snap flush against yours, arching your back further. It’s an agonizingly beautiful bliss, a sensation so thick that your burning muscles completely give up any attempt at resistance. You are entirely undone, caught in a breathless suspension between the tight, aching fullness in your core and the possessive, grounding weight of Leon's heavy frame centering you to the bed. 

His cock hits at the spongy spot of your warmth with an inexorable pace. “Fuckk yes..” You drawl out a sound of pure unfiltered pleasure.

His arm slides around the front of your neck, his massive bicep curling beneath your chin with a heavy, methodical pressure that catches the air right in your throat. The thick muscle locks you securely against his chest, the delicious, restrictive heat of his grip instantly heightening every single sensation as he drives into you from behind. 

Your moans spike louder, vibrating faintly against his arm, letting it embolden him. With a soft grunt, he tightens his hold slightly while his thrusts grow even more erratic. 

Feeling your body melt under the restriction of his arm, Leon lets out a dark, ragged chuckle that vibrates right against your neck.

"Good girl," He rasps, his deep voice dropping to an impossibly low, gravelly frequency. "Look how easy you break for me when I hold you down. Keep clamping around me like that, sweetheart."

The final thread of coherent thought dissolves into the heat of your bodies. Every time his hips thrust forward, driving deep into your plush warmth, only a string of high, overstimulated moans can escape your swollen lips. The sounds are muffled directly into the thick air around you, as he pistons into you from behind with a driving symmetry. The raw friction is dizzying, a blinding wave of pleasure that locks your core around him in frantic, involuntary spasms. 

“Leon..” You whine blissfully. “I’m gonna..”

“I know, baby. I’ve got you,” He grunts out, the words a frayed, breathless vibration against the shell of your ear.

His large frame tenses completely over yours, the muscles in his back locking up as he feels the desperate flutters of your walls signaling your final collapse.

He doesn’t slow down to let you catch your breath driving into your fracturing core with deep, final thrusts that push you straight over the edge. You let out a loud moan that is completely swallowed by the room as a blinding wave of release crashes over you, your internal muscles squeezing his length in a tight, liquid hold. 

The intense, rhythmic movement of your climax instantly triggers his own. Leon lets out a low, guttural groan from the depths of his chest, his head falling blindly into your hair as his hips shutter against your plush ass. His entire body shudders violently under the weight of an overwhelming release, pouring his warm seed inside you as he completely unravels, his discipline crumbling to pieces in the quiet dark. 

As the final tremors of your shared release subsided into a quiet, blurry hum, Leon carefully shifted his weight so he wouldn't crush you. Hooking his arms under your waist, he rolled onto his back, pulling your soft, pliant body right along with him until you were draped securely over his chest. You rested your head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his familiar scent as his hands settled at the small of your back, smoothing over your skin in lazy, comforting strokes. Through the dark, his blue eyes finally fluttered open, heavy with sleep but entirely softened as he looked down at you. 

“You alright?” he murmured, his voice a deep, gravelly rasp that vibrated directly against your cheek.

You leave out a soft, satisfied exhale, the frantic palpitations of your heart finally beginning to match the steady, rhythmic beat of his beneath your cheek. Your fingers slowly uncurled from the sheets, sliding up his bare torso to lazily trace the slightly raised skin of his scars, feeling the deep rumble of his gravelly voice still vibrating in his chest.

“Mhm,” You hummed tiredly, your tone thick with exhaustion and a deep, liquid bliss. You shifted slightly, pressing your face deeper into the warm crook of his neck, completely melting into the solid mass of his chest. “Just tired.”

Leon let out a gentle, low rumble of approval, a sound of pure contentment that spoke louder than any words could. His large, calloused hand moved up to the back of your head, his fingers gently weaving through your hair to press you securely against his pulse.

“Find everything you were looking for down there?” He asked with a lazy, velvet drawl. 

A soft, breathless laugh shook your chest, your lips brushing against the warm skin of his throat as you smiled. You reached up, your fingers trailing lazily over the silver-flecked stubble along his jawline before sliding down to rest against the heavy muscle of his chest.

“Hmm, I’m not sure,” You whispered back teasingly, your voice dropping to a sleepy, affectionate murmur. “We might have to try it again soon... strictly for scientific purposes, of course.”

Leon let out another quiet, gravelly chuckle that vibrated right through your cheek, his arm tightening around your waist to pull your plush curves even closer against his side. “Is that so?” he muttered, his deep voice thick with a heavy, restful drowsiness as he pressed a final, lingering kiss to the crown of your head. “Guess I’ll have to clear my schedule.” 

It had been quite a while since the grand opening, and it could never get more perfect than this. Many would travel and visit your bakery to escape from the darkened sky of the N109 zone, the harsh contrast fuelling the attraction of new customers. 

You had thought of how smooth you were sailing into your new life, before a peculiar evening had questioned your assumptions….

……..

Another late evening at the bakery had arrived. The customers had come flooding in during the morning, leaving your hands covered in flour and vanilla essence as you  continued making sure the various pastries and cakes were fresh and prepared. The atmosphere had converted into a relaxing rhythm as the beautiful smell of sugar wafted through the setting air. You hummed softly to yourself as you cleaned the table, the rag collecting the crumbs that failed to make it into the final outcome. 

The little bell above the bakery door chimed softly as it swung open. 

You didn’t look up immediately. The shop had been wrapped in the gentle quiet that always followed. The scent of vanilla, sugar, and warm butter still hung thick in the air. Sunlight filtered through the big front window, glowing across the display case where rows of cakes, tarts, and pastries waited patiently for the next customer. 

You were wiping flour from your hands on your apron when the silence shifted. 

Heavy footsteps. Not the light, wandering steps of someone browsing. Deliberate. Quick. Large.

You glanced up, the smile that you had automatically reserved for new customers faltering slightly as you froze. 

The man standing just inside the doorway looked like he had stepped into the wrong world. He was huge, intimidatingly so. Broad shoulders filled the entryway, dark clothes clinging to a powerful frame that looked like it belonged in a violent battlefield, not a cozy bakery filled with strawberry shortcakes and fruit tarts. His silver hair caught the sunlight for a moment before he stepped further inside, and the door shut behind him with a soft click. His presence had changed the room instantly.

It wasn’t just the fact that he was tall and broad. It was the feeling that had simmered around him. Sharp and tense, but not foreseeably dangerous. Like a thunderstorm, that for some reason had wandered into your warm little bakery. 

He paused near the entrance, chest rising softly and slightly faster than normal. As if he had been moving quickly…. Or running. But he doesn’t seem like the type to run. 

Your brows knitted together, browsing through your usual set of customers to remember if you had seen him before. But then again, you definitely would’ve remembered him. 

Your bakery sat just outside the N109 zone, which guarantees the occasional strange visitor, but this… felt different. Still, a customer is a customer. And you had built your establishment on kindness, so you smiled softly.

“Hello.” Your voice echoes gently throughout the room. 

The man’s eyes flicked over to you, and for a moment he simply stared. They were striking eyes, a sharp ruby red that could seem cold at first glance. The kind that looked like they had seen too much of the world. But right now… they were studying you like you were something unexpected.

You cleared your throat softly, “Are you okay?” You inquired. 

He didn’t answer immediately, and from your unapologetic staring you had noticed that he was slightly out of breath. Not exhausted, since someone like him probably didn’t get tired easily, but there was a thread of tension in his posture. As if he had escaped something he didn’t feel like dealing with. 

You tilted your head gently. 

“Do you need a drink?” You offered, slight concern illustrated on your face. “Or something to eat?” 

Silence greeted your kind words as he finally glanced around the bakery. His gaze moved slowly over the room. The pastel pink walls, the lace curtains, the neatly arranged cakes and cookies in the glass display. Everything soft. Everything warm. Everything the opposite of him. 

Then his eyes returned to you. You stood behind the counter, round cheeks slightly flushed from baking, flour dusting the front of your apron. Your hair was loosely tied back, and the warmth of the bakery seemed to glow around you like fading sunlight from outside. Soft, bright and alive. The contrast hit him like entering another world. 

“…I’m fine,” He said finally. His voice was handsomely deep. It filled the small bakery confidently and smoothly.

You blinked, then smiled again. “Are you sure?” You asked. “You look like you’ve had a long morning..” 

His answer was immediate.

“I don’t need anything.” His tone wasn’t rude, just slightly distant. Like the voice of someone used to refusing help. 

You hummed softly. Then you shook your head.

“Wait here for a second..” You say gently. Before he could protest, you had already turned and disappeared behind the counter. 

The man watched you go, his brows faintly pulling together. Clearly he wasn’t used to this. Most people reacted to him in one of two ways, fear or hostility. Not kindness, and certainly not the easy, unguarded warmth you were showing him. 

You returned a few moments later, holding something wrapped gently in a cute napkin. 

A pastry. Fresh from the oven. Perfectly golden and flaky. Still warm enough that a faint curl of steam rose from its crispy surface. 

You stepped around the counter and eagerly walked up to him. Only when you got close did the size difference become unavoidably evident. He towered over you, quite literally. Broad, slightly menacing. His presence alone could probably make most people walk away. 

But you didn’t. Instead, you smiled up at him. “Hold out your hands.” 

For a little moment, he didn’t move. Then slowly, he did as you asked.  

His hands were large, and scarred. Veins traced beneath the skin, and his fingers were long, somehow delicate. The hands of someone who had spent years fighting, surviving, holding weapons instead of delicate things. Beautiful.

You carefully placed the pastry in his palms, and his brows knit together slightly, the expression on his face softly amused at your actions. 

“…What?” He verbalises, the confusion extremely obvious in his tone. You folded your hands behind your back and beamed at him. 

“You don’t owe me anything,” you said lightly. “I just like sharing food.”

He stared at the pastry like it had personally offended him, and then his eyes lifted to you again. 

“Why?” The question had slipped out of his mouth before thinking it through. 

You blinked, a little surprised. “Well why not?” You smile softly. 

Gesturing lightly toward the bakery, you begin to speak.

“I bake because I want people to feel a little happier when they leave here,” you explained. “Everyone deserves something warm to eat sometimes… and that includes you.” 

Your voice was so sincere and sweet, like powdered sugar, and it left him strangely quiet. He wasn’t used to people giving him things without wanting something in return. Especially not someone as kind as you. Clearly your brain was filled to the brim with sunshines and rainbows. 

He looked down at the pastry again. Then back at you, sharp eyes analysing any speck of doubt in your words. 

“Thank you..” His words came out lower this time. Still deep, still steady. But softer. Your smile brightened immediately, face glowing with uncontainable glee. 

“You’re welcome!” You beamed at him. You gave him a small nod before turning and walking back behind the counter. He watched you leave again. 

You picked up a cloth and started wiping down the surface like nothing unusual had just happened. After a moment, you glanced up. He was still there, small pastry in hand, still looking mildly confused. 

You gave him a little wave. “Come again sometime.” 

The bell above the door chimed faintly as he stepped outside, the breeze brushing against his face…. And for a long moment, he didn’t move. His gaze dropped once more to the pastry you had given him. Still warm and soft. 

Something unfamiliar tugged quietly in his chest, soothing the previous tension that had overcome him. And finally, he took a bite. Warmth seeping into the darkened hinges of his heart…

…….

The bell above the bakery door had chimed again that following week. 

It was late afternoon this time, when the sunlight turned golden and warm through the windows, painting the shop in soft honeyed light. The bakery smelled like berries and whipped cream today, a fresh batch of pastries and cakes cooling behind the counter. It was comfortable, living a life like this, with the one thing you love at the core of your days.

You were arranging a tray of strawberry tarts when you heard the door.

“Welcome!-” The word stopped halfway out of your mouth.

The tall man from last week stood just inside the doorway. The same striking silver hair, the same broad shoulders, the same quiet intensity that seemed to follow him everywhere. You had completely forgotten how beautiful he is, but to say that would honestly be a lie..…Because no one could ever forget how astonishingly handsome he is. 

This time he wasn’t out of breath. He wasn’t tense like a cornered animal either. He had simply walked in. 

Your surprise only managed to last a short second before your face brightened. 

“Oh! Hello again.” Just by the tone of your voice, he could tell you were content with his presence. He watched you carefully as you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped closer to the counter.

“You came back,” you said warmly, It wasn’t an accusation. Just genuine surprise. The smile on your face seemed to stay permanent no matter the situation.

He gave a small nod. “I did.” His voice was the same deep rumble you remembered, tinted with slight amusement. You lean your elbows lightly on the counter, smile widening. 

“How have you been?” You inquire, and a brief pause echoes throughout the bakery. Most people ask that question out of politeness, but for some reason you were actually interested in what he had to say. 

“...Fine.” He said, as if your personality had confused him to spiral into brain damage. Your smile seemed to brighten. 

“That’s good!”  For a moment, the bakery settled into a cozy quiet between you. Outside the sun had started to steadily set, and somewhere in the kitchen the clock ticked softly.

You widen your eyes, realising you were just staring at him. You laugh under your breath to brush away the soft embarrassment. “Can I get you anything?”  

His gaze shifted toward the display case, then flicked back towards you. “The pastry from last time..” 

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Oh!” Your smile somehow grew brighter. “Did you like it??”  

He nodded once. “I enjoyed it..” 

You immediately turned to the racks of pastries behind you, looking to find the perfectly shaped pastries.

“Well you’re lucky,” you said cheerfully. “You came at the perfect time.”

You pulled out a tray of freshly baked pastries, still warm enough that the buttery scent filled the air the moment they were uncovered. 

“These just came out of the oven a few minutes ago.” Your tone of voice had always seemed so content and confident. Seemingly the big bad boss man standing in your cute pastel bakery failed to scare you and dim your light. He somehow ignited a brighter fire. 

You carefully placed one pastry on a pretty napkin, and turned around to face him. But before you could hand it over, he reached into his leather jacket. A soft thud hit the counter.

Your eyes dropped. Then widened. A wad of cash sat there. Not just enough to cover a simple pastry. Far, far more. You blinked, then blinked again. 

Your head snapped up to look at him. “That’s way too much!” you said quickly, pushing the money slightly back toward him. “I can’t accept this!”

He barely looked at the bundle. Instead his eyes were focused on the pastry in your soft hand. He shrugged, as if money was the least of his concerns. A slow casual motion compared to your searing confusion. 

“Keep it.”

You stared at him, baffled, his words not wanting to settle in your mind. 

You look up at him. “But–” You sigh softly, “I can’t accept this, this is like a hundred pastries! No I can’t–” 

You hesitate, but his expression doesn’t falter. “It’s fine, just accept it” 

You looked between him and the stack of money again, completely baffled. Slowly after a moment you bring the pastry towards him. 

“Well… here,” you said, still unsure. “At least take the pastry first before doing ... .that”  

The smile on your face is slightly nervous now, not knowing if the facial expression is appropriate anymore considering the circumstances. He took the pastry. Again, his hands dwarfed the soft little treat. 

You fiddle with the edges of your flour painted apron. “Are you sure you don’t want anything else?” Your smile is smaller now, soft and sweet. 

He shook his head. “This is all I need for today.” And after a small pause, he added. “I’ll return next week.” 

The words were simple, like he had already decided on his inevitable return beforehand. You blinked in surprise again. 

“Oh– okay!” You smiled by reflex, though you were still processing everything. “Well… I’ll be here.” Your tone of voice had still managed to persevere with that usual cheeriness as you looked up at him from behind the counter. 

He gave one nod, and his silver hair curtained over his saturated crimson eyes. He was so beautiful in a rough way, almost like a mythological dragon. It was hard for you to not look at him….especially with the way his jacket clung onto his strong arms. 

Nevermind that, he had turned and walked toward the door. The bell chiming softly as he stepped outside the warm bakery walls. And just like that, he was gone. The bakery returned to its peacefully quiet atmosphere.

You stood there for a couple of seconds before slowly looking down at the counter. The wad of cash was still sitting there. Untouched. Your eyes widened all over again.

“...Oh my goodness..” You whispered out to no one in particular. Picking up the money shakily, your brain scrambled through a dozen of assumptions. 

Was he rich? Or maybe confused? Did he give me the wrong amount by accident? Or was he genuinely serious about liking that pastry? 

You looked toward the door where he had just left, then back towards the money. “He better not do this next time..” You sigh softly, placing the notes carefully into the register for safekeeping. 

But even as your mind was swarming with confusion, you couldn't help but smile again. Next week, apparently by his words, you’d see him again…

……..

The melodic bell above the bakery door chimed once again the following week, but this time, you had been expecting it. 

Not in an obvious way of course, since you still had customers to serve, dough to knead and cakes to decorate. But every time the door had opened your eyes flicked up just a little faster than usual. 

So when the tall silver haired man had finally stepped into the small and cozy bakery again, your face lit up. 

“Hello!” Your voice and facial expression were struggling to contain the excitement you felt when seeing him. 

This week you wore a brand new apron. Soft pink with tiny bows scattered across the fabric. It wrapped snugly around your plump figure, the ribbon tied neatly at the back. A bit of flour dusted the front of it, and even more had somehow found its way onto your cheeks. Your hair framed your round face softly, a few loose strands escaping while you worked. 

You looked like warmth had chosen a person and settled there. The dark figure standing near the doorway had noticed immediately.

He paused just inside the doorway, taking in the familiar scent of warm butter and sugar. The place was just as comfortable as always, sunlight spilling across the wooden tables, pastries cooling behind glass displays. 

And you. Standing behind the counter smiling at him like you were genuinely happy with his return. 

“You came again!” you said brightly. He walked up to the counter, slower than the first time he’d ever entered this shop. There was no tension in his shoulders now, no urgency in his movements. Just quiet certainty. 

“I said I would.” His deep voice rumbles through his chest, a slightly amused smile on his face. 

Your smile softened at his words. 

“You did.” Brushing your hands off on the pastel pink of your apron, you leaned forward slightly. 

“So! How have you been doing?” Your smiling expression turns into something more curious as you wait for an answer. 

“Fine..” His answers were still short, but the distance between you had subsided. You nodded happily at his words.

“That’s good. I’ve been busy allll week,” you said lightheartedly. “A lot of people have been coming in because of the new strawberry cakes.” 

Your eyes seemed to sparkle as you talked, clearly proud of this week's achievements. “They sold out twice already!” You exclaimed. 

He had listened, not daring to interrupt as he stayed there. Which for someone like him, was already saying a lot. 

You were about to ask him what he wanted when suddenly you gasped softly. 

“Oh! Wait!” You spun around behind the counter, rummaging for something. 

He watched as you fussed over a red paper bag sitting on one of the back tables. You carefully folded the top down and tied a crimson ribbon around it. Fingers working quickly but gently as you absentmindedly stick a bit of your tongue out as a means of focus. You turned back toward him with a proud smile.

Walking around the counter again, you wobble towards him. “This is for you,” you say excitedly. 

You held the bag out toward him and he looked down at the red paper, then at your beaming face.  “....For me?” He inquires. 

You nodded enthusiastically. “Mhm! I was extra careful to make sure the pastries turned out pretty and delicious.” 

He took the bag carefully. Finally something in this establishment had matched his dark attire as the red bag found itself in the hands of its rightful owner. 

But before he could even think about reaching for his wallet–

You raised a finger at him. “And before you even think about paying–”  Your eyes narrowed slightly. “If you offer me even a penny, I will get angry.” 

He blinked once.

“And I won’t be happy.” You added firmly, but your warm and content tone had still remained underneath the faux firmness. 

Even if you weren’t particularly threatening, he pushed aside his thoughts of paying you as the thought of upsetting you somehow tugged harshly against his heart strings. 

He gazed down at the bag again. Written in neat handwriting across the front were the words: Mysterious Silver Haired Man….

Yeah…

You pout jokingly, your cheeks puffing out as you notice his eyes skim over the words. 

“I don’t know your name,” You began to explain softly. “You never really told me the last two times you had visited, so…” 

You gesture towards the bag. “I had to improvise..” You laugh gently. 

Then his gaze slowly lifted to you.

“Sylus.” He said firmly, but his manner had become softer. “That’s my name.” 

You blinked before your face lit up. “Sylus!” You repeated it like you were testing the feel of the words on your tongue, like trying a new recipe. 

You smile up at him warmly. “Thats a very pretty name.” 

The compliment landed so casually that it almost felt familiar. 

“You probably already know my name since it’s..” You tug on the name badge clipped onto the fabric of your apron. “..Right here!’” 

Sylus didn’t respond right away and you didn’t seem to notice. You had already turned and walked back behind the counter again, fiddling with the edge of your new apron. 

“Well, Sylus.” You said cheerfully, looking up at him again. “Have a lovely rest of your day.” 

You gave him a small wave. “And come again, you’re always welcome here.” 

For a few seconds he just stood there, pretty hand wrapped around the red paper bag. Then a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. Small and subtle. As if this whole situation had amused him more than it should have. 

“Until next time.” His voice lingered through the warm bakery as he turned and walked toward the door. The bell chimed softly as he stepped outside again.

And for the third week in a row, Sylus left your bakery carrying something warm….

…….

Weeks passed after that, and just like he promised… Sylus returned. Every week. And at first it was simple. The bell would chime, he would step inside, and your face would brighten instantly when you saw him. You always had something waiting for him. Some warm pastry or sweet treat carefully wrapped in paper and tied with a cute ribbon. 

And you never let him leave empty handed. Those large, scarred hands that looked like they belonged wrapped around weapons somehow always ended up holding something soft and warm from your bakery.

The conversations had converted to something more enriched. During the first few interactions they were short. But as the weeks passed, Sylus’ replies grew longer. Your cheerful chatter pulled words from him with surprising ease. A dry, slightly teasing edge began creeping into his tone as well. One that made you laugh far more often than he expected. 

“You’re here early today,” You said one afternoon with a soft smile decorating your lips. 

“You sound disappointed.” He teased lightly. 

You gasp softly at his words. “I am not!” 

“You hesitated, sweetie.” He mused with a small smirk on his face. 

“I did not!” You raised your voice softly, denying the words he was putting into your mouth. 

A sound scarily similar to a laugh left his mouth, it sounded rich, like those ceo mafia bosses that could buy the whole town. It was also genuine. And somehow, week by week, the tall, intimidating man who once stood stiffly near the door now leaned casually against your counter while you rambled on about new recipes and flavour combinations. 

By the seventh week, his arrival had become a routine of sorts. He always came at a similar time, on a Wednesday. And for reasons Sylus had examined beforehand…. he looked forward to it. 

But when the bell chimed that afternoon and he stepped inside the bakery… something felt wrong. You weren’t there. The counter seemed empty without your gleeful figure working around it. The display case was still full of cakes and pastries, but the usual warm greeting didn’t follow the sound of the door. 

No bright and sweet smile, no cheerful greeting. Sylus’ eyes narrowed slightly and a faint crease formed between his brows. His jaw clenching at the thought of something happening to you. He stood by the entrance for a moment longer than usual, scanning the warm room.

Then–

“Oh my-” A soft voice floated from the back kitchen. “Why are there so many orders today-” 

Another quiet curse followed your absentminded words and Sylus’ shoulders relaxed just a fraction. The sound had attracted him, body moving without a second thought. The kitchen door was slightly open, and as he reached it, he froze. Leaning against the door frame. 

You were a mess. Definitely not a bad one. Just…. a very busy state of concentration. 

Your sleeves were rolled up just slightly, your apron dusted with flour and streaked with icing and bits of grated carrot. Your cheeks were flushed from the heat of the ovens, and you were biting your lip softly as you stirred a large bowl of batter with a wooden spoon. Your arms moved with determined effort. Soft but strong as you mixed the thick mixture. A strand of hair kept falling across your face, fighting your deep efforts of focus. 

You blew at it in a soft frustration, but it stubbornly returned every few seconds. 

“Why did carrot cake have to become so popular today of all days..” You sigh to yourself. 

Sylus studied you silently before your eyes flicked up, noticing him.

Your entire face lit up in the span of a nanosecond. “Oh! Sylus!” You smiled warmly despite the chaos surrounding you. “You’re here!” 

He raised an eyebrow slightly. “I am.” 

Your hand paused on mixing the batter. 

“Sorry I didn’t greet you up front.” You said quickly. ”It’s been super busy today.” 

“I noticed.” Of course he did, he was silently panicking when he didn’t see your bright smiling face greeting him. 

His gaze drifted over the cluttered kitchen, bowls, flour flags, trays waiting to be filled with batter. Then his eyes returned to focus on you. 

“Do you require my help, sweetie?” The nickname slipped out so smoothly it took you a second to process it, his deep voice resonating through the littered kitchen. 

Your cheeks warmed just a little more. “Oh– no, no!” You said quickly, refusing his help almost immediately. “I can handle it!”

You went back to mixing… except, you clearly couldn’t anymore. The batter was thick, the bowl kept sliding slightly as your arms fell prey to exhaustion… and the same strand of hair continued falling in front of your eyes. You tried blowing it away again. 

It didn’t work. 

Sylus pushed himself off the doorframe, walking across the kitchen in a few quiet steps until he stood behind you. Before you could react, his hand lifted gently. Large fingers brushed against your hair as he tucked the loose strands neatly behind your ears. 

Your stirring slowly started to stop. “...Sylus?” You say his name, questioning his action, the softness in your tone maintaining its base. 

“You can’t see what you’re doing..” He said calmly. 

You opened your mouth slightly. “I told you–” 

“I’m helping.” His tone was firm and final. “Non negotiable.” 

You stared at the bowl for a moment, sighing softly, but your lips still held that warm smile. “Okay.” You accepted his words. Your cheeks are flushed, flour still dusting your face, apron stained with the baking rush.  “Thank you.” 

You wiped your hands on a nearby towel and walked over to a nearby hook. Your hands reached to grab the only other apron you owned. Pastel pink, decorated with pretty bows. 

You held it out to him. 

Sylus looked at it, then at you… then back at the apron. “And you’re sure this is the only one?” 

You nodded innocently. “Mhm!”  

He didn’t dare argue with your decision, putting it on without uttering another word. The massive, intimidating man now stood in your kitchen wearing a pink bow-covered apron. And somehow, he really didn't seem to mind.

You brightened immediately. “Okay!” you exclaimed, returning to the bowl. “First step! Help me mix the batter, please.” 

You hand him the wooden spoon and he takes it, looking ridiculously small in his hand. “...Like this?” He asked as he mixed the batter with sure and strong movements. 

“Yes! Just like that.” Your shoulder brushed his arm as you guided the motion. “See? It’s super easy.” 

Sylus looked down at the thick carrot cake batter, then at your beaming face. “.. As I recall.. someone had been struggling with this for a while.”

You gasped softly. “You were watching that long?!” 

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps..” 

And for the first time since the rush had begun, the kitchen didn't feel nearly as overwhelming. 

……..

By the time the last tray of cute little carrot cakes finally slid into the oven, the kitchen had transformed into a battlefield. Flour dusted nearly every surface. Mixing bowls were stacked beside the sink, spoons rested in half-empty batter bowls, and the warm scent of cinnamon, brown sugar, and carrot cake filled the entire bakery. 

You leaned against the counter with a tired sigh, wiping your hands on your already stained apron. Sylus stood beside you, still wearing the pink bow-covered apron you’d given him. There were faint streaks of flour across his dark shirt and a little bit of batter on one of his rolled up sleeves.

Your eyes found him for the nth time that evening, laughing softly.

He raised a brow. “What?” 

“You’re…” you tried to contain the giggle, “very intimidating for someone wearing that apron.”

He glanced down at the stained pink fabric and smirked softly. “You’re lucky that I don’t have a problem with it.” 

You cross your arms under your chest playfully, smiling teasingly. “I remember someone saying that helping me was non-negotiable.” 

“Hm, that part was.” He said calmly. “The apron wasn’t.” 

You tilt your head with a warm smile. “Well… you look good in pink.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was a quiet amusement there now. 

“You’re enjoying this, aren't you?” 

“Very much.” You beam at him. Sylus hummed quietly, acknowledging your words before letting the not so quiet silence take over the room. 

For a moment you both just stood there, enjoying the faint hum of the ovens and the tick of the clock. It felt comfortable. 

You look up at him, expression softening. “Thank you for helping me today, Sylus.” You said sincerely. “I genuinely would have been here all night if you hadn’t.” 

His gaze settled on your thankful expression. “You would have managed.” 

You shook your head at his words, laughing softly to yourself. 

“Maybe…eventually.” Then you smiled again. “But it was a lot nicer having company.” 

The words hung gently between you, decorating the comfortable atmosphere. Turning to grab a towel, you wipe the flour from your hands again. 

“Let me at least give you some carrot cake before you go,” you said gently. “You helped make them after all.” 

Sylus didn’t move, quietly watching you, enthralled by the mere sight of your glowing form. Studying the way your hair had come loose from its tie, the flour still scattered across your cheeks, the warmth that always seemed to radiate from you. Bright, soft and alive. 

So different from the world he lived in. 

You turned back around with a small box in your hands, but when you noticed the way he was looking at you, you paused. 

“..What?” You smiled softly. “Is there something on my face?” 

He took a step closer towards you, silver hair falling across his rich crimson eyes. You had always thought he looked ethereal. Nose carved carefully, sharp eyes and lightly tanned skin. Others would argue, how could someone so menacing be angel like? But you would argue that yes he could, because he was gentle, and kind. 

“Could you do something for me?” He inquired, deep voice rumbling through his chest.

You nod, smiling warmly. “Of course! What is it? Do you want more of the cake because I don’t think-” 

“Go out with me.” Your words were quickly interrupted by his abrupt wish. The words were so simple, so direct. And that was the cause of your momentary loss for words. 

“.....What?” You questioned softly. He didn’t repeat himself immediately. Instead, he waited. Patient ,as if your answer held the key to fate itself. 

Your eyes widened slightly. “You mean… like…” you gestured vaguely between the two of you, “…a date?”

“Yes.” He said firmly. 

You blinked again, the small box of carrot cake forgotten in your hands. “Oh my…” Your cheeks began to warm, a rosy colour blossoming on your skin. 

“I– I mean… Sylus you’re—” You fumbled slightly over your words. “You’re… you.”

He tilted his head slightly, eyebrow raised and a small smirk decorating his face. “Yes, that is usually how names work.” 

You huffed softly at his teasing words, a small smile still etched on your lips. “That’s not what I mean.”

You set the box down on the counter softly, suddenly very aware of the flour on your cheeks and the icing stains on your apron. 

“I mean… Sylus, you’re…” You paused, a little embarrassed. “You’re impressive. In a way I’m really not.” 

“You’re strong…and smart.” Your voice got quieter. “And I’m just…” You gesture vaguely to yourself. “...a baker.” 

Your shoulders lifted slightly, avoiding his strong gaze, and it was proving to be quite difficult. 

“I’ve always been told I’m too soft, in more ways than one” you admitted quietly with a soft laugh under your breath. “Too naive.” 

You look down at the dried out batter on your hands. “I’m loud, and far from elegant. I just make cakes all day.” 

The kitchen grew quiet, the distance between you seeming louder as the silence stretched. Sylus stepped closer. Close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating through him, or was that just you overheating? 

His hand lifted slowly, and you looked up at him just as his fingers gently brush against your rosy cheek. His thumb wiped away a faint streak of flour, the touch surprisingly soft for someone with such calloused hands. His touch lingered there for a moment.

“You make it sound like it’s a flaw” His voice had lowered slightly. “But everything you just said in regards to yourself is anything but a flaw.” 

Your breath caught slightly, heart hammering through your sternum. 

“You’re warm,” he said gently as his thumb brushed another bit of flour away from your cheek. “You’re benevolent, in ways you don’t have to be.” 

His gaze held yours, firm focus set on one thing. You.

“You’re real.” The words that left his mouth were so gentle, so sweet, and something in your chest fluttered. “You’re everything my world isn’t.” 

Your eyes widen softly and his head tilts just slightly, studying your expression. Then  he asked again, gently this time.

“So.” His fingers still rest gently against your cheek. “Would you grant me the pleasure of taking you out sometime?" 

Your lips parted, and for a second, you couldn't really speak. Then slowly, a warm smile spread across your face.

“Yes, I’d love to.” 

Sylus watched the smile bloom across your face like the sunrise after a long night, warmth radiating from you in a way that felt almost unreal. For a moment, he simply stood there, looking at you the same way he had that first day, like you were something unexpected in a world that rarely surprised him anymore…

Almost a year, but never in your life had you seen someone return so eagerly each week. A man had been visiting weekly, always hovering around the cookbook section. At first you thought it was coincidence. Then pattern. Then curiosity.

He was tall. Impossibly so. Broad shoulders filling out his hoodie, pale hair catching the light whenever he tilted his head to read spines. You’d seen hunters before, of course. Linkon City was full of them. But none of them looked at books like that. None of them lingered. None of them were as beautiful as he was in the glittering rays of light shining through the library's windows. 

He had started appearing more often as the spring progressed, his fresh ambience brightening up the cozy library you had learned to work in. The comfortable darkness turning into something lighter each day he had spent looking at cook books. Did he like to cook? Or was he learning to? 

The curiosity gnawed at you, threatening to spill out and confront the beautiful man. But you knew better than to simply embarrass yourself.

Another work day at the library had arrived, and with that, the mysterious silver haired man. You stood at the front table, sorting some books as you caught that familiar stature waltzing around the library.

It was hard to focus on work when the living image of a prince danced in front of your eyes. You sigh and adjust your soft cardigan, cheeks warm, and focused back on sorting returns.

……

Later that afternoon, a familiar problem awaited you on the top shelf of romantic fiction. For weeks you had tried to get that book at the very top, even begging the other librarians to find a small ladder you could use, but no one had anything that could aid in your efforts.

You stood on your toes, fingers stretching uselessly toward a thick hardcover just out of reach. You huffed softly, round cheeks puffing as you tried again. Why were shelves even designed to be so unrealistically tall if no one could reach?

Just as you’re about to give up, warmth seeps into your back.

A presence behind you. Solid, careful. A hand reached past your shoulder, brushing close without quite touching, and plucked the book down effortlessly. The strangers' hands are beautiful. Slender, pale, and the fingers were attractively long, a few stray veins decorating the muscle under the skin. 

“There,” A male voice says gently, the softness guiding you to turn around. You startled, then turned. And found yourself looking up at him for the first time.

You had seen him from a distance, tracing covers and flicking through pages. Sure he had looked beautiful then, but now that he’s closer, you couldn’t help but think about his unfair genetic performance. 

Up close, his eyes were soft. Almost shy. He looked at you like you were something precious he hadn’t expected to find. 

“Oh– thank you,” you said, taking the book. “I never win against these shelves.”

A small smile curved his lips, carefully accessorising his already handsome complexion. “I wonder why.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, a familiar heat creeping up at your cheeks, threatening to reveal your deep crush.

He looks at you and laughs softly, the smile seemingly becoming softer as he stands near you. You look up at him and copy his expression, a soft curl of your lips illustrating on your face before you speak again.

“I’m ___, what’s your name?” You tilt your head expectantly, hoping his beautiful lips will open again to pronounce the letters of his name. 

His voice is gentle as he answers your question. “I’m Xavier.” 

……..

That was how it started.

Conversations followed. Quiet interactions between the library’s aisles, lingering glances over returned books. Xavier began coming more often. Sometimes he helped you reshelve. Sometimes he just… stayed.

He was perfect. Unrealistically so. And through the many words you’ve exchanged, the perfect accusations end at cooking…..and his sleeping addiction. Turns out that the only reason he had observed the cooking books is to learn how to cook in the first place, because he had a tendency of burning down his poor kitchen.

He liked the way you hummed while working. You liked the way he listened. He was so attentive when it came to you, never being as immersed in a book as he was in a conversation with you. 

You thought it was rare to meet a person that matched you like a lost puzzle piece, but surely, it happened. You were slowly falling for him, the crush developing into deeper connections and needs. But that made you slightly self conscious.

You had never thought of yourself as ugly, or unattractive for that matter, but after witnessing the type of girls that tend to hit on Xavier, the insecurities began to resurface. They were skinny, and beautiful in a way that rivaled your beauty. But he had a habit of being oblivious to their flirtatious behaviour, and ended up brushing them off as soon as they talked to him. Well, attempt to anyway. 

It was just wishful thinking, as the thought of confessing to him plagued your mind every time he talked to you. 

When you finally invited him over for tea weeks later, it felt inevitable.

…..

Your apartment was warm, smelling faintly of vanilla and brewed leaves. Xavier sat across from you, long legs folded awkwardly as he held his cup with both hands. You were both sat on the floor, the fluffy carpet cushioning the seating option.

“Tell me if you need anything m’kay?” You say softly as you blow lightly on your tea, the light steam whirling into patterns as it travelled the air. 

He’d been quieter than usual, gaze drifting not to the bookshelves or the window, but to you. Your hands, the curve of your cheek when you smiled, the way you leaned in when you listened.

He inhaled. You noticed the way his shoulders lifted, then settled, as if he’d made a decision he couldn’t undo. His eyes focus on yours before he speaks…

“I like you.” He said, the words seemingly firmer than his usual softer tone of voice. 

The words begin to ring in your ears. The way he had looked at you, like he actually meant it. This whole situation overwhelming your senses, he was everything you could think about. 

‘I like you’

Your fingers trembled around the teacup. You tried to steady your breath, tried to respond, but your thoughts felt scattered. Too full of warmth, of disbelief, of the way Xavier was looking at you like you were the most mesmerising thing in the whole universe.

Then the cup tipped. Hot tea splashed into your lap. You gasped sharply, instinctively leaning back as the liquid soaked into your skirt. 

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry, I–” 

Xavier was on his feet immediately. 

“Hey, it’s okay,” he said, voice urgent but gentle. He grabbed a handful of tissues from the table and knelt in front of you without hesitation, blotting carefully at your thighs. His movements were soothing, precise. Never rushed, never careless.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, glancing up at you, worry written plainly across his face.

You shook your head, breath shaky. “No– Sorry, I’m just a bit surprised.”

His hands lingered just long enough to make your heart flutter, warmth radiating through the fabric where he dabbed away the tea. You were suddenly awfully aware of how close he was, of the quiet concentration in his expression, of how carefully he treated you. Like something fragile, precious.

You clear your throat, interrupting his careful actions. “I should–” You swallowed. “I should clean up properly, stay here.” 

You stood, legs still unsteady, and made your way toward the kitchen. You barely made it two steps before you felt him behind you, clearly disobeying your recommendation to stay put. Not touching, but close enough that you could feel his presence like heat at your back.

In the kitchen, you reached for a cloth by the sink. And then you realized there was nowhere else to go, his mere breath cornering you into the kitchen draws. 

Xavier stepped closer, hands bracing on the counter on either side of you. Not trapping, but undeniably surrounding. You looked up, breath caught, and found his gaze fixed on your face, dark with something deeper now. Something careful. Wanting.

“I didn’t mean to overwhelm you,” he said quietly. “I just… needed you to know.”

Your pulse thudded in your ears, the unfamiliar closeness working against your heart's rapid palpitations.

“I’m not overwhelmed,” you murmured. “I’m just a bit flustered.”

A small sigh leaves his lips, soft and relieved. His head dipped slightly, forehead nearly brushing yours. 

“Can you please look at me?” He whispers, the timbre of his voice vibrating against his chest. 

The air between you felt charged, humming with everything unsaid. He didn’t touch you, not yet, but the way he stood there, so close, made it feel like he already was. Waiting, giving you time to finally acknowledge the words he had said just a few moments ago.

And when you finally met his gaze again, steady despite your racing heart, it felt like the moment right before something changed.

You didn’t think. You just leaned forward.

Your lips brushed his. Soft, hesitant, barely there, like you were testing whether the moment was real. You could feel your heart pounding all the way up your throat as you kissed him again, just as gently. For a small fraction of a second, Xavier froze. Then he kissed you back, with the same tooth rotting sweetness that you had given him. 

It was slow. Careful. His mouth moved against yours like he was afraid of startling you, like he was memorizing the shape of your lips. One hand lifted, hovering near your waist before finally resting there, warm and real.

You pulled back, breath shaky, forehead almost touching his.

“I feel the same way,” you whispered. “About you.”

The effect of your words were almost immediate.

His breath hitched, eyes darkening with something unmistakable. Relief, want, emotion all tangled together. He didn’t hesitate this time.

Xavier kissed you again, deeper now, needier. The gentleness was still there, but it was threaded with hunger, with all the restraint he’d been holding back. His hand slid more firmly to your waist as you clutched at his hoodie, kissing him back just as desperately. His kisses felt like heaven. It was ethereal. The need in his kiss, the soft sounds that left his lips. You were hypnotized, and it seemed like he was too. 

The world narrowed to the sound of your breaths, the heat between you, the way he fit against you like he always had. Like he was meant to. Not by fate, but by choice. 

A quiet sound escaped you when his hands slid lower, tracing over your thick thighs.

Before you could process it, he gripped the backs of your thighs and lifted you effortlessly onto the counter. You gasped, hands flying to his shoulders. 

Oh. That was unexpected. But so incredibly hot. 

No one had ever picked you up like that. Not so easily. Not like it was instinct, like your body was something he wanted close, something he was proud to hold. 

You feel his lips leave yours, pausing for a few seconds.

“Is this okay?” He searches your face for any kind of discomfort, reject. Something to tell him to stop. His eyes begging for your answer to be yes as his hand traces circles on your thigh. 

Your cheeks burned, but you nodded, breathless. “Yeah.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest, satisfied smile before he leaned in again, pressing closer, kisses trailing along your jaw as his hands stayed steady on your thighs. Secure, reverent, sure.

And in that moment, perched on the counter with his body between your knees and his attention wholly, unmistakably on you, you felt wanted in a way that made your chest ache. In the best possible way.

He kissed you again. Unhurried this time. Not desperate. Not consuming. Just… thorough. His lips moved against yours like he was savoring every second, every quiet sound you made when he tilted his head just right. One of his hands slid up, thumb brushing softly along your jaw, cradling your face as if you were something precious.

You melted into it without meaning to.

“That’s it,” he whispered between kisses, almost to himself. “So sweet…”

His mouth lingered at the corner of your lips, then traced a slow path along your cheek, your jaw, down to the sensitive spot on your neck. Each kiss felt intentional, placed with care, like he wanted you to feel seen, chosen.

Your vision was getting blurry. The soft press of his lips littering your face and neck causing a build up of warmth in your lower stomach. 

Your hands fisted in his hoodie, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the quiet certainty in the way he touched you. When you kissed him back–slow, open, trusting– he let out a breath that sounded almost relieved.

He pulled back just enough to look at you.

His gaze softened when it lingered on your face, your round cheeks flushed, your lips parted from his kisses. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, then along your cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, no hesitation, no doubt. “I hope you know that.”

Heat bloomed in your chest. He kissed you again. Deeper now, but still controlled, like he was holding himself back out of respect rather than lack of desire. The intimacy simmered between you, a steady burn that made your pulse race without ever tipping into something frantic.

This time you had pulled away, teary eyed, flushed cheeks and lips swollen with the intimate kisses. 

“Xavier…..” You pause, hesitation creeping up on you for sabotage. “I need you.”

His eyes widen softly, one of his hands softly caressing your thigh.

“Please.” You beg, pressing a soft kiss against his jaw. 

He wastes no time in fulfilling your plea, his hands reaching to the hem of his hoodie, taking it off over his head.

“I’m here,” he murmurs. “I’ve got you.” He whispers softly into the charged air between you. 

His hoodie is forgotten, discarded somewhere on your apartment floor as his hands reach to unbutton your cardigan.

Gentle, precise. As if he practiced for when the opportunity to make you feel good presented itself. Now that your cardigan was rid of, it left you in your bra, the skirt you had decided to wear that day still clinging onto your waist.

Xavier exhales softly, eyes analyzing every soft curve of your body.

“You’re breathtaking.” He says softly, before trailing gentle, loving kisses down your body. Every kiss felt like reassurance. Every touch felt like intention. 

And as he stayed there between your knees, close but careful, whispering soft praise like it was the most natural thing in the world, it became clear, neither of you needed to rush. 

You reach behind your back and unclasp the plain bra you had opted on wearing. A clear mistake considering the position you were in right now. It falls and you take off the straps binding to your arms.

He looks at you like he just witnessed a miracle. Something so beautiful that it sent a shiver down his spine and straight to his cock. 

Not even a few seconds after you had taken off your bra, Xavier had managed to start tending to your breasts. Saliva coating the soft peaks as he nibbles softly at the soft skin. It was an erotic sight. But the awestruck cloud in his eyes made the moment more loving than it needed to be. 

“Xavier…” You mewl out softly at the teasing movements of his mouth. He groans in response, busying himself with worshipping your chest.

Once he deems his work to be enough, he pulls away, looking up at your flushed face. His eyes have always been the most gorgeous shade of blue, but now, they seemed darker. Almost as if he’s allowing his primal urges to take over for his actions. 

You rest your arms around his strong neck, pulling him softly back towards your face. 

You kissed him again, a little bolder this time, letting yourself lean into him fully. He responded instantly, a quiet sound leaving him as his arms drew you closer, hands firm and reassuring where they held you. The kiss grew heavier, slower but fuller, as if neither of you wanted to rush yet neither could pull away.

“Xavier, please…” You whimper softly between kisses.

His lips leave out a sound similar to a needy moan as he deepens the kiss, tongues fighting for fulfilment.

His slender hand moves from your hip, to the sensitive skin on the inside of your thigh. So close to where your body needed him the most. Brushing against the soft stretch marks littering your thighs. Your mouth lets out soft pleas at his teasing touch, your core aching to be filled.  

His finger tugs softly on your panties, as you lift yourself up slightly to let him slip them off. As soon as they’re off, his fingers brush against your lips, spreading the embarrassing amount of wetness across the sensitive area. 

“So wet…. Just for me.” He whispers gently, as if his words weren’t directed at you but at your leaking pussy. 

With a soft squelch, one finger enters your hole. Gently grazing the tight gummy walls of your pussy. As if by instinct, your mouth produces soft moans at the underwhelming pressure, his long finger thrusting and curling at a slowly agonizing pace. 

“You’re so perfect…” The soft words leave his lips, contrasting with the lewd wet sounds coming from the way his finger thrusts testingly into your cunt. 

You whimper at his slow pace, clinging onto him as if physical closeness will dull down the aching feeling of need.

“Xavier, please.” You mewl out. “More..” The quiet words slip out of your lips as you grind down against his hand, needing some sort of friction. His brows furrow in concentration, prioritising whatever you crave from him rather than his own pleasure. 

His lips press against your forehead gently before another finger enters your soakingly wet entrance, a soft squelch echoing between the proximity of your desperate bodies. A moan leaves your mouth as Xavier’s pace increases, his fingers now carefully grazing your cervix with each thrust. 

You hadn’t felt like this in so long, the sensitivity making the experience better as Xavier’s fingers scissor and stretch out your walls. You rest your head in the crook of his neck, lightly biting down on his sensitive skin, lewd whimpers leaving your lips as you feel that familiar warm knot building up. 

“You’re doing so well for me, starlight.” His words vibrate through your body, your walls fluttering around his fingers. Your breathing progresses into mere moans and soft groans as you feel yourself come closer and closer towards that sweet release. 

“Xavier..” You breathe out, the knot that had built up in your stomach seconds away from bursting. He exhales through his nose, his thumb joins in, rubbing soothing circles on your clit. Careful and precise, seeking your release as if it’s his own. As if just the sight of your blissed out face is enough to make him cum. 

“C’mon starlight, come for me..” He whispers gently as your legs tremble on the counter, the pleasure from the additional stimulation and the softness in his voice fueling the overwhelming knot. 

Release washes over you in a warm bloom. Your walls tighten around his fingers before coating them in your inevitable release. Heavy breaths leave your lips as Xavier continues to stimulate your cunt, letting you ride out your high. His eyes make contact with yours. Eyes full of nothing but the loving infatuation that led to this situation. 

As his fingers leave your wetness, evidence of your pleasure glistens on the soft skin before he brings them up to his mouth. Sucking and savouring the taste of you as if it’s sacred. 

He hums softly. “You taste so sweet.” As soft as his words are, the lustful glint in his eyes is hard not to notice.

Your lips are swollen, previously bitten to hide your own moans, eyes glistening with slight tears, and round cheeks flushed. Xavier’s eyes flick over your current state, analyzing your face and the irregular rise and fall of your chest. His ears are pink at the tips, the marks you had left on him blooming into darker blotches, like avoidance of self restraint. Eyes a hazy blue and half lidded as they maintain contact with yours. 

You swallowed, heart fluttering painfully in your chest. The words came out quieter than you meant them to. “Are you sure you want this?”

His brow creased. Not in frustration, but concern. He leaned back just enough to look at you properly, eyes searching your face like he was back at the library reading books from its core to the edges.

You hesitated, then whispered the real question.

“…Are you sure you want me?”

Xavier lifted one hand to your cheek, thumb brushing softly over the round curve there, tender and unhurried. His touch felt deliberate, grounding. Like he wanted you to feel every ounce of certainty behind it. 

“I’ve been sure,” He said quietly, his cheek flushing softly with a rosy pink. 

Your breath caught. He leaned closer, noses brushing, voice low and steady. “I didn’t come here hoping for this. I came because I like being around you. Because you make me feel calm. Because you smile at me like I’m safe.”

His other hand squeezed gently at your thigh, reassuring, warm. “This–” he gestured faintly between you, “—only happens because it’s you.”

Your eyes burned at the mix of his words and the way his silver strands of hair wavered across his cerulean eyes. 

“I want you,” he continued, without hesitation. “Exactly as you are. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then lingered just shy of your lips, giving you space. Choice.

“If you want me to stop,” He said, “I will. And if you want me to stay…” His thumb traced a small, comforting arc against your skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in your chest loosened, like a mosaic you’ve spent so long piecing together, and finally all the shards had been drawn together.

You leaned in again. Kissing him with the same passion he had showed you. The same want. The same choice. Xavier inhaled sharply through his nose, like the contact surprised him all over again, and then he immediately kissed you back, hands returning to their previous activity of exploring your body. 

This kiss is wet, laced with the certainty you needed to indulge into your desires. His mouth moved against yours with aching patience, lips parting just enough to invite you closer. When you followed that silent request, the sound he made was quiet but unmistakable, low in his throat, like relief. His hand slid up to cradle your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth as if he couldn’t help himself. The kiss deepened. Not frantic, but hungry in a way that made your knees feel weak even perched on the counter.

He was vocal. Soft whimpers and sounds of pleasure entwining into the sloppy kisses. Every breath you shared felt close. Every brush of lips felt intentional.

Xavier kissed you like he wanted to take his time, like he was learning you. Pressing in, easing back, then returning with just a little more need each time. His lips were warm, slightly parted, leaving you breathless as he lingered, savoring the way you responded. 

When you made a soft sound against his mouth, he answered it immediately, kissing you deeper, slower, like he didn’t want the moment to end. His grip tightened just a little at your waist holding you there like you belonged exactly where you were. 

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him in closer as the heels of your feet dig into his muscular back. 

His hands move towards your thighs and grip them, before lifting you off of the counter. A soft squeal leaves your mouth as you cling onto his body.

“Where’s your bedroom starlight?” He asks softly, his hands not able to fully wrap around your thighs as he grips the soft flesh. You blink a few times, processing his question before answering.

“Down the corridor, to the left.” You mumble softly, he presses a soft kiss against your cheek before carrying you towards your bedroom.

You felt weird, just his raw strength was more impressive than anything any of your exes had done to you before. You felt wanted. He didn’t have to carry you. You would wobble a bit, yeah, especially after that previous orgasm, but you could still walk. He just decided to do it. As small as that action is. To you? It definitely wasn’t. It fueled your desire even more, if that was even possible. 

Xavier softly dropped you onto the soft mattress of your bed, the pink sheets and unhealthy amount of plush toys contrasting with the course of action you both had decided on. 

He looms over you, his legs kneeling between yours. 

“Can I…?” He softly tugs at your skirt which was by his definition, in the way. 

You nod, arms resting around his neck. He leans down and presses a soft kiss on your neck. 

“I need words, starlight.” He whispers. 

Your mouth moves before you can even think about it. “Yes.” You bite your lip softly. “I need you, Xavier..” Your voice is gentle and needy, and it clearly gets his attention. 

His skillful fingers unzip your skirt. You raise your hips slightly as Xavier slides the fabric off of you. As soon as the cold air hits your cunt you whimper softly, gripping onto him like a lifeline. 

Xavier exhales softly, eyes focused on the way your sopping pussy glistens in the soft bedroom light. Your walls flutter around nothing, waiting for his cock to replace that void. He reaches towards the button and zip of his jeans, and in a matter of seconds, his jeans are somewhere on your bedroom floor. 

You knew he was hard, you could see it when he had his fingers in you on the kitchen counter. But now you could see his outline, his boxers covering his hard cock. And boy was it big. It’s scary. 

Once his boxers come off, you can’t help but admire his length. It was just as pretty as him. Long, but not too thick. Pink and angry tip producing small beads of glistening pre cum. A small patch of silver hair trailing from his navel to his aching hardness, something you had failed to notice before. You were silently thanking the universe for blessing you with such a beautiful man. Inside and out. 

The corners of his lips curl up into a soft smile as he looms over you again. You press your thighs together on instinct, biting your lip softly. 

Xavier’s hands reach out and softly pry your thighs apart, tracing over the stretch marks littering the inside of your thighs. 

“So beautiful….” He whispers, before taking his throbbing length into the palm of his hand and pumping it twice. 

He presses softly against your entrance, tip teasing and spreading the accumulated wetness. Soft whimpers leave his lips at the slight contact as pleas leave your mouth. 

“Xavier please-” You don’t even get to finish your sentence before he pushes in, not fully, his tip now surrounded by the warm walls of your pussy. 

He kisses you, needingly. The kiss grew wetter, more open, all heat and shared breath, until pulling away felt impossible. Even when he finally rested his forehead against yours, lips still brushing yours with every word, he didn’t move far.

Xavier pushes into you. Bottoming out in one go. You moan loudly at the intrusion, a slight sting pulsing through your core.

“Fuck you’re so tight…” He whispers “Take as much time as you need, I’m not going anywhere.” 

You nod softly at his words, the sounds of your soft breaths echoing through each other's brains. After a couple of minutes, the pain subsides, converting into pleasure. You whimper softly, grinding up against him as he moans. 

“You can move..” You say quietly. Xavier nods.

His thrusts are slow at first, testing and careful, making sure he’s not hurting you. But with another tempting grind against his pelvis he increases his pace.

It feels like heaven, like your souls are finally resonating. Fusing together. His soft moans and whimpers are muffled as he presses soft kisses against your face, trailing down towards your neck and chest. His thrusts are more erratic now, chasing your release as well as his own. 

Your soft stomach and plump figure bounces softly as the tip of his cock kisses your cervix over and over again. Loud and erotic moans filtering from your lips. Repeating his name like it’s a prayer while his veins mold your walls, so by the end of today they would only remember him. 

As his pace reaches an inhumane speed and depth, your eyes roll to the back of your head, drool slowly slipping from the corner of your lips.

“You feel so good starlight..” Xavier whimpers out. His lip quivers slightly from the pleasure. 

“So beautiful like this, you look ethereal…” Gentle praises leave his mouth as his thrusts grow sloppier. Your warm and welcoming cunt pulses around his length, your legs wrapped around his torso as he pulls you closer towards him. Hitting a new angle which made your jaw slack and your walls tighten.

Your mouth fails to produce words anymore, broken syllables of his name and moans falling from your lips. 

Sweat carves around his nose with every thrust, strands of shiny silver sticking to his forehead as his eyes stay focused on the way your body moves beneath him. Almost hypnotic. His cheeks are flushed, soft whimpers and moans leaving his swollen lips as his hands trace over your body. Connecting pleasure points like constellations.

You feel that all too familiar knot building up in your lower stomach, threatening to burst due to the overstimulation. Your pussy clenches around his length, tightening the space even further. 

“Fuck… if you keep doing that, I won’t last any longer..” He says with a soft grunt. 

Your nails dig into his strong back, the pleasure overpowering all senses. Your teary eyes search over his face before settling on his eyes, clouded with bliss. 

“Xavier I think I’m gonna..” 

He grunts softly as his pace grows unsteady. “Me too starlight, me too..” 

“I’ll pull out before I- “ You kiss him sloppily and Xavier lets out a small muffled moan, your drool mixing in with the wetness of the kiss before pulling away. 

“Don’t, I’m on the pill..” You say softly “I want you to come inside me.”  You whisper into his ear, your breath moving unsteadily. 

He groans softly and nods, his thrusts becoming increasingly wanton. His mouth finds your breasts again, sucking on one of them and rolling the nipple on his lips. Muffling his noises and salivating on the soft skin of your breast.

Seconds later, a warm feeling blossoms in your core. Loud and indecipherable whines spill from your lips as you cum around his length. You cling onto his shoulders as your orgasm hits you, the lewd squelches and his soft whimpers pushing it further towards overstimulating bliss.  

A few more sloppy thrusts and Xavier’s hips still, a needy moan leaving his lips as another wave of warmth spreads through your core. This time his release flowers in the depths of your walls, painting them a cloudy white. His hips manage a few more gentle thrusts before his body collapses, avoiding your sensitive body and laying down beside you. 

Heavy breaths rise and fall from both of your chests, the cloudy smell of sex and the faint scent of the abandoned tea surrounding your aching bodies. You were still catching your breath. The world felt hazy, edges blurred, like everything had slowed just for you. Xavier didn’t move away.

He stayed close, one hand still warm and steady at your side, the other brushing lightly along your arm like he was grounding you back into yourself. When you turned to him, you found him already watching you. His expression softened in a way that made your throat tighten. Like something in him had gone quiet, satisfied not just physically, but emotionally. Like seeing you like this -relaxed, flushed, safe- meant more to him than anything else that had happened. 

“You okay?” he asked quietly, his eyes glossed and his cheekbones flushed with a rosy hue. 

You nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah.”

His shoulders eased at once. Relief flickered across his face before he smiled softly, gentle and almost reverent. He leaned in just enough to press his forehead to yours, breathing you in. 

The moment stretched. No rush, no need to fill the silence. You simply looked at each other, sharing something unspoken and fragile and real. His thumb brushed slow circles where he held you, absentminded, affectionate. It seemed like particles of light were floating through the air.

Wait, no, they were actual fragments of light. His evol activating by accident as he embraces you. His face seemed to glow. The light drifted lazily around you, warm instead of blinding, like fireflies caught in a held breath. It brushed your skin without heat, settling against you as naturally as his arms did. 

You realized he hadn’t meant to do it. Xavier noticed a second later. His eyes widened just slightly before softening again, the glow along his skin gentler now, responding not to intent. But to feeling. To you.

“It’s beautiful.” You said softly, the glow refracting through the darkened room. That made him still. The light shimmered brighter for just a moment, then steadied, pulsing softly in time with his breath. His thumb continued its absent circles at your side, familiar now. When he looked at you again, his expression was open in a way that made your chest ache. Unguarded, hopeful, quietly brave.

“Can I be your boyfriend?” His words are simple and gentle. The way he worded it made it seem as if he was asking you for permission, for him to be yours if you deemed him worthy. The question hung between you like something sanctified.

You saw it then. Not just affection, but respect. The way he waited, like your answer mattered more than his courage in asking. Like he was offering himself, not taking. Who could say no to that? His eyes are soft, gently studying your face with his melting gaze. 

You reached out without thinking, cupping his lightly glowing cheek. The light warmed your palm, gentle as a heartbeat. He leaned into your touch immediately, eyelids fluttering like he’d been waiting for permission to do that too. 

“Yes,” you whispered, the timbre of your voice soothing down any doubts he may have had. 

The word felt small, but it landed like a promise.

His breath left him in a quiet rush, shoulders sagging with relief. The glow brightened, spilling softly around you both, and when he smiled it was slow, genuine, a little awed. Like he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to be happy like this.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, just to be sure. Frantically searching your face for signs of rejection or discomfort.

You nodded, the corners of your mouth lifting into a mellow smile. “Yeah.”

He let out a soft laugh, forehead dropping gently to the crook of your neck. “Then… I’ll do my best,” he stated. “To be someone you feel safe with. Someone you can lean on.”

His light wrapped around you then. Not dazzling, not overwhelming. Just warm, dawning in from the universe.

And as he held you, the fragments of light drifted down around you, dissolving quietly as his breathing evened out. His head rested on your chest, ear pressed against your steady pulse. Eyes closed, a soft smile still curved at his lips. Content in a way that felt deep and earned.

Whatever had sparked his evol faded naturally.

What stayed was real….