And Of Course Leon Has The Saccharine Sentence Of Uncountable Kisses - Tumblr Posts
Leon and this prompt: laughing at their messy hair in the morning
He has the perfect hair for this 😉
A/N: Ok no, its not angst but I saw @leonscape feeling so down about there being not a lot of Leon content and I remember when I said the same thing and asked for requests and wrote like, 2 of them 🙈 So I decided to set Silvio aside for a moment and give Leon some love.
For you, Sui 💜
Fluff/ a tiny bit of angst, Leon x f reader
💥Spoiler warning for Leon's route 💥
WC: 941
Sunday mornings are made for lounging in a cozy bed, surrounded by bed sheets that are still warm with the night’s body heat. They are made for flagrantly ignoring the sunlight peeking through the curtains of the arched palace windows and for pretending that if you don’t get up, the day will wait for you. Sunday mornings are for sleepy smiles, warm embraces, softly-spoken words. For gathering the energy you’ll need when facing an austere, humorless Monday.
He’s usually the one who wakes up first. Leon has always been a light sleeper and an early riser, a survival tool built into the very bones of his character, carved there by his nightmare of an early childhood. If you woke first, you weren't kicked awake by a slaver’s heavy boot. Or worse, by the sting of their whip. A light sleeper would hear when another slave, creeping slowly to keep their chains from rattling, was trying to sneak up and steal his treasured items: a small metal coin, a bootstring, a leathery piece of jerky. Waking easily and early is just one more scar courtesy of the sharp claws of his past.
But Sundays….there is something about the safety of a Sunday morning that allows him to sleep, to let leisure and peace sink into his mind and keep him dreaming. You prop yourself up on one elbow to look at him. His golden eyes are closed, fringed by lashes dark as pitch. His mouth, always ready with a smile, is relaxed, more serious in sleep. And then there is his hair…..
It is a jungle of dark locks, a wild cacophony of brown spikes that sits upon his head, reminding you of….you consider a moment….reminding you of a fluffy, self-righteous hedgehog, daring you to just try and tame it. The image makes you laugh out loud and one golden eye slowly opens.
“I know what you’re doing.” His voice is thick with sleep, sandpaper-rough.
“Me?” You press a hand to your heart, eyes wide with feigned innocence, bright with amusement. “I don’t know what you mean, your highness.”
“Hmm.” He stretches his body languidly, the bed sheets sliding off of his bare shoulder. You resist the urge to keep pulling it down since you know for a fact he sleeps without a stitch of clothing. “You….,” he murmurs, stifling a yawn, “are…..” And then he moves with a speed that his sleepy stretching left you unprepared for, rolling until he has you pinned underneath him, caging you in as he supports his weight on his strong forearms. “...a terrible liar, love.”
Laughter, bright as sunshine on water, escapes you. You meet his beautiful gaze with a grin.
"I have no idea what you mean."
There it is. The radiant chord of connection slowly winding itself around both your hearts, binding you to each other. You feel it in the thrill of his skin against yours. You see it in the twinkling of tenderness in his eyes.
“Fess up. What have you decided my hair looks like this morning?”
Sunday mornings are a time for tradition and you two have fallen into this one completely by accident. Maybe because you have the time to linger in bed or because for once he isn’t up and dressed before you, but somehow Sunday mornings have become a time for you to affectionately laugh at the tornado of bedhead that he never fails to wake up with and tease him for it.
You slide your palms, one right next to the other, over the hard planes of his chest, the feel of the muscle and sinew a delight to the touch. Up over his broad shoulders, your fingers curling over the rounded edges. Eventually you reach his neck where they interlock and you glance up at him.
“Maybe….I thought this morning’s hair….resembles…an indignant hedgehog.”
There is no sound as musical to your ears as when he laughs and you are rewarded with an entire concert. The initial burst of surprised laughter and then he lowers his body, covering you entirely with it as he buries his face in the curve of your neck, his shoulders still shaking with every chuckle. You join him, his amusement contagious as your laughter intertwines with his.
He lifts his head, a wide grin lighting up his handsome face.
“You do know you’re speaking to a Prince of Rhodolite, yes?” His voice wraps itself around you, flows over you like warm water.
You return his grin, one hand brushing the rowdy locks of hair away from his forehead. “Oh dear. I’ve insulted the crown. Whatever will become of me?”
His smile turns wicked, as does the press of his body against yours. In the space of a heartbeat the morning mood has shifted from something warm and soft to something sharp with heated potential. He turns his head, pressing a kiss into the corner of your mouth.
“For the crime of mocking a member of the royal family, I hereby sentence you to a lifetime of kisses, to be delivered by you to the offended prince.”
You would laugh but he’s shifted, his head dropping to leave a soft line of kisses down your neck and your breath has quite rapidly abandoned you.
“A whole lifetime. huh?…..I suppose….” You reach for him, gently urging him to raise his head. “I better get started.”
He leans down and you angle your head to meet in a kiss that glows with the heat of desire and the brightness of affection.
As you wrap your arms around this man who owns your whole heart, you know else Sunday mornings are for.
Love.
Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart