#romantic; counting constellations

[self-shipper-snowdrop]

for the ask game, 🫧 & 🩷 for any tfp f/o(s)?

How about... all of them 0u0 thanks so much for the ask, anon!!!! <33333

🫧 What’s a favourite thing about your F/O that you don’t talk about often?

Starscream - I. LOVE. HIS. WINGS!!!!! They are the greatest thing ever!!!! The way they move even in the most subtle ways with his emotions and words; they're just as expressive as his face, really!!! Also it just makes me giggle sometimes when he's saying something and the wings just go... down XD he's so cute I'm gonna smooch his big silly face <3333333

Optimus - This is literally such a small thing but just.... his smile. Whenever he smiles so softly, my soul melts. It's so warm and soft, like being wrapped up in a hug and I could die looking at it. I could think about his smile and giggle for hours. It is the softest thing ever, and I cannot physically cope.

Megatron - The flashy movements when he fights!!! Just watch any battle scene with Megs in it- the way he moves has such flair and finesse in all of it! He truly does move like a gladiator. He's effective, but yet, so eye-catching that you're reminded of that lore, or can even pick up on it without knowing ahead of time! It's something some people would just not think about, but it's there. It helps tell his fascinating story even just through that <333333 I turn into such an idiot schoolgirl giggling and kicking my legs when I watch him fight.

Knockout - His optics, oh my GOD;;;;;; I don't care what anyone says, they're gorgeous. They're so expressive, they're so unique, I love looking at them and I could look at them forever. The reason that one scene where he says "come out, come out wherever you are~" [all TFP watchers know what I mean] bloody kills me every single time. EVERY. TIME. It's not just the voice. It's the look in his eyes. I just DIE. It's so MEAN;;; KO WHY ARE YOU SO HOT???? IT'S UNFAIR

Breakdown - everything I would die for him The fact that he's nice to the vehicons and chats with them about stuff, just because. Nobody else does that!!!! He talks with them about romance, life, he thanks them for their work... he's such a darling!!! He is wonderful and I will die on this hill, he is so polite and respectful, I'm gonna kiss his face and you CANNOT stop me.

🩷 How do they show their love for you?

OOOOO This is a good one because they're actually starting to do this in the massive TFP fic!!!! Here's one lil way, for each.

Starscream - Holding Bronwen gently, and telling/bragging to everyone how much she likes him [in the fic as an actual prophet she's a big deal] while getting her silver outfits so they match. The funny part is, he's been doing this since BEFORE he realized he loved her and convinced himself he was faking... lmao nerd.

Optimus - Letting her sit on his shoulder while he walks around, or even just because she wants to. Having Bronwen lean on him or simply know she's there while he walks around base... it's a quiet, gentle sort of intimacy that needs no words.

Megatron - Listening to her. This sounds stupid and bare minimum, yes; but not to them. It's not just hearing her, but listening to her talk about... anything. Carnivorous plants, games she likes, dragons, cats, everything. He'll stay quiet and shoo everyone else away, even if she's ranting for half an hour about different types of dragons and why they can't be switched around for movies or other stories. She's the only one who he'd do that for, just to see the glitter in her eye when she sees him actively listening to every word she says.

Knockout - Letting her buff his finish. His look is a big deal, you know, and you don't just let anyone do it; especially not a little organic! But letting Bronwen do it- even asking her to at times- is a sign of love and trust. Trusting her with making sure he looks his best, even while she's human, and making sure she knows he approves of her meticulous work.

Breakdown - Using nicknames for her. He specifically tends to call her "birdie" or "songbird", as he thinks she's small and cute like them, and he and Knockout both enjoy when she sings human songs to them. It's a small thing that slips into every remark about her, a small smile on his faceplate as he says it, before a vehicon or another Decepticon asks who he means and he quickly uses her name. But, better still to him, is seeing how Bronwen perks up and right away responds to it.

[sunrizef1]

Birthday Blues

Pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

Authors note: finished this yesterday but tumblr deleted it xx

Warnings: none, for once

Word count: 5.9k

Requested: yes/no

Max was tired. He’d been at this charity event for hours, sat to the side sipping at some drink he’d been handed as he watched coworkers and acquaintances mill about, spreading joy he didn’t have.

He’d came alone, contrary to most of his friends who all danced and laughed with their partners, swinging around loosely under the evening lights, faint music guiding their hearts in a loving dance.

He’d come under the notion that he’d get to hang out with Daniel or Charles, maybe even Checo. But they were all whisked away with the brush of a gentle hand and a lipstick kiss, leaving with the merry call of their lovers giggle and leaving a disgruntled and lonely Max in their wake.

So here he was, his friends preoccupied and in love, a frown gracing his face and the ideal of charity being the only thing keeping his perfectly clean dress shoes cemented to the tile floor.

He takes a big swig of whatever drink was in his hand, grimacing as the bourbon burned his throat on the way down. He vaguely considers leaving, debating how much his presence would be missed by those happier than him when one of the few people in the same boat as him comes bounding up.

“Maxie!” Max winces at the volume of Landos voice as he stomps happily up to the Red Bull driver, a toothy grin on his slightly intoxicated face. Max disregards the awful nickname, choosing instead to humor the McLaren driver.

“Hi Lando,” Max smiles, unable to truly be displeased around the ball of absolute joy in front of him, “Enjoying yourself?”

Lando laughs, although Max isn’t entirely sure what’s so funny. He doesn’t mention it though, tilting his head in the Brits direction.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fun,” Lando starts, moving to lean against the wall Max was standing on, “Seems to be more romantic than usual, though. Not exactly my cup of tea.”

This causes the frown to reappear on Max’s face, his lips forming a firm line as he’s reminded of his loneliness in the face of the romance that surrounded him. Max simply hums in response, suddenly wishing he had another drink. He turns to grab one from a nearby waiter, eyes trailing after them as they walk away. As he traces their path, his gaze finally catches on you.

You were stood a few yards away, your form perfectly blocked by the way Lando had been standing. After seeing you, Max wishes he’d pushed Lando out of the way much sooner. His gaze traces the features of your face delicately, scrawling over the expanse of your flowing dress, the red shining beautifully against your skin. Max wishes for nothing more than study the freckles that dot said skin, knowing he could makes the most beautiful constellations if given the chance. Your hair falls perfectly around your face, framing it as if it was a work of art. Even after one look, Max isn’t sure that you, in fact, aren’t one. He’d certainly pay good money even if your face was the only exhibit.

Lando, even in his drunken state, catches on to Max’s staring and turns to catch your attention, calling out your name in the loudest of fashions. Max finds himself mouthing your name to himself the second it leaves Landos lips, hoping he’d have to use it a lot in the future.

You turn and smile as you spot the pair, taking the few steps it takes to reach them. Lando slings an arm around your shoulder and Max is suddenly struck with the terrifying idea that you were dating the small, insane, terrifyingly unromantic Brit next to you. It would certainly be strange, considering Lando had just dismissed the event for being “too romantic”. But as you lean into his hold, Max has to stop himself from frowning.

“Maxie, this is my friend, Y/N. She’s just moved here so she’s crashing with me while her place gets furnished or whatever. She’s just as boring as you so I’m sure you’ll get along great,” Lando grins. You don’t seem offended by his words, probably both aware of the amount he’s drank and understanding of the joking connotation behind his rude statement.

“I don’t go out to a club with you one time and you decide to write me off for being boring ever since,” You roll your eyes, a charming smile on your lips. Max lights up at the realization that you’re not, in fact, dating the extremely talented McLaren driver next to you.

Lando snorts unceremoniously, swaying the two of you side-to-side, “Maybe you should’ve come out, then? It was sick, you would’ve loved it.”

“I was watching a movie, mate,” You laugh, ruffling the hair of your friend, “And I was sick!”

Lando laughs, finally releasing your shoulder from his grasp and falling back into place beside Max, “Yeah, yeah, whatever princess. Just be glad I brought you chicken soup the next day. Even with my nasty hangover and two hours of sleep!”

You smile warmly at the memory before something seems to strike you, “You fell asleep on my couch and then woke up and drank all my coffee!”

The thief in question holds his hands up in surrender, seemingly started to slowly back away from your accusatory glare, eyes scanning for an escape route, “Uh, why don’t you talk about that with Max, I’m gonna…”

His eyes finally catch on something on the other side of the room, his feet speeding up below him, “Go talk to Oscar! Bye, Y/N!”

You and Max turn to watch Lando speed away, careening into the back of Oscar, the Aussie stumbling forward from the impact. You look away, turning back toward Max with a slight laugh. As you face him, Max thanks the heavens for the atmosphere provided as the setting sun through the expansive windows combined with the soft lighting from above shine down on the side of your face, enlightening the curve of your lips as they open to release the soft melody of your voice.

“He’s so weird.”

Max laughs at the statement, his head moving on its own to agree with you, “He definitely is.”

You look up toward his face, your eyes quizzical and your head tilted slightly, “I’m so sorry, I don’t think Lando even properly gave us a second to meet. I’m y/n.”

Max nods, “Max.”

You smile, grasping a flute of champagne from a passing waiter into your perfectly manicured hand. Max takes a large gulp of his own glass, grateful for the temporary respite from his growing thirst.

“I know you, Max,” You smile, taking a sip of Champagne, “Been to a couple of races with McLaren. Congrats on being completely dominate by the way.”

Max laughs, ducking his head slightly as his face flushes red for a few moments, “Thank you.”

You nod, satisfied, as your eyes go back out or stare at the party flowing smoothly in front of you. Max leans slightly closer to you, causing your attention to snap back to him.

“If I’d known you’d been at a race I would’ve asked Lando to introduce us sooner,” Max smiles, liquid courage clearly causing excess confidence to bleed into his words.

You flush at his words, biting your lip in an attempt to cover your obvious grin. Max’s eyes widen warmly as you turn your face away, covering your warm cheeks with your free hand before turning back to him. Max is just happy he got you to laugh.

“Is that so?”

“Of course.”

You take another sip of your champagne, fully angling yourself toward the Dutch man, looking up through your eyelashes at him. Max isn’t sure on how yet but all he knows is that he won’t let this end, the party he once detested now becoming the most interesting thing he’d entertained in a while.

Max scans his eyes over your figure, gaze catching on a stack of bracelets sitting delicately on your wrist. A charm bracelet lays gently with a stack of bangles on top and, finally, a few ornately stitched thread bracelets are mixed throughout the stack.

“I like your bracelets.”

You perk up at his words, glancing between him and your wrist before lifting your wrist slightly up toward him, “Really? They’re from this brand in Greece! They’re all custom made and personalized however you want them to be.”

Max just watches as you fidget with some of the dangling charms on your bracelet, Max spotting a wave and a bird as they clank against the blue and gold thread of your other bracelet. He listens as you explain the lore behind the stack, a small grin forming as you get lost in your mind.

You’re not sure how long you’re stood there, conversing quietly as the party progresses without you. The sun sets in the time you talk, the only light now being the soft glow that the floating chandeliers cast onto your faces. You’re also not sure on how the topic comes up but you suddenly find yourself discussing your birthdays, Max shocked to find out you have the same one.

“September 30th, yeah?” You ask him, bright eyes widening as he nods. You seem to grin wider at his confirmation, another thing you have in common being added to the ever-growing list, “Any plans?”

Max is suddenly struck with the fact that, for once, he didn’t have any plans for his birthday. It wasn’t a race weekend so Red Bull wouldn’t be doing anything, he was grown enough where his family wouldn’t be organizing anything and this was the first year in a while he didn’t have a girlfriend to at least keep him company. He pauses at the thought, the absolute depressing notion of a thought causing his eyebrows to furrow.

“I guess not, no.”

You seem to catch onto his mental dilemma, gently reaching a hand up to rub small circles onto his shoulder. He tries his best not to move suddenly as your warm hand makes contact. He glances over, sporting the sympathetic smile on your face.

Not wanting to rain on your parade, he really tries to force a smile but it seems to come out as more of a grimace as you pat him, your hand dropping away, “You could always come to my birthday. Landos renting a boat. Id love to have you there.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude or anything-“

You stop him, shaking your head with your persistently charming smile, “Nonsense, it’s a big boat, you wouldn’t be intruding anything. It’s your birthday too!”

He doesn’t seem fully convinced, though, and you roll your eyes, leaning fully toward him. You swing both arms around his neck, hands connected behind him and your body weight now fully leaned against him. Max, not wanting to knock you both over, rests his hands against your waist, hoping to save your balance.

You look up at him, biting your lip to stop the laugh threatening to escape your lips, “If you don’t want to share a birthday party, then I’m cordially inviting you to my birthday party as my friend.”

Max looks down at you, gaze soft as he stares at your gentle and genuine expression. He could tell you weren’t going to let this go, even if he turned down the invitation. So, despite his best judgement, he finds himself nodding as a yes, a grin starting to peak out on his usually stoic face. You laugh happily, leaning out of his grasp to sway merrily.

“I can’t wait to see you there,” you grin at the Red Bull driver, elation seeping into your voice, “Maxie.”

Max groans at the nickname but, for once, maybe feels a little charmed by it as it seems to bring you so much humor. You set your now empty glasses down on a nearby table, leaning forward to grasp Max’ hands in yours and practically tear him away from the spot on the wall he’d taken up for the past few hours. You start to lead him away from his corner of solitude toward the heart of the party which was still beating healthily despite the late hour.

“Come on, let’s dance,” you bounce on your heels excitedly as you pull him along, “You can help me plan what party information to feed Lando over the next few months. He still thinks it’s a surprise party but we live together and he’s anything but subtle.”

Max just smiles, following along behind you as he listens intently to your echoing voice. He sticks close to you, following your every step despite the fact that the idea of dancing at this party made him want to throw up. The idea of doing it with you and being able you hear you talk animatedly for a bit longer making the idea bearable enough for him to endure it. For your sake.

A few months later, Max finds himself on the deck of a yacht, sun shining down brightly onto his shoulders as the deep blue expanse of the Mediterranean stretched out in all directions below him.

He’d seen a good amount of people from the second he’d stepped onto the boat that morning, both people he knew and some he’d never met before. He knew Lando was around somewhere, his loud voice bouncing off the edges of the boat.

He hadn’t seen you yet but he wasn’t completely alone. Lando had taken the liberty of inviting Oscar who’d dragged along Logan, the two blond drivers having been sat on the upper deck since before Max had arrived.

It’s not that Max felt lost but he did feel a bit out of his element. Your friends milled around, wandering throughout the boat, conversations (and alcohol) flowing smoothly.

Just as Max moves to head up to where he’d seen Oscar and Logan hanging around, he’s frozen by the sound of your voice ringing out from a few yards away, “Max!”

Max’s eyes turn toward you, drifting over your body as he takes in the red swimsuit hugging your skin, the fabric the same shade as the red dress you’d worn at the gala all those nights ago.

Sunglasses sit perched on your nose, your hand moving to push the bridge of them back up from where’d they’d starting to slip down. Sunscreen sits atop your sun-kissed skin, casting a soft shining glow as the sunlight bounces off it.

“Hi, y/n,” Max smiles gently at you, still not completely at ease on the boat, “Happy birthday.”

You grin, quirking your head at the driver, “Happy birthday to you too, Maxie. I’m glad you decided to come.”

Max squints slightly as the sun beats down, rays of light sneaking into his unprotected eyes, “I didn’t want to miss your party, Lando even invited me himself.”

You laugh, head dropping back at his words. You both knew Lando was still under the impression that the whole party had been a surprise to you that morning. You were considering a career in acting with how Lando had believed your reaction.

“Well, make yourself comfortable, Landos paying so…” you trail off, shrugging your shoulders as you glance around, eyes tracing between the ocean and the sight of your friends lounging around before they land on the bar, drinks already being handed out, “We’ll set off in a few minutes, I think we’re just waiting on one more person.”

Max nods as you continue to look around, his eyes being dragged back to you.

You’re notably missing any jewelry, no doubt not wanting to lose it when you swim later. Max does notice the fresh set of nails you’ve got on, white and gold decorating the ends of your fingers.

You seem to notice Max’s attention on your hands and you grin, lifting your hands toward him, “You like? Got them done yesterday, I was more excited to spend the day with my mom than actually getting the nails. I’d usually get blue but I thought white would match my swimsuit better, you know?”

Max nods, grateful to, once again, hear your joyful rambling, “I like them, they’re really pretty.”

Your face forms into a satisfies smile, glancing over the nails in question before you look back up toward Max, “I’m glad you think so.”

Max smiles his first genuine smile since stepping on the boat, eternally grateful to have you here in front of him. Just as you’re about to say something, your eyes catch on something over Max’s shoulder and your mouth falls closed, a small exhale leaving your mouth as you seemingly hold back a laugh.

“Max!” A voice calls out from behind him. When Max turns, he’s met by the sight of one Daniel Ricciardo bounding down the dock, wearing a giant grin and a familiar burnt orange hat. Max’s eyes widen at the sight of the Aussie as he jumps onto the boat, his toned arm coming to swing around Max’s shoulders.

Daniel looks down at you, a humored smirk on your face, “Hi y/n, happy birthday.”

“Hi Danny,” you hum, looking between the pair of friends.

Daniel looks around, his eyes quickly catching on Lando, no doubt doing something stupid. He pats Max on the shoulder before peeling away, “Happy birthday Maxie, I’ll see you in a minute.”

Daniel bounces away, echoes of Landos name being shouted out of his mouth, the Brit quickly enduring the tackle of the older Aussie. Max laughs as he watches the attack, eyes crinkling and shoulders shaking.

Max looks back toward you when he hears your own melodic laugh ring out beside him, “You invited Daniel?”

You turn your head toward him, smiling shyly as you nod, “It’s your birthday too, didn’t want you to be too lonely.”

Max shakes his head, although he can’t fight the warm laugh that escapes him, already having a better birthday than he’d expected to.

“Now that our final guest is here, we can finally set sail,” you say, walking away from the boats entrance. Max, not entirely sure of where Daniel had gone, decides to follow you.

Max isn’t sure what he’d expected from the party but whatever was currently happening was exceeding that.

With the arrival of Daniel, he was officially friends with over 50% of the guests in attendance. After a few drinks, it was pretty easy for him to befriend your brothers as well, especially when he found out they were both huge sports fans.

As the boat sailed idly around the open water, the party roared smoothly, new and old friendships forging deeper bonds. Music played from the speakers, Landos playlist quickly being switched out for your own.

After a few hours, the boat stopped and Lando was quick to throw himself overboard, his happy shouts echoing as he hurtled toward the water below. He’s followed by Logan who reaches the water with a surprisingly elegant dive, his departure causing a begrudging Oscar to jump after him.

Then comes your brothers, the pair of them roughhousing the second they both come up for air.

You roll your eyes playfully as you watch them all come down, you and Max having been already laid out on the lower deck, the water lapping at the edge of the boat just a few feet away.

You snort as you watch a couple of your own friends push eachother into the water, your head turning back toward the sun above you when you hear the splash of them entering the water.

Your eyes stay closed as the sun shines down on you, the warmth spreading through your skin. Though your eyes do shoot open when you feel water splash over top you and a loud laugh rings out next to you.

Max watches as you sit up, your eyes locking on Daniel who’d just stepped over you in order to cannonball into the ocean, successfully converting both you and Max in the cold water. Max was fighting the urge to laugh, scared he’d end up being pushed in if he laughed too loudly.

You scowl playfully at the Australian who laughs before diving under for a few seconds, shaking his wet hair as he comes up and getting even more water on you.

You stand up, flipping him off before moving to walk away. Max stands up after you as you toss your sunglasses on a nearby couch, “I’m getting a drink, Max.”

Daniel, though, calls out toward Max, happiness coursing through his words, “You coming in, mate?”

Max glances between you and Daniel before quickly taking a few steps to cut in front of you just as your about to enter the heart of the ship.

“Hi, Max,” you smile cheerfully, no idea what was in store for you in the coming moments.

“Forgive me,” Max mumbles as your furrow your eyebrows.

“What?”

Before you can even ask for clarification, Max scoops you up in his arms and starts to walk back toward the water.

“Max!” You laugh loudly, arms threading around the back of his neck and tightening as he jumps off the edge, both of you hitting the cold water shortly after.

He can hear Daniel’s nearby laugh even under the water, the sound coming through muffled as he pushes his way to the air above, your arms still intertwined behind his neck. As soon as he reaches the top, he can hear you laugh freely, the loud noise rivaling the beauty of the sunlight above.

“I hate you,” you quiet a bit as you say it, though there’s no venom behind your words. In fact, there’s a toothy grin on your face, accenting the sight of your wet face, hair now soaked and dripping as you try your best to stay afloat.

The water runs down your skin in rivulets, catching the rays of lights from above as it drips down, causing you to glow more than you already did under the Mediterranean sun.

Max hums, “I don’t think you do.”

You quirk your head, eyes narrowing as you look closely at him, “I don’t.”

“Y/N!” Your lean away from Max as your name is called, your attentions being drawn over to Logan who seemed to be attempting to drown Oscar, the Aussie trying his best to fight back. Max watches as Logan goes to speak again, Oscar successfully managing to get away, “We’re gonna do the jet-skis!”

You push away from Max and start to paddle toward the younger drivers, Oscar having started to attempt his revenge on the American. Logan, though, is unfazed by the shorter driver, turning to tackle him as you make your way over.

Max’s eyes stay on you as you swim away, watching as you intervene in the fight, pulling Oscar away. Max can’t help the dopey smile that forms on his lips.

“You like her,” Daniel sings, swimming his way to where Max is leaning against the edge of the boat.

Max rolls his eyes, the smile dropping off his face, “Shut up.”

The hours pass by, your friends eventually being pulled back onto the boat in order for it to set sail back home again.

You all come back together for dinner, sitting around on the deck as you dine. At one point. Lando pelts Oscar in the face with an empty water bottle. Oscar, who wasn’t looking up when it happened, mistakes the thrower for Logan and decides to start fighting him again, Lando sitting back with a grin on his face.

Now that they don’t have to stay relatively sober in order to swim, drinks flow much quicker.

As the sun sets on the horizon, your friends spread out across the boat, relaxation seeping into their bones, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up to them.

Max laid out on the lower deck with you, watching as the sky explodes with hues of orange and pink. You both watch the sun lower down, a bottle of champagne laying between you.

Max doesnt think he’d even felt so at peace. Or had such a perfect birthday.

Your peace is interrupted after the sun has fully set, making way for the stars to break through and shine next to the moon above you.

You turn around as you hear a chorus of voices shout loudly, “Happy birthday!”

Your met with Lando standing just a few yards away, a cake held tightly in his hands, a few sparklers and candles sticking out of the top of it.

“Awww,” you laugh, standing up to face your friends, “Please don’t sing.”

This causes a laugh to spread through the group, Lando piping up to respond, “I don’t think that would go very well even if we wanted to.”

You snort, walking over to the cake, looking closely at the words written on top. Max sits back as you walk away from him, standing up after a few moments just to observe.

You look a bit closer at the cake before turning around to face Max again. He raises an eyebrow as you beckon him over, one of your hands swinging out to wave him toward you.

Max isn’t entirely sure why you were interrupting your own candle blowing to call him over but he agrees anyway, making his way to your side.

He glances down at the cake, a grin splitting his face as he reads it.

“Happy Birthday

Max & Y/N”

Max laughs slightly, the alcohol currently coursing through him inhibiting him from feeling any amount of embarrassment at the amount of eyes on him.

You turn and grin at him, the soft light of the candles reflecting off your shining eyes. Even in the dark of the night and with salt water stuck in your hair, Max still thinks you look rather beautiful.

You gesture down at the cake, candles still alight on each half, “You wanna blow out the ones on that side?”

Max doesn’t want to look away from your face but he does eventually manage to pull his eyes away, nodding as he spots the candles. You smile, leaning down toward the cake in Lando’s outstretched hands. Max leans as well, and you both are quick to blow out the candles to the cheers of your friends around you.

Lando walks to put the cake down on a table, leaning over to ask your brother to find the plates and forks. As you move to watch the recording of the small celebration on Logan’s phone, Max walks over to the Brit.

“Thanks for the cake thing,” Max says, picking up an abandoned water bottle and taking a quick swig.

Lando quirks his head, rubbing the back of his neck absently, “Thank y/n, not me. She told me that if I were to, hypothetically, get her a birthday cake, she wanted your name on it as well. All hypothetically of course.”

Max laughs, his face softening when he thinks about your conversation about dropping birthday hints for Lando to pick up on. But from Landos recount, this specific hint was a bit more obvious than the other ones. He turns his head to see you laughing at something Logan had said, Oscar looking closer and closer to sleep as the conversation went on.

Maybe if he’d been completely sober, Max would’ve felt a lot warmer at the thought of you thinking about him even for your own birthday party. But he wasn’t completely sober so the only thought he had when he looked at you was just how pretty you were.

Your brother comes back with plates pretty quickly, Lando cutting pieces in the most even way he can, unceremoniously plopping the largest piece down on your plate with a giggle.

Once everyone’s eaten their cake and properly disposed of their plates, it’s just a waiting game until the boat docks again.

You all lay out on the outer decks of the boat, looking up and watching the stars above you. Max can vaguely hear Daniel’s light snores, signaling the Aussie had fallen asleep from where he laid a few yards away.

Once you do dock, all your friends start to make their way off the boat and back to their own homes. Max watches as Logan carries an inebriated Oscar on his back, the Aussie sporting a brand-new, bright red sunburn on his face.

Lando vaguely follows them, the pair having crashed in his place for the weekend considering neither of them resided in Monaco.

Your brothers take the liberty of waking Daniel up, the driver walking tiredly off the boat.

As the rest of your friends leave, Max is left alone with you on the deck of the boat, the moonlight bouncing off the water and lighting up the space between you.

You’ve got something clutched to your side, Max is too out of it to question it.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Max starts, a genuine smile on his tired features, “I’d probably be sat alone on the sim right now otherwise.”

You laugh, not entirely aware of how much truth there was behind his statement, “I’m glad you came, it was really fun.”

Max hums, an absent smile crossing his face as he gazes softly at yours. He’s too busy looking at you to notice you bring your hand up from your side, a small box clutched in your manicured hands.

“I got you something,” your eyes light up as you push the box toward him, glancing between his face and the small white box, “Happy Birthday, Maxie.”

Max accepts the box, though he shakes his head as he does, “You didn’t have to-“

“No, but I wanted to,” you interrupt quickly, grinning and pushing the box closer to Max’s chest.

Max looks at you for a few seconds longer before glancing down toward the box, his hands moving to open it, the top swinging on its hinge to reveal what’s inside. With the amount of alcohol still in his system, it takes a few tries but he does eventually get it open.

Max freezes as he sees what’s inside.

A bracelet, not unlike one of your own, sits gently in the center of the box. Orange and gold thread twist around to form the circle, the threads shining under the distant street lights. Right where the threads come to an end and meet the clasp, a few small charms are clustered together. Max looks a bit closer at the charms and sees a thirty-three, his initials and, lastly, a small lions head.

When Max doesn’t respond immediately, you seem to assume the worst, words falling out of your mouth in a tipsy ramble as you start to pick at a patch on your skin, “If you don’t like it, that’s fine, really! I should’ve asked. Is it too much? I should’ve done one instead of thirty-three, I’m sorry max-!”

Your voice cuts off abruptly as Max’s hands wrap gently around the side of your face, the bracelet being shoved into his pocket. Your eyes widen under his touch, looking up into his own. Max takes a breath before speaking, liquid confidence fueling his words, “Can I kiss you?”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times, seemingly searching for words you cannot find before it ultimately falls shut. You nod your head instead.

Max leans down to capture your lips in his, your hands moving to tug gently at his salty hair. Max grins against your mouth before he dives back in, one of his hands sliding to tug your form closer to his. Max feels almost light-headed, the spark of your lips against his causing his brain to practically short-circuit.

When you split to take a breath, you lean your forehead against his. Max’s opens his eyes to glance warmly at your flushed face. When your eyes fall open and lock on his, you lean away, a loud laugh echoing from your lips.

You gaze over him as he brings you back close to him, your hands clasping behind his neck. Your thumb rubs passive circles on his skin as he goes to speak.

“Thank you,” Max says, bringing your attention back to his face, “For the bracelet. It’s perfect.”

You hum, lips turning up into a blushing smile, “I’m glad you like it.”

Max looks down at you with stars in his eyes, watching the way the moon light shines off the side of your face, your features looking even more striking under night sky, “I do. I really, really do.”

At his words you tug him down toward you, leaning your face up to kiss him again.

Just as your lips brush, a loud voice shouts out from off the boat, “Y/N! We’re leaving! If you don’t come now you’ll have to get your own car!”

You groan loudly, shoulders sagging as you rest your forehead against Max’s chest, eyes locked on the ground. Max has to struggle to hold back his laugh, his teeth sinking into his lip. Watching your despair, Max is struck by an idea.

“You could stay with me?” Max suggests, grinning as your head pops up.

“Could I? I don’t want to deal with Logan and Oscar, especially not while hungover,” you brighten as you ask him.

Max, instead of answering, grabs your hand, pulling you off the boat. You speed up for a few steps in order to fall into his side, his arm coming up to wrap around your shoulder.

As Max leads you up toward the street, you’re met with Lando stood at the open car door, tiredness clear in his stance. If Max were to lean forward, he’d see Oscar and Logan passed out, limbs tangled in the cramped seats.

“You coming then, mate?” Lando asks you, pushing his glasses up on his face. Max isn’t entirely sure why he was still wearing sunglasses in the dark of the night but he chose not to question it.

You flush, leaning into Max’s grasp, “I’m staying with Max.”

Lando smirks, raising his glasses to look between the two of you with a nod, “Don’t have too much fun tonight.”

You roll your eyes, leaning out of Max’s grasp. Max finds himself missing the feeling of your body next to his. He doesn’t have to miss it for too long, though, as after you plant a gentle kiss on Landos cheek, you fall right back into Max’s hold.

“Thank you for the party, Lan. Love you.”

Lando rolls his eyes, sliding his glasses back down his face as he shakes his head, “Yeah, yeah, love you too. I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow, you should bring your boyfriend.”

It Max’s turn to blush, a chuckle leaving his lips. Instead of replying, you both walk away from the Brit, Max laughing loudly when he hears Lando mumble something about “birthday shagging” from behind your backs.

You both continue to walk away, Max bringing you closer to his side and your head falling against his shoulder.

Max leans over to press a kiss to your temple, your skin warm against his lips, “You ready to go home?”

You pause, looking up at Max as he looks down at you. You state warmly up at him for a few moments, simply taking in the look on his face. Your smile widens as your cheeks flush, “I’d love to.”

—————————————

Tags: @casperlikej @evie-119

[kneelingshadowsalome]

FATUM NOS IUNGEBIT 1/4

(König x F!Reader)

Summary: You have seen him in your dreams. The seer has divined his coming. But nothing has prepared you for witnessing him in the flesh. (Historical AU where König fights for the Roman Empire in an auxiliary unit, finds a cute barbarian woman and decides to keep her as his own.) Word count: 5.3 k Tags/warnings: 18+ ONLY. Spoils of war/enemies to lovers trope, graphic depictions of violence, historical gruesomeness, pining, odd banter, mixed feelings, romantic fluff, dubcon cuddling, eventual smut. Captor/captive dynamic. König is a brutal warrior... and a gentle giant. A/N: Lol what now? König dual wields 2 swords, goes Mike Tyson on his enemies, teaches his captive girl constellations in German, cuddles her and feeds her grapes, buuut mainly just tries to get into her pants (which historically did not exist at the time) A bit of a slow burn, but don't worry, they'll bang eventually ^^

AD 90, somewhere in the untamed frontiers of the Roman Empire…

The end of the world is here.

Not only have the crops failed for two years in a row, making chieftains beggars and beggars food for the fish, but now there are rumours that the god of war has arrived to destroy the land. The accursed Romans had turned their eagle gaze back to your land after years of sending their troops elsewhere, making it seem like they were not interested in your distant land after all. Untamed, they called it, harsh and barren and therefore inferior – your lush, abundant, beautiful land. No doubt they spat on it in their war councils because your roads were not paved, because your crops and villages were modest, and the women sometimes fought alongside men. Their storytellers immortalized false tales about you, calling you barbarians, but the only barbarians you could think of were the Romans themselves – crude, filthy and boorish creatures, drowning in wine and shit in their cities.

Rumours started to get fat and distressed when the troops approached your village. They said there was a giant at the head of the army, that the Romans followed a Titan's son who loved to eat men, torture women and impale children. They said he didn't accept proper food but preferred to eat his fallen enemies, washed his weapons with the blood of children, and split captured women apart with his cock, as long and sharp as his sword. They told that the Titan ordered his soldiers to poison the wells and destroy the growing crops with salt and vinegar. The rumours said that his tent was bigger than any chieftain's house and that he still struggled to stand at full height inside it. 

Even the land itself seemed to bow before him. Good weather followed his conquest wherever he went; ambushes failed, scouts got caught and tortured, exposing more villages to pillage and ruin. Your brother told you to flee the village, but how could you survive without your clansmen? You didn't know how to hunt; you barely knew how to fish. Your task in the village was to gather clams from the shore, dye wool and help the old Seer. How long could you survive on sorrels and clams alone?  

. . .

The old woman calls you to see her on the brink of war, and tells you to prepare for a ceremonial offering. Two horses, black as night if possible, brown at the very least, to appease the Great Mother of the Earth and quench her thirst for blood. If the Mother is satisfied with your offering, She will perhaps stop the approaching army or convince the Titan to leave your village alone.

She does a small rite before you, and you need to stay with her through her visions. You hate the smell of the leaves she burns, and try to cover your nose with your tunic to prevent breathing in the bitter fumes. The seer looks like she’s just lying herself down to sleep, but it’s always a burden when the spirits arrive and she starts to talk. You turn your back on her to coax them to rise: a mortal stare annoys the chthonic ones. You nearly fall asleep too as you wait, wanting nothing more than to go back to your own hut and have a good night’s sleep. Perhaps because you’re lousy tonight, and less vigilant as you should be, the spirits arrive sooner than either of you thought.

“He’s strong,” the seer croaks from the earthen bed, and you fight the urge to turn around and peek at the old woman, currently in the clutches of spirits. 

“Invincible… Hungry... The horses…won’t suffice…”

She drifts someplace else, and you try to memorize every word, every intonation, as cryptic or as simple as they are, for later interpretation.

“I see you,” she says in a slightly more cheerful tone, which is odd because the old woman is never happy or satisfied, no matter how bright the sun shines or how much food there is in the storages and pits.

“Me?” You dare to speak even though you’re not allowed to disturb the spirits. You could slap yourself for blurting out a single word, but luckily, the hungry ones don’t attack you for your insolence.

“You.. will be his downfall,” she speaks as if you are having a conversation here. “Be there. When he arrives.”

“...Be there? Why?” You dare to utter again, more concerned about what the Mother implies than the potential fury of some lowly earthen spirits. You haven’t got the faintest clue about what She might be suggesting. Why do you have to participate in the battle? How can you be there without getting killed? You’re not a warrior… The Mother has it all wrong. 

Suddenly, you curse the night, you curse the whole day, knowing your brother’s late proposal was perhaps a warning, a hint from the gods to leave, and leave quickly.

The old woman laughs dryly on the ground - the throaty, outright sick cackle makes you flinch. 

You don’t like this... You don’t like this at all.

“Mother. What must I do?” You demand to know, thinking about how all the gods, spirits, old women, and Titans should go to hell.

“Become a tree,” the old woman offers as if it’s the easiest thing to do. “A flower. Me...”

. . .

You become a marten first, then a bird. Then perhaps a tree.

You climb a spruce and wait there. You wait until the sunrise; you wait until noon. You wait until you see the glint of the Roman spearheads and hear the sound of their march.

You’ve dreamed of the Titan ever since you left the seer’s hut. You’ve dreamed of him slaying everyone in the village; you’ve dreamed of him driving a thick spear into the ground and grabbing you with an intent to raise you into the air and impale you on it. You’ve dreamed of him behind you, above you, inside you. You wake up one morning only to see that half of the people have left. You don’t know where they have gone, and you can’t follow them even if you did because the old woman waits for you in front of her hut and gives you a nod the instant you walk into another beautiful, sunny day.

That’s why you’ve turned into a branch in a tree, but for what purpose, you have no idea. You can’t understand why you must be here to witness the world’s end.

Your men scream and shout and roar as they crash into the thick forest of spears. The enemy is silent: it’s eerie, how the world burns and falls into ruin around you, people are screaming; everyone who has a soul and a heart is screaming for Mother as they die, but the men behind the Roman shields refuse to emit a sound. They don’t curse or shout or summon their gods; they simply stand their ground and pant mist into the air as wave after wave of men break on their shields and die before their feet. Somebody loses his spear because it gets stuck between your clansman’s ribs, but the Roman simply draws his sword in its stead: it’s the only sound among the pitched wails that cut through the forest – the cold, clear ring of a gladius being pulled from its sheath.

That is why you flinch at the sound of the first shout, a brutish command that sends all the shields to the side, only to present more shields: the Romans switch positions in their formation as if they’re not even human beings like the rest of you, just a single enormous creature made of iron and leather and bone, operating it's flat forest of weapons.

And then you see him: the giant of your dreams, the hungry titan everyone has told you about. He rises from the tide of helmets like a summoned god, concealed as one of the soldiers and only now revealing his true nature. He stands at least two heads taller than the rest, pushes his own soldiers to the side and breaks out of the formation these vicious Romans love so much. You knew he would be strong and big, but you didn't know he refused to show his face… You wonder what kind of a monster hides behind the black cloth with nothing but two eye holes ripped on it. As if this man needed the additional effort to stand out from other soldiers...

He's like a God of War, just like the survivors said: his armour is of Roman design, but the amount of metal that had to be scraped together to cover this man's shoulders and chest must've demanded a fortune in gold. He doesn't seem to care about the Roman ways, however: he throws his shield away as soon as he's out of the cumbersome formation as if he has carried it only as a decoration up until this point. He draws another sword in its stead – if any other man did such a stupid thing, traded his shield for a weapon, you would snort. But not now.

Standing between the Romans and your clansmen like a challenge, a threat, a deity, even the men possessed by the seer's blood spells hesitate to approach him. But when they do, the god unleashes carnage: the first warrior gets his stomach slashed open, and the two thick swords look like toothpicks when wielded by this man. A stomach wound is a gruesome, slow way to die - but just before the warrior's entrails spill to dangle between his feet, the brute grants him mercy by sweeping his head off with a single blow of his gladius. 

A roar finally rises from your enemy: they cheer Death on as the head of your neighbour meets the mud next. The soil is already soaked in blood, but the Mother is hungry still. The forest booms with Her bloodlust as the god moves around like a slow tempest of muscle, metal and darkness: he breaks every Roman rule by fighting as his own man instead of demeaning himself as one of them, a lowly part of this odd metal beast before you. He sends a limb flying in the air with a swing of a sword; he uses the same weapon as a bludgeon to bash in someone's skull. He crushes a man's chest simply by sinking down onto one knee, breaking bone, tendon and flesh to splinters as a whole ribcage gets crushed under his massive weight. 

Warriors flee before him, they fall under the combined wrath of the Mother and the Titan's sword. The dead seem to fall eternally, along with your heart, before meeting the ground with a hollow thud. 

Your chieftain is among the last men standing, meeting this unstoppable foe with admirable courage. Not having succumbed to the spells of bloodlust in years, he meets his death as a seasoned but old warrior. With his fighting years behind him, your chief doesn't have a chance against this man, but you have to grant the beast a feather's worth of honour, because he recognizes your chieftain as the veteran he is and salutes him with his sword. Then he proceeds with the bloodbath: flinging your leader's sword and axe easily to the side, he walks straight into his arms like he would into a hug, grabs him by the waist, and raises him into the air like he's nothing but a child. 

Your scream never leaves your lungs as you watch how the Titan raises the draping cloth from his face, just enough to sink his teeth into your beloved chieftain’s neck. The noise that erupts from your elder is not that of a man but a tortured animal. It’s not from this world, what you witness next: the giant tears a hunk of flesh from your chief like he’s a piece of roasted meat. Blood streams forth, his screams fade away all too slowly, and you hear your own weak wail in the air as the Titan lets go of the heap that used to be a strong male and a wise leader. 

Your chieftain is dead; his essence spills to the earth in spurts to appease the God of War, who spits blood and flesh to the ground, making you gag into the cold spring air. 

Then he raises his swords towards the sun, and the forest erupts into a roar with him: the thundering, ear-splitting cheer from his warriors makes the very earth quake beneath your tree. It seems to shake the branches of the forest, and before you know it, the giant’s howl of triumph breaks the one you’re curled around, and you fall, fall, fall into the mud beneath you. 

You're not a tree anymore. No: you’re very much a human woman there in the dirt as the sound of shouting ceases like a distant dream. 

And he turns. 

Death turns.

Mother always said you were a curious creature, which is perhaps why you search for his eyes, even though you should be running. She also said you were a smart one, which is why you know that running is futile. Your limbs wouldn’t carry you far anyway. It is a cruel joke from the gods to have what little strength you have left pour out of you into the ground and up to the feet of the enemy who is already strong, both in body and in will.

The Titan looks at you with genuine wonder, a curiosity that surpasses your own. To your odd thrill, you find that his eyes are blue: the same blue of the sea which you used to collect delicious clams from. 

The soldiers behind him shift with lust – their gear clinks as they devour you with unbridled hunger. The Titan is the only one who looks at you like you’re simply a cute little squirrel who happened to fall from a tree right there at his feet. Then his eyes drop to your breasts, and the familiar hunger that lives in men gives the ocean of his eyes a clouded look. When his stare finds yours again, he's a different man: the treacherous beast of your dreams.

You had hoped for a swift death… Violent but quick. But it’s clear that it’s not death he has in store for you as he takes a step towards you. It’s not a quick nor a slow death; it’s not death at all, because–

No.

No.

You’d rather have your arms torn off and fed to the Romans rather than have him thrust the sword between his legs, his third weapon, inside you. If you’re going to die screaming, it will not happen on your back; you will not amuse this beast with your womanhood and tears.

You scramble forward to pick up something, anything: a bronze dirk from a fallen warrior. The giant’s eyes fall on the sad excuse of a weapon, then on the sorry excuse of you. He thinks you’re planning to fight him with that thing, and the corners of his eyes crease a little from the prospect of having to subdue you. You’re proving to be quite the entertainment, and you curse those eyes, looking so kind and lively when just moments ago, the same eyes were inhuman and possessed. His are the eyes of a wayfarer, a wanderer, not a soldier: you catch a hint of sadness in them and curse again.

He’s not human, you remind yourself and show him what actual humans are made of. What women are made of. You give him another name, Giant, because you’ve always feared giants and hated the stories about them. Dumb and reckless creatures they are, stupid destroyers who always place their trust in their size. You never meant to fight him, and he only catches up on it as you turn the dagger towards yourself and guide it to point straight at your heart. 

You will be his downfall, just like the seer said.

“Nein–Warte,” the Giant speaks his first words, surprisingly soft to belong to a man like him. 

The sorrow in his stare consumes you in full now. It gushes forth like a tide, causing your breath and hands to shake when they need to be stern. You straighten your spine, jut your chin forward, and call for Mother: you don’t even know if you’re yelling for your bearer, or the Great Mother, or the earth that gives life to all. Perhaps you call them all to gather around and witness your sacrifice, higher in price than any of the Titan’s offerings combined. The blood you’re about to spill onto the soil will surely appease the land and raise it to arms to finally fight against this beast. 

He says something else just before you pull the blade back to strike it into your chest, and you curse for the third time in your mind: giants aren’t supposed to move that fast; they aren’t supposed to interfere in your last ritual. 

But the worst of it is that even when he finally subdues you, even as he wrestles the blade away from you, he ends up drawing a large gash on his forearm… As if he is trying his best to protect you from accidentally cutting yourself.

. . . 

You are brought to his tent, screaming. 

It’s not as big as a chieftain’s house; it’s barely the size of yours. But it is larger than the tents you saw when you got carried there: as a spitting, screeching, hissing package of what these brutes would no doubt consider a true barbarian woman with uncivilized manners and a fuckable cunt. They will talk about you around their campfires tonight: about you getting broken in by their true commander. It’s enough to satisfy them for now: to imagine their champion to fuck you bloody and sore. And who knows: perhaps they’ll receive the scraps if the Titan gets tired of you.

The precious dagger is somewhere in the mud, probably trampled there like it’s nothing but a piece of worthless metal. Your own trampling is only about to begin as the Giant marches into his abode and sends the men away, giving you uneasy looks in the process, perhaps checking if any of them had enough time to have a go at you. Luckily for him, you’re in the same condition as he left you: legs together, safe and pretty, because he bound them with a rope along with your hands. You are nothing but a delivery, thrown on the floor of dirt and a few animal skins. He just nods at you, happy to acknowledge that you are untouched by the others, as if it would somehow be worse for you to be raped by ten of those petite men than be raped by him: a cruel, bloodthirsty Giant with a giant cock. 

Your ankles and wrists get sore as you watch him doff his armour. He takes off the helmet, the belted straps, the segmented plates of his shoulder guards and the heavy Roman cuirass. The gods have truly favoured this man, not only gifting him tremendous height but insurmountable strength too. His muscles are large and lean and quiver with latent power as he moves; his back is so broad it almost competes with the wide mouth of the tent. He doesn’t seem to suffer from the cold either, but he keeps his mask on for whatever ghastly reason. Even if there is a monster under that mask, his body speaks of virility: he’s a man in his prime, a giant at his strongest, making you feel like an elf, a tiny little creature in the feet of this man who must be descended from titans indeed.

You continue to watch as he washes his hands in a small basin, cleans his mouth and neck, too. You reckon the water in that bowl is blood red and dark when he finally dries himself with a white cloth. He stands before you in nothing but his mask and the dark red tunic he had under the armour. He ties it from the waist with a simple leather belt, and it only now makes sense to you why Roman soldiers dye their clothes red: you’re pretty sure you can still see the darker spots on the hem of that tunic, the ones that used to be the lifeblood of your clansmen and kin.

He has the audacity to ask you - wordlessly - to clean his wound, the one you caused him. He sets you free from your bounds, and you are given fresh water and another cloth. He even opens a smallish wooden box of salve that has a familiar smell to it: pine tar and honey, used by your people to treat minor wounds and prevent bad spirits from getting into the wound. You wonder how he even knows about such a balm: is this warrior a Roman at all, or is he some odd creature hauled from the edges of the world to fight for them? You wonder if he has made the salve himself, extracted the tar from the pine and foraged the wax and honey himself, then cursed with his coarse language when he got stung by multiple bees…

You drive away the thoughts that threaten to make this brute human by snorting at his injury. The damage he gave to himself when he tried to guide the blade away from you at the price of his own blood. 

It still troubles you that he did it. Even a tiny wound like this can bring any man down if it starts to fester. The cold winds and rains of spring can easily get into the gash and make it rot. 

The idea of this giant being forced to his knees because of some filthy dagger wielded by a squirrel of a woman makes you smile inside. It would be a fitting fate for this man. But the vision also makes your heart sting. The thought of him dying of a simple flesh wound, alone and far away from his home, makes your heart grow kinder than it should. 

You decide there is nothing you can do but treat his arm, strong and scarred from previous battles. He sits down while you get to stay on the ground, and you try to ignore it that your face is now level with his groin. He sits with a wide spread in those powerful thighs, and you wonder if it's because the rumours about his cock are true. You keep your eyes everywhere else except the hem of that tunic and what's going on under there. He purrs at your touch, making it clear that it doesn't need much more than your soft fingertips to get him hard after a triumphant day on the field of battle. 

The wound is not deep, but you clean it carefully, trying to ignore the way his eyes seem to bore into you as you take care of him. Your hand is somewhat steady as you treat the damage with the nice-smelling salve, but you flinch as his hand suddenly meets your cheek. You look up at him, heart plummeting, thighs instinctively pressing together from the gentle way with which he cups your face.

“Schön,” he says, again with a tender voice and an adoring, almost worshipful stare. You don’t have a clue what he’s saying, but you know now for sure that it's not the tongue of the Romans he speaks. The scent of pines and bees lingers between you as he brushes a thumb over your lower lip. You are weak enough to give him a breath, a helpless, hot little exhale that meets his hand like a gift.

“Schön wie eine Fee,” he rumbles, sounding intoxicated or like he's under a spell of sleep.

“What the hell are you saying,” you whisper in your own tongue: just a meek little sputter, a tiny, horrified breath, but the giant’s eyes narrow with a smile.

“Sie redet,” he says happily, and your shoulders sink – you are on the verge of screaming from frustration alone. Whatever you do seems to only amuse this man, and you snap your mouth shut. Your cheeks heat up with recurring waves of odd fever. The ground beneath your shins is all but warm, and yet you feel warm all over: a dangerous sign, you know, and oddly tied to the peculiar bodings you have seen all week.

Because there have been many omens in the air lately. 

It’s just that none of them were portents of war. 

The cranes started to mate early this year, and you have found a lot of clams from the shore every day. Even your brother encountered a boar with nine piglets; everyone celebrated him as some holy man who had seen the Great Mother when he returned to the village that day. The wind started to blow from south soon after, and the moon has grown along with your womb: this morning, on the brink of war, you woke up wet and restless. 

All the omens speak of fertility, of growth, of a new cycle and of birth: of spring and life. There’s nothing about death and decay, nothing except what the people have told you about… him. The death himself. The war god.

“König,” he says as if he can hear your thoughts and wishes to correct them. You look up and see he’s pointing to himself, or rather, holding his hand over his heart. You fight the urge to scoff at the gesture. As if this beast had a heart…

“König,” he repeats the word and pats his chest, and you realize he’s trying to tell you his name. You wrinkle your nose in distaste, and he smiles. It’s easy to tell when he does, even with the cloth that covers his face: you can see the joy clearly from his eyes, the boyish grin that must be occurring under that mask.

“Du?” He points at you next, inquisitive. He has an odd way of pointing: with two fingers, slightly crooked, and you understand very well what he’s asking of you. You refuse to tell him your name, however, settling for pouting a lip at him next. The smile in his eyes only deepens.

“Fee,” he pokes you gently on the shoulder and leans back in his odd Roman chair, seemingly content with having now named you. 

And Mother was right: you are curious, so incredibly curious to know what this beast has chosen to call you and why. Are you a rat to him…? Some bird? Perhaps simply a girl?

He is so pleased with your conversation that he pours himself some wine and drinks the whole cup with one gulp. Great, you sigh inside your head, a beast and a drunkard. He pours another cup and tries to offer it to you, and when you don’t make a move to grab the clay mug, he brings it to your lips. You entertain him with a tiny sip: you’ve heard of wine and know that Romans are fond of it, but you have never tasted it yourself. 

The tart, bitter flavour almost makes you cough. You thought wine was supposed to be sweet: everyone always describes it as something like milk or honey or juice from an overripe apple. It very much is not, and you almost choke on it and then make a wry face at your captor. He - König - only laughs. It’s another thing that catches you off guard: first those boyish, sad eyes and now this hearty, grown man’s laugh. You have proved to be such an amusement to him that he doesn’t force you to drink any more wine and enjoys the rest of it himself. 

Then he rises and makes you shrink from him again, towers above you for a moment, and looks at you with that warm curiosity that makes your heart race.

“Müde?” 

He tilts his head, the bag of darkness shifts, the blue eyes behold you fondly, and for some reason, you whimper an answer to yet another question you can’t even understand. He takes your little squeak as a yes and falls to crouch before you, then raises a massive hand to the leather strings that keep your demure little dress up. 

To your horror, he pulls the knotted tangle open before you can stop him. Your dress falls from your shoulders and drops to pool around you, and you simply and verily stop breathing.

His eyes wash over you, he examines every little part of exposed skin like an entire treasure chest has suddenly opened before him. You pray to all the gods that he would find it in his heart to be gentle tonight. Your nipples perk up – from the cold or from his stare, you don’t know. 

The rough callous of his palm meets your breast and encloses it in warm support. He cups you, weighs you like he would a fruit, and then he squeezes you, rather hard, too: a deliberate attempt to make you squeal again. He replies to your pathetic mewl with an approving rumble, and you look up at him with all the helpless tenderness of the Mother, hoping that Her gentle pleas might persuade this man not to hurt you.

“Please don’t,” you whisper, and his eyes dart to your mouth, to your eyes, then back to your lips again. He immediately softens his touch. Then he lifts you from inside your poor dress, picks you up like you weigh nothing at all, and carries you to his broad bed, the sturdiest you have ever seen. 

This man feels like the strangest of fates, like a hopeless destiny, as he sets you on the skins and straw mattress, right next to your fluttering heart. Your insides ache as he undresses before you, entirely without shame. He’s hard under the tunic he rips off and tosses on the cold ground. Your eyes are glued to the legendary cock you’ve heard so much about, the cock that splits women apart: and it’s true that it's huge. It resembles the ones you’ve seen on horses, not on men, and your thighs are glued together as he comes next to you while that pale, monstrous cock sways long and heavy between his thighs. He moves you around a little, and you squeal from how weak you feel: weak as a mouse as he covers you with one of those rich furs he has in plenty on the bed. Then crawls under it too, right next to you.

Your heart almost wrenches itself out of your chest as a strong arm pulls you against him: the swell of your ass meets his thighs, solid and broad like treetrunks, and your lower back meets the hot, almost too hot horse cock. It starts to leak and throb against your skin the instant your flesh is pressed against his. You try not to whimper and moan as the Giant, König, curls around you like you two have always done this.

He takes a long, earnest inhale from your neck and hair, rumbles deeply and contently, and tightens his grip. Apparently, you smell and feel good… 

You wait and wait to be plundered and raped, but König only settles for holding you tightly, like you’re a children’s toy made of the softest straw and purest undyed wool. You relax slowly, and he purrs against your back, starts to fondle your breasts, ardently, until your body betrays you and you find yourself wet again; he squeezes and squishes your teats slowly, approvingly, then pinches your nipple once before finally falling into a heavy, deep sleep.

…

Please forgive your author for any historical inaccuracies and other silly things you find facepalmable <3 During this time König would've probably spoken some form of Old Saxon but since I'm not a TOLKIEN we have to settle for modern-day German here. I don't have a taglist for this fic so please check my pinned masterlist for future updates.

Translations

Nein, warte - No, wait

Schön - Beautiful 

Schön wie eine Fee - Beautiful as a fairy

Sie redet - She talks

Du? - You?

Müde? - Tired?

[hyunebunx]

💛 w/ felix please!!

˖˙ ᰋ ── 💛- 'a kiss shared during sunset, often romantic and serene'

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. genre: fluff!! the fluffiest kind

﹙ʚɞ˚﹚. a/n: i loved writing this sm :( it's a little self indulgent but i still hope you'll like it! thank youu for requesting!! <333

Sunsets were your absolute favorite.

It might sound cliché or overrated, but witnessing such mesmerizing beauty whenever you were lucky enough to, genuinely made life worth living to an extent other things didn’t. Beauty was in the eye of the beholder but nobody could deny the one of a kind colors and the bright light that was slowly dimming with every minute that passed weren’t painting one of the most gorgeous pictures of them all. Mother Nature herself was the most talented artist after all, her creations admired all over the world by all sorts of people, even the ones who didn’t have a keen eye for the arts in the first place.

Yet somehow, the sunset was even more dazzling now while you were admiring it with Felix, your one and only who everyone was convinced was related to the sun himself.

Lowering your hands, you let the cheap film camera dangle from your wrist casually, the sand warm under you. “I’ve always loved taking pictures of the sky.”

Felix tears his gaze from the ocean, the warm breeze softly ruffling his long blond hair as he smiles. “I know. You never miss a photo opportunity, wiping out your phone and stopping everything we do to get that perfect shot.”

You return his smile, sheepishly, bumping your shoulder into his. “So, you’ve noticed.”

“Of course I have.” He admits like he couldn’t phantom someone not noticing, leaning closer and staring at you in such a way that had you believing he forgot all about the beautiful view in front for a moment. “Because while you’re busy staring at the sky, my eyes only see you.”

Your eyes widen, heat rushing to your face alarmingly as you finally turn to look at him. Wrong move, because the sight of him takes your breath away, especially since you’re close enough to notice every single detail that made Felix who he was. His freckles were not hiding behind any makeup, spilling all over his cheeks like actual constellations – the ones on his eyelids were always your favorite, having taken too many pictures of them to even count now – plump lips naturally pink and still stretched into a faint smile that only pulled you closer by your heartstrings, tugging at them and never really letting go.

The sun was setting, and there were numerous other couples around enjoying the view and the last days of warmth on the beach, but now you could only see him.

“Now you’re just lying to fluster me.” A giggle escapes you, awkward and shy as the beautiful shades of orange begin caressing his side profile, mesmerizing you.

Felix shakes his head instantly. “Why would I?” His hand finds yours on the sand, intertwining your fingers. “People find beauty in different things. So, while you’re enthralled by the sky and all of its colors, I’m bewitched by you and only you.”

Bewitched, like you were some sort of otherworldly being in his eyes, a piece of art deserved to be hung in a museum in its own separate section, surrounded by security 24/7.

You’ve never doubted Felix’s love for you but at the same time, you had no idea he regarded you so highly, in the same way you did him.

Without a second thought, you lean over and plant a lingering kiss on his cheek, feeling his smile widen before you get the chance to pull away, happiness radiating off of him.

“Sure, the sky is beautiful.” You nod, a little tongue-tied and emotional by his previous statement. “But there’s something I love capturing in pictures even more.”

His brows furrow, turning his whole mind upside down in search of the answer he’s looking for, sure you’ve told him about this before. There was no way he wouldn’t remember.

You reach to smooth out the skin and stop him from stressing. Felix beams in response, catching your fingers and bringing them to his mouth to kiss one by one.

The waves were crashing against the shore, bringing a rare serenity you and Felix could never get enough of as the sun seemed to pause its descent to also witness your love, giving you a few more moments of light.

“The moon?” He tries, thoughtful while bringing your hand to his chest.

You shake your head and almost close the distance between you to whisper. “You.”

Then, you kiss him, tenderly and softly like you’re afraid once you pull back and open your eyes he will disappear like he was nothing more than a fragment of your own imagination. Or a ray of sunshine personified whose time ran out and he needed to hurry home and be among his people, to allow the moon to take front stage.

Felix holds your hands like he feels the same, not believing someone like you was actually real and bothered to give him the time of day.

There is no rush or desperation, just two people who love each other like it wasn’t the first time, like they somehow met before in a past life and were separated by the cruel passing of time. Like soulmates destined to find each other over and over again, guided by the red string of fate that never tore no matter how far apart your paths were, or what obstacles dared to stand in your way.

When you pull away, he chases after you, pecking your lips repeatedly until he’s satisfied. But he doesn’t seem to get enough, deepening the kiss at the last second while pulling you even closer as he wraps an arm around your shoulders to feel you near.

The sun is almost gone when you come back for air, forehead resting against your lover’s as you both break into the biggest smiles, delighted to be together and make even more memories.

And for once in your life, you don’t mind missing a sunset for you found an even more beautiful view. 

[skzdarlings]

vexatious vixen ; felix x reader ; part 2/2

masterlist.

PART 2/2. READ PART 1 HERE. ( READ ON AO3. )

You always get what you want. When an unassuming security guard named Felix stops your latest venture, you escalate the stakes until he has no choice but to put you in your place.

pairing: lee felix/reader content info: romantic comedy. strangers to enemies to lovers. cat-and-mouse. dom/sub dynamics, dom!felix and sub!reader. brat tamer!felix and brat!reader. everything that transpires is fully consensual with implied conversations on kink preferences, and an established colour safeword system before the scene. that being said, they still get a lil kinky. please heed the following content warnings: fear kink/cnc, hiding, chasing, lots and lots of dirty talk, fingering, blow jobs, face fucking, throat fucking, a little bit of crying, penetrative sex. (protected but dirty talk like it's not.)

(chapter word count: 7750 words.)

enjoy! <3

-

The gentlest nip of a summer breeze moves through the settling blue darkness.  Everything feels romantic.  Everything except the handcuffs chaining you to Felix,  Security Guard of the Year, Man of the People, and Defender of Propriety and Pop Star Penis.   

Felix does not look at you as he drags you away from the stadium.  He smiles sweetly at passersby, doing his best to hide the handcuffs no thanks to your flamboyant gesticulations, but it dissolves again to that grim, determined countenance. 

Felix has an interesting face, so many sharp lines, but the overall effect is somehow delicate.  A body of contradictions, slender but strong, a stark masculinity rippling beneath the glittery prettiness he happily indulges in.  Blue hair should not look that good on anyone, but you doubt anything could make him look bad.  He sparkles like the glitter star on his cheek. 

You poke that cheek.  A muscle in his jaw twitches.  He looks at you sideways, all pretty brown eyes and a constellation of even prettier freckles.  

“Do not,” he says. 

“Do not what?”

“Just. Do not.” 

You obey his demand for silence.  For about six seconds. 

“So how long have you been a security guard?” you ask amiably. 

“You’re really trying to have a normal conversation with me,” he says.  “Now? After that introduction?”

“I prefer the term meet-cute.”

“We wrestled on the ground then you handcuffed us together and threw away the key—”

“Adorable.”

“Right.” He picks up his speed.  You could easily keep pace but you decide to stagger along like he is too fast for you, whining as he drags you behind him.  Felix sighs but slows his pace.  To your surprise, he answers your question.  “A month,” he says.  “I’ve been working there a month.” 

“And you’re already gunning for CEO,” you say.  “Considering how dedicated you are to bringing justice—”

He slams to a stop.  Your chain jingles when you collide, hands smacking together.  He faces you. Wisps of blue escape from his half-ponytail to dance across his face.   

“I already told you,” he says.  “My job is checking tickets.  Chasing you down was my personal pleasure.”

“You’re a sick bastard,” you say.   

He smiles.  It is a gentle smile, seemingly sympathetic out of nowhere, his eyes softening with the lift of his brow.  He has an uncanny ability to make softness more threatening than roughness. It gives you a shiver. 

“Let me guess,” he says.  “You don’t have a job, do you, sweetheart?  You can’t hold one down.  You don’t know how. Your parents have money and it’s nice, sure, but they were overbearing your whole childhood, weren’t they?  Until one day they decided you were grown and just stopped caring.  And now you’re out in the world with no more rules and you don’t know how to deal with it.  Except by acting out.  It’s fun, right?  Looking for trouble.  Makes you feel something for a minute.  Because even though you have everyone fooled into thinking you’re this wild and carefree person, you’re locked up inside.  You’re not scared of consequences because you’re already trapped.  Oh, uhh, stop me if I’m getting cold, yeah?”

You just stare as he blithely runs his pretty mouth. 

“You don’t really care about the prize, it’s just about the chase,” he continues.  “You told me I was a good boy, yeah?  Your words.  And you think you’re bad.  A bad, bad girl,” his deep voice drops even more, like the heavy-handed thud of a low blow, striking some place intimate inside you, “but that’s not really true, is it?” 

He smiles that particular smile again, full of affection and tenderness, an expression that is completely alien to your brash and aggressive nature. 

“Deep, deep down, you just want to be good,” he says.  “But you need to earn it to enjoy it, don’t you?  You need someone to tell you that you can, that it’s okay.  But you don’t make it easy.  And you’ve been running for so long, you probably can’t even remember how it feels when someone cares enough to catch you.” 

You suddenly feel the weight of the handcuffs. You expected this dull pretty boy to have a hidden mean streak to rival your own, not for him to blast through your barriers and drag your innermost thoughts to the surface.  To say nothing of his perfect speculation on your background. 

“So what, you’re some kind of stalker with a philosophy major?” you ask. 

He is still smiling. 

He laughs, a low chuckle.  He looks like a star, glittering silver and blue in the moonlight. 

“No, I’m not,” he says.  “I’m just the same as you.  Vexatious, apparently, because I’m all smiles all the time.  Just so good, you know?”  He is almost theatrical in tone.   “Of course, that’s technically the opposite of you.  Isn’t it?” 

When you don’t answer, he touches your chin, just his fingertips.  It is still enough to guide your face to his, locking eyes. 

“I said, isn’t it?” he asks, his tone sharper. 

If he is insinuating that you are only pretending to be bad, then that means he is only pretending to be good.  If you are secretly good, then he is secretly—

His mouth hovers close to yours.  He abruptly steps back. 

Oh.  You blink quickly.  Yes.  Of course.  It is always the real bad boys who take care to be good, isn’t it?  He does not need to flaunt it.  He can just smile at you. 

“Come on,” he says, interlocking your fingers with his.  He tugs you along, humming to himself as he leads you down the street.  So seemingly innocent.  Grinning to himself like the cheshire cat. 

You stare at those freckles, the glitter stars, his dimples. 

A vexatious vixen, indeed.

“So that Jisung guy,” you say. “The one who gave you these handcuffs.  He thinks you’re a nice guy who needs some adventure in his life.  It was just a prank gift and he thought he was being funny.”

“Yup,” Felix says, popping the sound.

“Little does he know you’re actually some sick and twisted pervert,” you say.

“Tsk,” he says, looking at you with a cheeky grin, as if to say what a silly girl you are.  “I’m not sick.  See, unlike you who bothers everyone whether they like or not, I only chase the ones who like to run.  Twisted, on the other hand… well…” 

The handcuffs jingle, strung around your joined hands like the red string of fate.  You look at each other, starlight on your faces, a noisy arena behind you and a game ahead of you. 

You smile back at him. 

You still intend to win.

-

It is a twenty minute walk.  Your conversation weaves around implications, some very forthright flirtations, and a couple scandalizing explanations.  Despite his previous goading, Felix is far more reserved in his desires.  He blinks when you describe a very dirty scenario and get detailed.   Very, very detailed.   

“Um, right,” he says.  “Fun as that sounds, I’m pretty sure that constitutes as a human rights violation.”

“So?”

“I, uhh, prefer to do things that don’t get me put on an Interpol watch list.” 

“Coward.”

You nonetheless accept this and describe a totally different scenario.  He looks a little wan. 

“Where would I get a rocket launcher?” he asks when you are finished. 

“I dunno, get creative.  My friend Seungmin once—oh shit, my friends!”

“Wait, huh?  Your friend Seungmin has a rocket launcher…?”

You take out your phone to find a gathering collection of texts from Seungmin and Minho, ranging from teasing you about losing your touch to asking if you got arrested and they need to bail you out.  Your friends are a nightmare which is why you like them, but they always get you out of trouble in the end. 

You confirm you are safe, that you already left, and that you are trying to have sex with a hot, insane, kinky sadist of a security guard.  

“You know I can read everything you are typing right now,” Felix says.  “I am standing right beside you.  You’re typing with a hand literally attached to mine.”

“Well, mind your own business.”  You do not bother hiding your texts. 

“You are giving them my name and address,” Felix replies.  “It sounds like my business.” 

“Well, it’s not.  We’ve already established the world revolves around me.  You’re the supporting character, pal.” 

“Right,” he says.  He blinks at the screen.  In a more serious voice, he asks, “Do you want the postal code too?” 

It never hurts to be thorough.  You type the address and send it to the boys. 

Good thing you waxed, Seungmin writes. 

Felix squints at the screen and tilts his head like a curious cat.  “You waxed for a concert?” he asks, giving you a once-over.  “What did you think was gonna—”

“I am prepared for every eventuality,” you interrupt.  “It’s why I always win.”

He holds up your handcuffed wrists and cocks an eyebrow.  “Is this what you call winning?” he asks. 

You smirk, your whole expression bright despite the suggestive wiggling of your eyebrows.  “Matter of opinion, I suppose,” you say.  “And my opinion is the only one that matters.” 

“Right,” he says, forcing a frown.  Despite his efforts, a smile is tugging at his lips.  He suffices to roll his eyes and march ahead, yanking you along behind him.  “Come on,” he says.  “We’re almost there.”  

Once your friends have your information, you put your phone in your little purse.  You turn the corner and find yourself looking at an absolutely gorgeous house.  Your jaw drops as Felix leads you up the driveway.  It is an ostentatious design to say the least.  You pass a gate mounted with two lion statues.  

“Not my style,” he says when you gawk at the stone kitties.  “This place belongs to my parents.  They usually rent it out but they let me live here while I go to school.” 

“So you weren’t kidding,” you say, a funny sensation in your chest and stomach.  “About your background, I mean.  You and me really are alike.” 

You realize the sensation in your chest is an inkling of feelings.  Genuine, heart-felt, soul-stirring feelings. You look at Felix and see a lot of yourself, though he is like a mirror version, exactly the same and completely the opposite.  It makes you huff, holding a hand to your stomach like you can control the butterflies there. 

“What’s wrong?” Felix asks, pausing at the front door. 

“When was the last time you had a feeling?” you ask.

“A… feeling?” he asks.  He stands silent for a long moment.  When he realizes you are not going to elaborate, he asks, “What kind of feeling?”

“Just a feeling,” you say.  “You know.” 

“Uhh.”  He blinks quickly.  “I have feelings all the time.  Every day.”

“Wow,” you say.  “That sounds exhausting.  Explains a lot about you.” 

“All right.”  He shakes his head.  He reaches into his back pocket and fishes out a set of house keys, twirling them around his fingers until he finds the right one. 

“Wouldn’t it be funny if I threw those keys too?” you ask.

He gives you an exasperated look.  You grin.

With a shake of his head, he sighs and unlocks the door.  The foyer lights flicker to life and the house alarm starts ringing.  It gives you a punch of adrenaline which has the predictable effect of getting your blood pumping.  Your body does not know the difference between fear and desire.  You have only been here two seconds but you are already licking your lips. 

Felix is none-the-wiser.  He flips open the alarm panel and punches in a code.  It beeps and goes quiet.   You look at each other in the soft golden glow of the foyer lamplight.  He still looks stupidly pretty, blue hair and glitter, sleeveless shirt and jeans.  Unassuming, gentle, sweet.  Not at all like he could throw you over his shoulder or manhandle you in the grass.  But he can.  He did.

“Come on,” he says, tugging on the chain between you. 

You feign disinterest but your eyes scour his space.  You pass through the kitchen where there is an array of baking utensils drying in the dishes rack.  The entire kitchen is clearly maintained with great care.  The rest of the space is a little chaotic, shelves and desks and units overflowing with technological equipment that you can neither recognize nor name. 

“I build computers,” he says, catching you staring at the pile of miscellaneous parts.  “Sorry for the mess.  I wasn’t expecting company.” 

This is uttered dryly and you wave it away.  You do not want to admit you find it somewhat endearing.  Your hobbies primarily consist of keeping the local PD on their toes, but you appreciate the practice of a craft.  It only adds another layer to this weird dude, pretty but athletic but intelligent but ridiculous but charming but geeky.  And just as competitive and crazy and freaky as you. 

“Bedroom’s this way,” he says.  “And, uh, don’t get any ideas.” 

“Too late,” you answer, though truthfully your filthier fantasies are fracturing in wake of the reality of him.  The computers, the baking tools, the wall of games and consoles, collectible toys and ughhh why did he have to be kind of adorable and secretly have a personality.  Mutual objectification is more your style.  Not quivering under a gentle touch and feeling… feelings. 

“You look like you are thinking way too hard,” Felix says, pausing at his bedroom door.  “It’s freaky.” 

“Not thinking anything,” you say, because you are too busy feeling to be thinking.  Ugh.   You shake it off and push open his bedroom door. 

He shakes his head and leads you in.  He has a pretty elaborate gaming setup, the rest of the room plain in comparison.  His bed is neatly made and you cannot help but envision a mess of sheets.  Yes.  That is more your thing.  Taking that sweet and gentle façade and corrupting it, right down to the core.  You want him to lose control.  You want to drive him crazy.  You want to draw this out, use the handcuffs and—

“Aha,” he says. “Right here.”

He pulls open a bedside drawer.  A pair of handcuffs is sitting inside it, the key right on top.  He takes it out and immediately unlocks you. 

The cuffs fall to the floor.  He scoops them up and jingles them in your face. 

You stare at them then slowly meet his gaze.

“Oh,” you say.  “You evil son of a bitch.”   

He looks at you with a soft little pout, like he cannot imagine why you would be upset and you are hurting his oh-so sensitive feelings.  But he knew you wanted to play him.  He knew you wanted the handcuffs a little longer.  Now there is no reason to linger.  Now you can just walk out the door and never see him again. 

He is going to make you ask for it. 

That is not your style.  You hate being out-smarted.  And you really, really, really hate losing. 

“Right,” you say.  “I guess that’s it then.”

“Guess so,” he says.  “Bye.” 

“Bye.”

“Bye.”

You are still standing in his bedroom.  It is dark but there is an elaborate lighting rig around his computer, all bright blue neon and blinking lights.  You are swimming in blue, breathing it in.  His hair, the room, and moonlight. 

You will never see this colour the same way again.  Of that much you are certain. 

“Blue,” you say. 

His brow crinkles.  “Blue?” he repeats. 

“Mm.”  You look around the room, pretending you are unbothered by the intensity of his gaze.   “Red.  Yellow.  Green.  Colours can say a lot, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” he says, exhaled on a breath.  The neon light catches the little star on his cheek, glinting at you.  He is dazzling.  This moment is larger than life.

You take a step back, holding his gaze. 

“Red for stop, yellow for slow down, green for go…” you drawl, backing out of his room.  “It’s amazing what you can say with just a colour…” 

“Uh-huh,” he says.  He looks at you like he did at the arena, maybe even more intensely.  Now he knows what you are capable of doing.  Now you understand each other. 

He follows you, assessing every step you take.  There is a subtle flex to the lean muscles of his arms, reminding you that while he is beautiful, he is also capable of more. 

“And what does blue mean?” he asks.  “To you?” 

You walk backwards, an unspoken understanding that once you turn your back, the game begins.  So you hold his gaze, smirking, inviting.  The foyer lights flash on and gold light fills the space between you, casting shadows across your smiling faces. 

He walks like a predatory cat, slow and smooth.  His confidence is easy.  He needs no grand display of machoism.  He just smiles that pretty pink mouth.  The glitter on his cheek sparkles.    

“Blue is the colour we show on the outside,” you say, “when deep down we really want something else.”

“I see,” he says.  Abruptly, his intensity vanishes when he laughs and says, “Put it back.” 

Somehow, despite diverting his attention, he still saw your slight-of-hand.  You swiped the closest object, a little jewel-encrusted clock on the nearby table.  You waited until your body obscured the view but he still saw.  

He can read you that easily, predict your moves that well.  Because it is not as though he loves the clock.  It stands out from his things, clearly one of the ostentatious designs, courtesy of his parents.  You can read him that easily too.  He does not like gaudy, shiny little knick-knacks.  He likes neon and blue and you. 

“Put what back?” you ask.  You have reached the front door.  Your hands are behind your back, the bauble in one, the other twisting the doorknob. 

“I’m not gonna ask twice,” he says. 

You push the door open. 

“I’ll give it back, if that’s what you really want,” you say.  With a suggestive little smirk, you ask, “So what’s your colour?” 

Red to stop.  Yellow to pause.  Green to give in. 

“Blue,” he says.  To play. 

You smile.  You hold up the bauble, wink, then zip it into your purse.    

“In that case,” you say, “you’ll have to catch me first.” 

His expression changes in an instant, that playful giggling gone as quickly as it came.  He breathes and it fills him, makes him look sturdy, makes him look ready.   

“Sweetheart,” he says.  “Don’t make me do this.” 

The softness of the pet name is completely undone by the dark tone of his voice.  There is nothing soft about him.  He is ice cold blue and burning red heat at once, searing you with his eyes, the way they rove your whole body.  You feel each glance.  A shiver races down your spine.  Instinctively, your body braces itself, fearful of that voice and that gaze. 

It also gets you so, so hot. 

All that tension snaps. 

You turn and run, bolting down the driveway and past the fancy gate.  You are quick on your feet, practiced and lithe.  You show him no mercy this time.  Earlier you were unprepared, severely misjudging his capabilities, but you will not make the same mistake again. 

You glance over your shoulder.  He is no where to be seen so you slow your pace, bemused. 

A minute later, he comes tearing around the corner and your heart starts pumping again.   Just like back at the arena, he grins as he thunders after you. 

An instinctive little yelp leaves your mouth.  You resume your pace, booking it for the corner of the block.  There is a little patch of green park so you run there, disappearing between the bushes. 

It seemed like a good idea but the streetlight barely breaks the thick tree branches. It is darker and eerier here, genuine fright overcoming you.  You come to a clumsy stop, fumbling with your purse to grab your phone.  A flashlight will stop you tripping, but it will also lead Felix right to you. 

You hear him behind you, clambering through the bushes.  Your heart leaps.  The darkness makes you forget this is all pretend.  You run without a light, dashing down the narrow path and squinting for even a glimpse of street light.  You need to get out of the bushes otherwise you risk falling on your face, then he will be right on top of you in seconds.   But running on the road will expose you too quickly. 

You will not surrender that easily.  He knows that. 

Torn between the garden and the road, you get a brilliant idea.  You dash back onto the street and hope it takes him a minute to follow.  He is not behind you so you race back to his house. 

There is no way he will circle back here.  He knows you want a chase, so a chase is what he anticipates.  He would never guess you ran back into his house.  Oh, you can’t wait for the look on his face when he finds you perched on his bed, feigning boredom as you wait. 

You run back up the driveway.  The front door is closed and you crash right into it, assuming it would be unlocked.  Nope. He locked it.  Maybe that is why he was delayed. 

You spin around, halfway expecting to find him there, ready to push you up against his door and cage you in.  But no, you are still winning.  He is undoubtedly still running through those bushes. He will circle the whole block before heading back here.    

You hurry down the side of the house, looking for any open windows.  You do not think he had time to set the alarm.  Did he?  Maybe that is why he was so far behind. 

The side gate is unlocked so you slip into the backyard.  You come to a surprised stop because it is a beautiful landscape.  The greenery is pristine and there are little couches and chairs scattered around.  There is a shed, some storage trunks, a fire pit.    In the middle of everything is a pool, sparkling blue in the golden lamplight.  Of course. 

You do not rush. You cross the yard in a slow walk, taking a moment to catch your breath.  You strategize your next move.  Should you pose on one of the pool chairs?  Wait by his back door and knock when he gets home? 

Your thoughts are interrupted by a low hum.  Someone is making their way down the side of the house.  

You panic.  You are often caught scampering around places you are not supposed to be, so instinct propels you to hide.   You run to one of the storage trunks and duck behind it. 

No sooner have you hidden does Felix stroll into the backyard.  He is a little dishevelled, a few strands of hair escaping from his half-ponytail, but he seems mostly unbothered.  He moves at a leisurely pace, humming to himself as he swings the gate open. 

He pauses there, leaning against the tall fence.   You are quite certain the world has never been this quiet.    

 “I know you’re here,” Felix says, his deep voice shattering the silence. 

Your heart leaps into your throat.  You should have known better.  Of course he had the same idea as you.  Now what?  How can you outsmart someone who can predict your every move? 

You peek around the storage trunk.  Felix is smiling, all dimples and delight.  Even his eyes are glittering as he swings the gate shut.  He looks across the yard as he curls his fist around the padlock.  He slams it shut, effectively locking you in with him. 

So that is why he took so long.  He unlocked the gate before giving chase.  He laid a trap and you ran right into it. 

His walk is more of a prowl, a slow but steady tread across the grass.

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs, uncannily chipper. 

You cannot believe you are about to be beaten so quickly.  It has your head spinning, your heart racing from your run, your adrenaline pounding as he approaches. 

Your heart tempers itself when he stops.  He pokes his head around the fire pit to see if you are hiding there.  

“Sweetheart,” he says, casting his gaze around the yard.  “You don’t need to hide.  I promise I’m not mad.”  He strolls around the pool, looking from here to there, even up at the trees.  He hums thoughtfully to himself.  “Now, now… If I was a troublemaker who needed to learn a lesson, where would I hide…”  He ducks behind a pool chair, frowning.  “Hmm, hmm, hmm…” 

He stands for a minute, tapping his chin.  You want to glean some semblance of your surroundings, but you do not want to take your eyes off him.  You are convinced if you do, he will manifest right beside you.  So you look at the house then at him, the gate then at him, the trees then at him.   You almost want to scream.  He is not even moving and he has you completely captivated, every last sense in your body attuned to him. 

“Pleeeeease,” he says in a long drawl, a cute little tone.  He ambles over to a different storage trunk and lifts the lid.  “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

He slams the lid down so hard it makes the unit wobble.  Even though you are far away, it makes you jump.  You have to cover your mouth to stop a yelp from escaping. 

You stare as he leans over the other unit, peering behind it.  He huffs in frustration when he finds nothing.  Despite the angry grimace, when he stands upright, he is wearing that saccharine smile. 

“You’re hurting my feelings, sweetheart,” he says.  “I thought we were turning into friends.  Don’t you want to be my friend?” 

He flings a chair out of his way, then swiftly drops to his knees to peer under the picnic table.  He is getting closer, bit by bit, which is somehow more terrifying than if he beelined right at you. 

He is giving you time, you realize.  He wants you worked up.  He wants your heart racing.  He wants you quivering and soft and afraid. 

You look around frantically, searching for an escape. 

Your hope rises then plummets.  The back door is ajar but that is an obvious trap.  It leads into the house but there is no way you are crossing the yard without him seeing you. 

You jump at another slam.  It was the shed door.  He is stepping inside it, rifling through the yard tools in case you are crouched inside. 

“Come on,” he says into the shed.  “Don’t be scared.” 

You take a deep breath.  You have only seconds to cross the yard while his back is turned.  You do not waste another moment, jumping to your feet and running as quietly and as quickly as you can. 

He is just as quiet.  You shriek at the sudden arm that catches you, just like it did at the arena.  Felix tackles you onto the grass again, pushing you down on your back and covering your mouth. 

You wrestle him, just like last time, ignoring his laughter as you claw and bite at him. 

“You’re a little mean, you know that?” he says, waving his hand after narrowing dodging your teeth.  He dives back in, undeterred, grabbing your face in one hand.  “Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  “Fight me.  Brat.” 

You do not surrender easily, but he manhandles you with the same effortless skill as before.  There is no doubt he has training that you lack, flipping you in his arm then pushing you down on your front.  You kick your legs as he straddles your backside.  He brings your hands together on the base of your spine. 

You know what is coming and it makes you shriek with frustration.  Just like last time, he slaps the handcuffs on your wrists and locks your hands behind your back. 

“You stupid little—” you start, your words stifled when he puts his hand over your mouth and yanks your head up.  He holds the handcuff key in front of your face, then makes a show of throwing it.  You are pretty sure it is still in his fist, but the very idea has you whimpering into his palm. 

“That’s better,” he says, slowly taking his hand off your mouth.  It hovers like he expects you to start screaming.  You just exhale heavily, glaring.  “All right,” he says.  “Very good.  Come on.” 

You play at obedience long enough to get off the ground.  He helps you stand, then you immediately kick at him.  He tries to grab your leg but you dodge the swipe of his hand, running the opposite way. 

Your balance is thrown, dizzy from the takedown and the handcuffs.  He catches you quickly.   You yelp when he sweeps you off your feet, boasting all that hidden strength again. 

He carries you over to the deck where he drops down, sitting with his legs spread to fit you in between.  With your back to his front, he pulls you against him, an arm across your chest to keep you pinned together. 

“Oh fuck you,” you say, wriggling helplessly. 

“Not quite,” he says, laughing.  “I’ve been picturing something else.” 

He covers your mouth again, catching your shriek when he tugs your shirt open.  The flannel falls down your shoulders and he yanks the tank top down, getting a handful of everything you inadvertently flashed him earlier. 

Despite the force of his initial touch, he is not rough.  You might have kept your cool if he was; you are used to rough, fast, hard.  But his hand is tender, almost loving, a slow touch that trails from your neck down your chest, thumb circling the peak of your nipple before he squeezes your curves in the cup of his hand.   It is maddeningly slow and careful, your whining trapped in the palm of his hand. 

“This is what I was picturing,” he says.  It sounds like a growl, his deep tone just above a rough whisper.  His lips graze your ear and you shiver. 

You gasp, taking in deep gulps of air when he frees your mouth.  A weak whimper is all you manage when he hooks his legs around yours and pries them apart.  His hand dives down to your shorts, making swift work of the buttons. 

“Yup, just what I thought,” he says as his fingers sink inside you.  “Do you feel that?” he asks, as if your attention could be on anything but the thorough, rolling touch of his fingers, torturing the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs.  He slides his fingers into you with no resistance whatsoever. He starts finger-fucking you, laughing when you moan, when you rear up under his hand for more.  “Mmm, yeah, you want it don’t you?”  You try to resist but it is hard, especially when he teases you, making you chase him with your hips.  He just laughs again, slowing his touch maddeningly.  “God, that’s hot,” he says.  “You might be a brat but your pussy...   It’s begging for it, isn’t it?  Does it like this, sweetheart, hmm?  Hmm?” 

He is absolutely torturing you, rubbing those swollen nerves to the crest of an orgasm then withdrawing, again and again, until you swear it burns.  You make a strangled sound, clutching his hand on your chest, still cupped possessively on your naked breast. 

“Tell me,” he says.  “Tell me how much you want me to make you come.” 

“Mmmph,” is your oh-so intelligent reply. 

“You can do better than that,” he says.  “Come on.  Show me how much you want it.  You can’t lie to me, sweetheart.  I can feel it, hmm?  Gonna feel it when you come.  Gonna feel your pussy get nice and tight around my fingers, asking for it, baby—oh yeah, what’s that?  What’s it want?” 

“Ugh, fuck you,” you whine. 

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” he says.  “Fuck you.  You can run that pretty mouth but I know what you really need.  You’re gonna be begging me for my cock, to fill you up and make you feel all full for real. Isn’t that right?  Go on.  Show me you want it.  Show me.” 

Your chest is heaving.  Your eyes close.  You concentrate on that orgasm, chasing it desperately.  It approaches rapidly and your thighs start shaking. 

He covers your mouth again, once more predicting you.  He knows you are about to come.  This time he takes you right over, groaning in your ear, clutching you tight while never once slowing the deft thrust of his hand.  You scream into his palm, the intensity of the orgasm washing over you.  The blue light of the pool flickers even with your eyes closed, seeing nothing but blue, blue, blue.   He surrounds you, his voice, his moans, his touch. 

Your hips buck, your heart skipping a frantic beat when pleasure turns to sensitivity. He chuckles but stops, dropping his hand off your mouth.  You catch your breath, slumping against his chest. 

He touches your face with the hand he just used to fuck you, wet fingers streaking across your mouth as he turns your head.  You blink at him and part your lips just for him to shove his fingers in your mouth.  You cannot help but moan, eyes closing as you suck the tangy wetness right off his fingers.  You watch when he takes them back, when he licks them for himself.  Strands of blue fall across his forehead.  He looks as flushed and filthy as you feel. 

He grins around his fingers.  Then he grabs the back of your neck and pulls your face to his.  He kisses you for the first time with the taste of your pussy on both your mouths.  His kiss is deep and bold, as if you are already his.  You are dizzy when he stops, gasping when he pecks your lips with sweet, chaste little kisses. 

“Gonna uncuff you now,” he says softly.  “Because for what we do next…”  He grabs you by the throat and you mewl, clenching around nothing when he rolls his hips under you, showing you how hard he is.  “Yeah, sweetheart.  For that, I need all of you.” 

You sit quietly while he uncuffs you.  You feign complacency, standing on shaky legs when he guides you upright.   You fix your shirt, glaring at him, though it is a little harder while you are still catching your breath. 

He was right about one thing; you need him like you have never needed anyone.  You are throbbing, completely and totally aching with the loss of his touch.  You have never felt such clear pulsations, your body begging for more even while your expression is petulant. 

You follow him to the open door.  One step, two steps. 

Then you say, “Blue.” 

You take off running into the house. 

He laughs incredulously, not even making an attempt to grab you. 

He slams the door shut behind him.  You skid to a stop in the hall, listening to the gentle beeping of the alarm as he arms it from the inside.  It is the same quiet threat as the padlock; there is no escape. 

Giddy, excited, practically vibrating with anticipation, you run and hide.  There are boxes and tables piled high with gadgetry, not to mention his couch and bookshelves and general appliances.  Plenty more places to hide than that big back yard.  And when he finally does find you, when you have worked him up the way he worked you up—

That is what winning is all about. 

You sit in your hiding place, breathing hard.    

“Sweetheart,” Felix says in that too-sweet voice.  His footsteps are slow, unhurried, casual.  “Stop hiding.  I said I didn’t want to hurt you, but if you keep this up…” 

You peer at him between some boxes.  He stops in the middle of the room, catching his breath too.  The glittering amusement has left his eyes.  They are narrowed, his flushed cheeks and sweaty hairline only exacerbating his predatory air. 

He unties his half-ponytail, then bends over to run his fingers through the length of it.  He flips back up, all that blue falling prettily in place.  He licks his lips as he prowls through the room, looking behind boxes, ducking under tables. 

You shuffle with him, moving when he does.  He checks your previous hiding space with a jaunty, “A-ha!” then curses. 

“Come on now,” he says, turning around.  He smiles like a shark, all teeth, hungry despite the innocent flash of a dimple.  “You’re only hurting yourself,” he says.  “I know you, sweetheart.  You’re in here somewhere, and you can’t tell me you’re not thinking about what it’s gonna feel like when I catch you, yeah?  Hmm.  You’re fast.  I bet you’re flexible too.  I bet I can get you into all sorts of positions.  Get you making all sorts of noises for me…” 

It is a struggle to be quiet as you move.  Your limbs are still shaky.  Every word out of his mouth makes your breath catch. 

You swallow hard, freezing when he pauses.  Did he hear that?  Maybe not.  He turns the other way, heaving a deep sigh before he laughs.  It lacks amusement, a harsh sound as he turns and turns. 

“Come out, come out,” he sing-songs.  In a harder voice, he snaps, “Stop hiding from me.”  Then he smiles again.  He turns in your direction slowly.  “You’re not scared of me, are you?” 

You cover your mouth, cowering down when he seems to look right at you.  Your heart is pounding so hard, you would not be surprised if he could hear it, even feel it, shaking this whole damn house. 

“If you come out on your own,” he says, “I promise to make you feel good.  You’ll come so hard, you’ll forget how scared you are.” 

You keep that hand over your mouth, fighting to keep quiet.  It stifles a shriek when he suddenly waves at you, a drole little finger-wiggle.    

“Come on, sweetheart,” he says.  He crouches down, putting himself at eye-level, peering between the boxes that shield you.  “Don’t make me come get you,” he says.  “I’ve been nice, haven’t I? Don’t make me do something we’ll both regret.”    

You shuffle to the side.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head while he laughs. 

“Right,” he says.  “Fine.  We’ll do it that way.” 

You bolt when he does, shrieking as you clamber around some equipment to get away.  You manage to escape to the foyer, cursing when the automatic lights flash on.  It feels like a spotlight, illuminating you in the middle of that big empty space with no where to hide. 

You can hear Felix stomping after you.  You scurry into the kitchen, looking around frantically for somewhere to hide. 

You yelp when he bursts in behind you.  This time, he does not give.   He grabs you roughly when you try to run again.  With very little effort, like you are scarcely more than a mild inconvenience, he lifts you off your feet and slings you over his shoulder.  He says nothing while you curse and squirm and slap his back. 

“You know what I wonder?” he eventually says, marching you right into the bedroom.  “I wonder… if I make you cry, is that gonna make you tighter, you think?”  He slides you down his body, holding you flush against him.  He smiles.  “Worth a shot, no?” 

And then he handcuffs your wrist to his wrist and tosses the key across the room.

“Oops,” he says. 

He grabs your throat and you gasp, spilling onto the bed when he pushes you.  He puts your on your back then straddles your chest, swiftly unbuttoning his jeans. 

“Open up,” he says, practically prying your mouth open, just giggling when you bite at him.  “If you bite me,” he says, two fingers shoved deep in your mouth, “I promise, I’ll give you something to be fucking scared of.” 

You were right.  You will never see the colour blue the same way again.  You will never be able to settle for anything less than Felix again. 

With a whimpery sigh, you relent, blissful as your mouth falls open.  He shoves his clothes out of his way, just enough.  He is rock hard and wet at the tip when he guides your mouth around his dick.  He cradles your head gently, even if the rest of him is not gentle.

You moan, your pussy literally twitching for attention as he shoves into your throat and makes your eyes water.  You take him well and he groans, pulsing in your mouth when tears start running down your face.  He fucks your mouth and throat, a back and forth that has your seeing stars.  Eventually he pulls back, laughing as runs his fingers through his hair. 

“Oh, baby,” he says.  He reaches down to wipe a tear.  “I wanted to do that the second you started mouthing off to me.”

“Asshole,” you say, though it comes out with a giggle. 

He laughs, sliding down your body to get between your legs. He gets your shorts and underwear out of his way, kissing across your pussy and up your stomach.  He lifts your shirt and crosses your breasts with his mouth, leaving little bite marks in his wake.

With the hand cuffed to yours, he interlocks your fingers sweetly, pressing it into the mattress.  Then he swoops up.  He kisses you, his tongue a soothing touch after everything. 

You moan, literally shaking with need as he smiles against your lips.   He speaks in that low, rasping voice when he says, “I can’t wait to see the look on your face when you realize you’re gonna come all over my cock.” 

“Oh god,” is your rough reply. 

“It’s Felix,” he says.  “You’re gonna be screaming it in a second, aren’t you, sweetheart?” 

He has a condom in his bedside drawer.  Though you see him put it on, he still leans down to dirty talk, holding your throat as he whispers, “Was gonna be nice and wrap it, but you don’t like it nice, do you?”  He spreads your legs with his own, pushing down with his hips.  You whimper when the head of his cock glides over where you are very wet and very needy.  “No, sweetheart,” he says.  “I’m gonna have all of you.  And you – are gonna – take it.” 

He punctuates this with short thrusts, gradually easing inside you.  You moan, canting your hips to meet him, needing more.  When he starts fucking you in earnest, your whole body gets pliant like it never has before.  You let him hold you, tethered to him by the handcuffs and something else, something to do with those feelings inside you.  You let them melt into the physical sensations.  When he touches you, working you into an orgasm while he is deep inside you, it all washes over you.  You come with a cry, screaming his name just like he said. 

“Yeah, that’s it,” he says.  Your bodies are flush together, chests touching, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist.  His face is in your neck when he laughs.  It is not a fake laugh, not coloured darkly, but ringing with true amusement.  “What’s your name?” he asks.

You laugh too, whispering it against his mouth when he leans in to kiss you.  He groans, kissing you, and says your name against your lips when he comes.  It binds you to him more effectively than the handcuffs. 

You lay there for some time afterward, all that pent-up adrenaline taking its time to dwindle.  He lays on your chest, your free hand in his hair, stroking it.  Eventually he looks at you with wide eyes. 

“I’m not, you know, like that, I mean—” he says. 

“I know,” you reply, massaging the nape of his neck.  You get uncharacteristically bashful.  Usually your partners, being more dominant, are the ones offering consolation to you, and you seldom need much.  Felix, you can tell, needs something, and it draws something out of you that you hardly knew existed.  Something tender and soft, that enjoys touching him and soothing him and making him smile. 

“Do you still have that, uh, feeling?” he later asks. 

You nod.  He smiles. 

“Me too,” he says. 

“That’s nice.  Can we get the handcuff key now?” you ask, making him laugh. 

The handcuffs end up on the floor with your clothes. 

This is usually the part where you run away, but you think you are done with running for a while.  You lay down with Felix, side by side, washed in the neon blue light.  You take a breath and roll onto his chest, resting your head there, and he runs a hand down your back in a soft caress. 

“I’m just glad I didn’t wax for no reason,” you break the silence, making him snort.  He slaps a hand over his face, shaking his head.  “What!  Don’t look at me like that or I’ll try and sneak into another concert when you’re on the clock.”

“Mm, will you?” he asks, grinning.  “I better be prepared.” 

“Oh no, I’m not messing with you.  I’m picking an easier target next time.”

“I’ll find you anyway,” he says.  “Can’t hide from me, sweetheart.”

“Hmm,” you say, hiding your face because that squishy feeling in your chest is back.  “I still won this round.” 

He lifts your face so he can look at you.  Your eyes close when he swoops in and kisses you.  You can’t even pretend to be annoyed with him anymore.  Vexatious vixen, indeed.   

“I think,” he says, “we might have tied this round, sweetheart.” 

“Fine,” you say.  You kiss again, long and sweet.  Then you bop him on the nose.  “But next time it’ll be me.”

He sighs but smiles, shaking his head.  Then he cups your face and pulls you in for another kiss.   

[h0neysp1ce]

༊*·˚ Aʅԋαιƚԋαɱ

⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹ Character Parings : Alhaitham, Fem! Reader Constellations: Head canons + Scenarios Warning(s): Spoilers for Sumeru Archon Quests, Alhaitham's Character/personality?? Tags: established Relationship, Fluff?? A/N: Hey guys! I'm new to Tumblr and writing head cannons and maybe even fics later on. I figured I start writing today! (Edited) ⊹₊｡ꕤ˚₊⊹

Word Count: 396

⋆.ೃ࿔ :･🌱⋆.ೃ࿔ :･ ⋆.ೃ࿔ :･🌱⋆.ೃ࿔ :･ ⋆.ೃ࿔ :･🌱⋆.ೃ࿔ :･⋆.ೃ࿔ :･🌱⋆.ೃ࿔ :･

᯽- Alhaitham is certainly the kind of man who is straightforward with you. He’s a rather blunt individual, so you should expect him not to sugarcoat things. He always takes a logical approach, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

᯽- Alhaitham's most prominent hobby is reading, and he enjoys it when you take the time to sit with him while he catches up on his books.

᯽- His primary love languages are Acts of Service and Gift-Giving. He’ll take care of tasks without you even asking—from cooking meals and handling all the chores to cleaning the entire house.

᯽- "It was my turn to do the chores today." You glance over at him as he reads a book. "And?" he trails off. "I figured since you were already asleep, I would take it upon myself to do all the cleaning."

᯽- He wouldn’t admit it, but he didn’t want to wake or disturb you. You looked quite peaceful while you slept, and he didn’t want to ruin that for you—perhaps it’s also out of respect for you.

᯽- Pet names aren’t something he uses. He’d rather refer to you by your name.

᯽- You knew each other through mutual connections. You are his and Kaveh’s childhood best friend.

᯽- Although Alhaitham isn’t the type to be very physically affectionate, he loves cuddling with you. He wouldn’t admit it at first, as he found romantic gestures like that a bit excessive, but over time he grew to appreciate and love them.

᯽- On mornings when you both have to wake up for work, it might go something like this:

᯽- You were already awake before he was and about to get out of bed when you heard him ask for just five more minutes. Was he sick? This was out of character for him. He seemed to be half asleep and half aware. You ended up cuddling for another five minutes, with him whispering and cooing while holding you in an embrace, expressing how he wished the cuddling session could last forever but sadly couldn’t due to work.

᯽- You might also get a few kisses and pecks from him during these moments—nothing but sweet and wholesome between the two of you.

[niki-phoria]

月光绽放在 midnight / 心跳漂浮起来

pairing: kamo choso x gn!reader (no pronouns used) genre: fluff word count: 709

notes: i am a long haired choso enthusiast i make no apologies, not proofread !! pls forgive any mistakes, inspo from this prompt list by @me-writes-prompts, title from wayv - after midnight

midnight. the moon shines brightly in the sky, casting a silver glow on the world below. the night is quiet; the silence is only occasionally broken by faint chirps from crickets and tree leaves bustling in the breeze. 

“it’s late,” KAMO CHOSO says as he quietly steps into the light. moonlight shines in through the window, just barely enough to illuminate the tiles of your kitchen floor. “why are you still awake?”

you spare him a brief glance over your shoulder, softly smiling at him in acknowledgement. his curse mark is barely visible in the darkness. it looks like little more than a shadow that stretches across his cheeks. choso’s hair cascades down his back in waves, ending just before his shoulders.

“i couldn’t sleep,” you reply. turning your attention back to your window, your gaze studies the glints of stars that litter the sky above. “i thought some stargazing would help.” 

“stargazing?” he repeats. choso’s footsteps echo throughout your kitchen as he wanders over to stand beside you. his tan robes hang loosely from his frame, missing the usual purple gi wrapped around his torso. stray strands of ink black hair frame his sharp features, free from their usual high buns. 

you nod. “i think it’s relaxing - looking at the moon.”

choso quietly hums in acknowledgement. his attention shifts, following your gaze to look up at the sky above. the stars are just barely visible in the sky. they twinkle in the darkness. from so far away, the moon is little more than a small, glowing light.

“have you ever been in love?” you ask. your voice is quiet, cautious about disturbing the tranquility of the moment. 

“what do you mean?” choso shifts, turning to face you. he’s standing next to you now; his body is so close that you can feel his knuckles ghost against your own when he reaches up to brush his bangs out of his face. 

“you know, romantically,” you shrug. you turn to face him, studying his features in the dim light.

choso pauses, contemplating your question. his fingers find the hem of his robes, toying with the fabric. “i’m not sure. i’ve only ever loved my brothers,” he replies after a brief moment of silence. “have you?”

“it’s been a long time,” you chuckle sheepishly, almost a little embarrassed. “but i thought i was. i wanted it to be love, anyway.”

he nods. choso’s attention momentarily returns to the moon. it shines brightly in the sky, drowning out the light of the stars around it. “what did it feel like? to be in love?”

“it’s…” you pause, searching through your head for the right words. “it’s like unconditional trust. feeling safe with someone, no matter where you are. being with someone and knowing that somehow everything will be okay, as long as you’re both together.”

a comfortable silence falls over the room once again. choso fidgets with the hem of his robes, absentmindedly rolling the thin fabric between his fingers. he mulls over your words in his head. 

curses are the antithesis of humans. they’re born from negative emotions, like fear and anger. it was unheard of for a curse and a human to interact without bloodshed; choso’s own existence was still heavily contested by sorcerers. 

he was used to being met with cruelty and scorn, even when he helped exercise curses himself. but you were different. you were always kind. you greeted him with a soft smile and ensured that his technique was healing his wounds. you held his calloused, bloody hands in your own when you stood against the higher-ups. you made him feel safe - like everything was going to be okay.

choso turns to face you. the stars seem to reflect in his dark eyes; you can almost trace the various constellations in the sky looking back at you. blood rushes to his face, tinting his curse mark a deep shade of red. his ears burn from the heat spreading across his cheeks. 

“y/n,” he murmurs. choso reaches up, hesitantly resting a hand against your face. his thumb strokes against your cheek. his touch is slow and careful. the intimacy of the moment sends butterflies swarming throughout your stomach. “i think i might be in love with you.” 

taglist (open! send an ask/dm to be added): @sunoooism @vaxmpi @sad-darksoul @kamote-kuneho @dog55teeth

if you liked this fic, please comment, reblog, or leave feedback !! and if you want to support me, check out my jjk masterlist <33

[bbluefllame]

t. todoroki

blah blah blah - random touya texts p1!!

bubblegum bitch - random touya texts p2!!

bubble pop electric - random texts w touya p3!!

there was an invisible string tying you to me - texts w todofam and ur dating touya!!

know it's for the better - angst drabble 🕸 300+ wc

the ghost of you - breaking up w touya

don't stop the music - random touya texts p4!!

what's up danger - spiderman touya texts!!

peach eyes & blue skies - ua with touya throughout the years <3

ua touya hcs

breakin' dishes - head chef touya x waitress reader except they don't like each other

t. shigaraki

Southern constellations - random tomura texts p1!!

I don't care if you're contagious - random tomura texts p2 !!

welcome to the black parade - random tomura texts p3!!

h. toga

you're my best friend in the world - platonic himiko texts!!

dear maria, count me in - platonic or romantic (ur choice!) himiko texts!!

k. takami

teenagers scare the living shit outta me - texts w teenage hawks as heroes in training tg!!

dumb & poetic - texts w teenage hawks as heroes in training tg p2!!

asleep among endives - teenage hawks texts p3

lovefool - being silly w keigo

various.

three cheers for sweet revenge - texts w the lov and silly rivalry over dabi w hawks (but also some hawks x reader as well.. but reader's dating dabi)

a match into water - tomura x reader x dabi :P just silly texts!!

hcs on how mha chars sleep!! - self explanatory I hope..

whatta man - keigo, tomura, touya on ur bday!!

color your night - late night silliness w the trio!!

all my life, my seasons - the trio taking care of u when ur sick !!

real man - being comforted by the boys when ur sad/insecure

[alltheirdamn]

Give Me Tonight | Joel x f!reader

Summary: Joel has to leave. Rating: 18+ Word Count: 2k Warnings: a fuck ton of angst (sorry) A/N: This is a tiny one-shot for the lovely @janaispunk and their 1500 Kisses Challenge ... Thank you for giving me the inspiration and the ability to celebrate your milestone!! xoxo

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

Things between you and Joel were strictly physical. You fulfilled each other's needs and parted ways at the night's end, no questions asked—no kisses exchanged. That was an unspoken rule both of you had decided: you didn’t kiss. Kissing was romantic. Emotionally charged, if you wanted to be more specific. Nothing about your relationship with Joel was emotional; you were okay with that. For the most part, at least. 

There were times, however, when Joel had his body pressed against you that you so desperately yearned for his lips on yours. When his face twisted up in pleasure, and the beads of sweat rolled down the curve of his nose…that is when you wanted to kiss him the most. Amidst the carnal need driving the force of his endeavors, you noticed a hint of softness in his eyes. It was most prominent when the moon crested over the sky and you were saying your goodbyes. Joel lingered a few moments too long at the door when you turned to leave, almost hesitant to see you go. If he asked you to stay, the answer would always be yes.

But the question never came, and the answer was never given. 

One night in particular, much later than expected, Joel showed up at your small apartment. Given the circumstances within the Boston QZ, it was run down and rather barren, which is why you favored Joel’s place over yours. You could only count a handful of times Joel appeared at your place, and that night had been a shock. After a sharp knock on your door, you opened it wearily, scared it was to be a band of raiders coming after you. God knows it was bound to happen at some point. But luck was in your favor, and your time hadn’t run out. Joel stood before you, a plain denim button-up stretched across his sturdy frame and his hair disheveled. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked. There was something unreadable in his eyes, a swirling emotion swimming in the chocolate pools you hadn’t seen before. 

“Can I come in?” He asked.

He was halfway over the threshold before he asked the question, inviting himself in like any other time. You closed the door soundly, following him into the living room—if you could call it that. There was only one dingy sofa against the wall, along with a half-broken coffee table and a radio that sat near the window. Joel stood in the middle of the room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. 

“Joel,” you cautioned. “What is it?”

“I’m leavin’ tomorrow.”

He didn’t even turn to look at you as he said the words—three words shaped into a weighted knife that slid right between your ribs. You couldn’t articulate why it hurt, but it did. It was the end of whatever this was between you, the end of warming each other's beds, and the constant need to fill a void left inside both of you. Joel wasn’t a man of many words, but you knew the grief he harbored from losing his daughter twenty years ago. You had lost people you loved over the years, as well, and you craved the connection only Joel could give you. 

“Leaving where?” You asked. 

“Marlene’s asked me to do somethin’.”

“Are you going to tell me what she’s asked you to do?”

Finally, he turned to you, an amalgamation of emotions swimming across his features. You’d never seen him so conflicted, as though the weight of the world balanced on his shoulders. Whatever Marlene was asking of him, the price must be high. Joel wasn’t one to give his help freely, yet here he was, tormented by a nameless job he could not reveal.

“I can’t,” he admitted. 

Static buzzed between your bodies, a teether vibrating in the wavelengths of denial that neither of you sought to unfurl. Too many nights had you spent under his body, mapping the constellation of scars that marred his skin. He could argue it all he wanted, but Joel had also memorized yours. The deep understanding of each other's bodies had become something rooted further than just physical. You couldn’t hide from that truth, nor could he.

“When will you be back?” You asked.

You saw the answer so plainly on his face: the clench of his jaw, the averting of his gaze. He didn’t know. Or worse, he knew and didn’t want to say. Saying it aloud meant it was real. 

“I only came to say goodbye.”

“Oh.”

What else could you say? Truthfully, you didn’t want to say anything at all. You wanted to stay in this moment and savor the time you had left. Even if it meant standing feet apart and staring at each other helplessly. He’d go, and you’d stay. You had no place in his life, only the purpose of warming his bed and giving him release. 

“You didn’t have to,” you offered. “I would’ve figured out you were gone. You don’t owe me anything.”

“That ain’t fair to you. Y’deserve a goodbye.”

You looked down at your hands, your nails digging into the skin of your palms. You weren’t used to Joel speaking so much, let alone in such a solemn way. 

“And I wanted to see you,” he added. “Just one more time.”

Under the weight of your eyelashes, you tracked the shadow of his body growing closer. He would swallow you whole if you let him—and you would. Whatever emotion this was that you refused to acknowledge, it had latched itself so tightly to Joel you feared it would never come undone. You’d live your days without seeing him again and learn to be okay with it. You survived this long with the loss of your loved ones; you could do it again. 

“You’ll be okay, right?” 

You lifted your head, though you were afraid of the truth staring right at you. He nodded, but you saw through it. He was lying. 

“I don’t—.” You swallowed your words. Try again. “I don’t know what to say.”

Joel stepped forward, his calloused and rough hands molding around your face. Never once had he touched you so carefully—never had you realized how desperately you ached for it. He tipped your face up, your eyes steady on his. 

“Then let’s not say anythin’,” he whispered.

You stared, wide-eyed, as Joel dipped his head towards yours. A slight tilt, an exhaled breath, and his lips were colliding with yours. You froze under his touch, letting the movement of his lips on yours guide you through your uncertainty. You didn’t trust yourself not to fall apart in his arms. If you cracked under the weight of your emotions, would he catch you?

Joel’s fingers flexed around your cheekbones, coaxing you silently to give way to your control. Keeping your distance would at least save you the massive heartbreak in the end, but he was gifting you this one moment. Why would you deny yourself that?

Parting your lips, you welcomed Joel’s tongue into your mouth. A slow, languid kiss that deepened every time your lips met. You melted into one another, consumed by a heavy grief that wrapped around your bodies. It was just you and Joel, locked in each other's embrace while the world tore itself apart around you. Your trembling fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt, fumbling over each as they popped open. Joel’s hand came to rest on yours, halting your exploration.

“Not tonight,” he muttered, breaking from your mouth.

Crestfallen, you pulled away. What were you without your body? That’s what Joel wanted, wasn’t it? It was all you had left to give, and even at that moment, he turned you down. Joel curled a finger under your chin, tipping your face up until you swam within the stormy chocolate waves inside his eyes. 

“I just want this,” Joel confessed. “Just give me this. It’s all I need tonight.”

Words failed. They evaded you, though you searched for them and came up empty. Joel took your silence as an invitation to continue his feverish search for solace upon your lips. A broken cry stifled your breathing as you let Joel slip his tongue over yours. Tender strokes overlapping with pitying cries, you resolved to nothing but a heap of devastation. 

Joel tangled a strong hand in the tendrils of your hair, guiding your head in whichever way he chose fit. Control fell to the wayside, and you allowed him to overtake the moment. Whatever he wanted, you’d give him. He could ask you to break apart your ribs and rip out your heart, and you’d ask him for his hand to hold it. 

This kiss was your undoing. 

“Joel,” you whispered.

“Hmm?”

“Promise me you’ll come back.”

He pried away from your swollen lips and rested his forehead against yours. You looked up through tear-drenched eyelashes to see the crease between his brow furrowing deeper. He carried so much pain in his expression. 

“I can’t make promises like that.”

Honey-sweet tones of his voice were replaced by an emotionless staccato—a monotone-sounding blade slicing through all hopes you harbored inside your chest. 

“Stay with me,” you pleaded. “Just for the night.”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” You argued. 

“It’s better if we leave it like this.”

Joel broke from the cocoon of denial you both had built, the walls tearing down and crumbling around your feet. He strode toward the door, his fists clenched and his back hunched with tension. 

“Joel!” You called out. 

Your body moved on its own accord, crashing into his large frame the second he twisted around at the sound of your voice. He wrangled you into his arms, hauling your body up until your legs strained to wrap around his hips. His hands found their place against your body, one gripping the back of your neck, the other pressed to the base of your spine. 

Joel brushed his nose against yours, his eyes drifting shut as he inhaled your aroma. You tempted him into a soft kiss, a subtle coax of your lips hovering over his. 

“Kiss me goodnight, Joel,” you whispered, your words spoken over the curve of his mouth. “Kiss me goodnight and give me hope there will be more. I can’t accept that this is it.”

“I can’t give you hope,” he lamented, his mouth moving against your skin.

“Then give me tonight.”

Joel crushed his lips against yours, a ferocity awakening inside him that hadn’t been there all night. You shaped yourself into his form, arching into every hard ridge of his body; no space between you was left unfilled. Joel’s fingers flexed around the curve of your neck, his hand sliding over its shape until his palm rested against your throat. The familiarity of his possessiveness sprung into place, a simple reminder of what you meant to him.

Whatever that may be. 

The room spun around you as Joel walked you both toward your bed. He laid you out gently, piecing apart your clothes until you were bare beneath him. His clothes followed, and you returned to his heavy embrace once again. 

He took you slowly, every thrust and moan shared between you becoming the only noise inside your small apartment. Terminal moments faded away into the late hours until you both lay side by side in morbid silence. You expected Joel to leave when he finished, yet his body stayed glued to the bed. 

Rolling onto your side, you traced a path down his arm, allowing your brain to catalog every inch of his skin and the marks he bore. Years of pain ingrained themselves into his body, and he would collect so many more as time passed. Time that did not include you. 

Joel eventually turned his head in your direction, his tired eyes barely holding their weight. You hummed softly, hoping to guide him to sleep. Reaching for his hand, you lifted it to your mouth and kissed each of his fingers, tears rolling down your cheeks as you made your way over each knuckle.

“Goodnight, Joel,” you whispered.

You stirred awake, turning over to see the dent in the mattress beside you.

He was gone. 

Joel wasn’t coming back.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXXVII)

Chapter 37 : ‘I found the other half above the pillow where you lay’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! Some cute moments ahead!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 3907

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Mendocino memory For Haruko

Half moon cold and low above the poplar tree and sweet pea petals pink and white/ what happened on this personal best night for casual stars and silky constellations streaming brilliant through the far forgetful darkness of the sky

I found the other half above the pillow where you lay asleep face to one side with nothing in this world or the next to hide

June Jordan

At the sight before him, Andrew wasn’t sure whether this was real or merely one of his dreams.

After all, he was just waking up now. He had opened his eyes, dragging his foggy mind out of slumber, only a moment ago. He was met with your peaceful features, still lost in sleep and its quiet. In the light of a bright morning, you were painfully beautiful, the kind that would leave a scorn across his heart, the kind he would never forget, always crave for from now on.

He stared at your sleeping form, unable to look away, studying the way your chest rose and fell with your breathing under the sheets. He admired the slight parting of your lips, the gentle movement of your eyelids, the locks of hair messily stranded across your pillow. He bathed in your scent, in the remnants of your perfume, in the light that came in to rest perfectly on your form, in the warmth of this bed where your heat lied.

He blinked a few times, but you were still there. Perhaps it wasn’t a mere dream, after all. Maybe you were there, lying by his side, in your bed. He remembered every detail about last night, from the romantic date to your kiss outside your home, under streetlights. And then your invitation, the kisses in the elevator because he couldn’t keep his hands off you, your warmth against the coldness of your door… And then your clothes falling and immediately forgotten, and your skin, an ocean of warm, beautiful skin… your hands on his body, your sweet giggle as his hair tickled you, your taste, the sounds you made, the ‘I love you’s exchanged in a breath before connecting in the most intimate way possible… and Christ, how it felt to love you, to adore you, to worship you…

He let out a shaky exhale, expecting your disappearance once more, but you didn’t budge, didn’t vanish, remained there lying next to him.

And he tried, he tried so hard to think of a moment that had felt so blissful, so right, so extraordinarily simple with Sam, but he couldn’t. There were none to be found.

God, he loved you so fucking much… he was a total goner, what a fool… what a fool he was for you…

You stirred, slowly, scrunching your nose a little and Andrew grinned at the sight, couldn’t refrain his urge to kiss the tip of your nose. You chuckled at the feeling, blindly reached for him across the mattress.

“How early is it?” you mumbled your question, sleep making your voice deeper than usual, almost hoarse, and Andrew felt his body heat up at the sound.

“Barely ten.”

You smiled, moved closer to him across the bed, your eyes still closed, until your legs and his became a tangled mess.

“God… your voice sounds so good in the morning.”

Andrew chuckled at that, blushing.

“Yeah?”

“Hmm… so deep…”

At last, you blinked your eyes open, looked straight into his eyes and Andrew was ready to bet that you had claimed his heart right there and then, his soul, his entire life…

“Hey,” you whispered, growing a little shy, holding the covers closer to you.

“Hey,” Andrew grinned, hand coming up to your cheek to brush his knuckles and then his thumb across the soft skin, the gesture tender and intimate.

“Slept well?”

He hummed, letting his fingers fall from your face to your bare arm, tracing lines and mindless patterns there. He could have spent hours like this, doing nothing but chastely touch your skin.

“For the few hours you let me sleep,” he added with a mischievous smile, and he admired your flushed expression when he shot you a wink.

“I could say the same for you. You seemed… insatiable, last night.”

It was Andrew’s time to look away, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, you didn’t seem willing to complain about at the time.”

You giggled, came a little closer, until he could feel your breath on his lips, until you rested your open palm on his breast, until he let his fingers get lost in your hair.

“Never said I was complaining,” you shook your head slightly, all of your movements made slower by the stillness of morning, by the love and quiet of the moment, by the intimacy of it too.

“Did you sleep well, love?” he asked, letting the pet name slip without noticing, but he saw your eyebrows slightly rise, saw you smiling.

His heart began pounding, a wave of fear rushing through his chest.

“Erm… sorry… if it’s too early for pet names, sorry…”

But you brushed his anxiety away with a tender chuckle.

“Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nice. Say it again.”

Andrew gave you a grin.

“Love.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, kissed the skin there and noted how goosebumps erupted across your body as he brushed his beard along your neck, as his lips moved against you.

“My love,” he whispered again, and you gently pulled on his hair to call for his attention, to make him look up at you.

When you kissed him, there was nothing left in the world but you, this bed, your skin, your warmth, your lips against his. And he wondered how someone could have so much effect on another person…

“I did sleep well,” you murmured, keeping your mouth close to his. “But… I’ve got to say I’m very happy I woke up.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow, and you went on.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes,” you whispered, staring right into his soul, warmth spreading across his entire frame at your words.

“Thanks,” he smiled. “You’re not too bad yourself.”

You chuckled at that.

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he added, serious this time, and you shared a bright grin.

Then your hand fell from his hair to his arm, to his chest, to his stomach. His breath caught in his throat.

“I will obviously offer you breakfast,” you spoke, voice low and deep, making every cell of his body light up and shine and vibrate at the perfect frequence, the one that made his body buzzing with excitement and want. “But… right now… I can think of another tempting activity.”

He chuckled at that, genuinely amused, still impossibly turned on. Your hand kept on moving, until it disappeared under the covers, resting at the base of his stomach, across his happy trail.

“And who’s the insatiable one now, huh?” he teased you in a grin you offered back easily, chuckling and pecking his lips repeatedly.

“You clearly have a terrible influence on me.”

“Undoubtedly… you could never be the tempting one…”

“I’m a literal angel.”

He chuckled, but still, when he stared at you, his tone and words were too tender not to be serious.

“That you are. You are an angel…”

He was the one to kiss you this time, shushing the remark you seemed about to speak out.

“I’m very much in agreement with your sinful plans, by the way,” he spoke against your lips, holding your hip now.

He moved just enough to whisper easily into your ear.

“What do you want, then, Y/N? What do you want me to do?”

He noticed how your breathing staggered, how your fingers trembled against his skin, inching downwards but you caught yourself and kept your hand in place instead, clearly unwilling to rush this. And Andrew was more than okay with taking his time too…

He was surprised by the emotion in your voice though, when you spoke again. It made him look into your eyes once more.

“I love it when you do this.”

“Do what, love?”

“When… like… the fact that we can discuss sex before… having sex. I like that. It makes me feel safe. It makes… makes me feel wanted. And it’s super hot.”

He chuckled at that last remark.

“Well, you’re hot too,” he gave you a wink, relished in the way you shied away.

“You’re hot as well,” you mumbled. “And an absolute ride, just so you know.”

“Thanks,” Andrew answered in a low, deep voice, something a little shy, quiet, but there was a cocky smirk tugging at his lips too. “Glad to know that I’ve delivered last night.”

You laughed, but when you grew silent again, Andrew quickly focused back on the conversation at hand.

“It’s normal to discuss sex before an act of sex. You can always tell me anything you want or need.”

You nodded, and he knew you thought about Frank. He wasn’t mad about it. The comparison seemed in Andrew’s favour, after all. He kissed you to make the sadness of your words disappear, to clean the love Frank had sullied.

When you broke the kiss, took in a deep breath, your voice came in a murmur, a quiet sound unwilling to disturb the peace and happiness you and Andrew were bathing in that morning.

“I love you, baby.”

Baby. The word sounded perfect on your lips, round and tender and full of the love you were proclaiming. Baby. Andrew felt something shift in his heart at the pet name, in his soul even, in his very being. He would never be the same again. He was a different man now that you called him baby. He never wanted to be anyone else but the man you called baby…

“I love you too, darling.”

His lips met yours again, he wasn’t sure who initiated the kiss, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he loved you, that you loved him, that he could feel the truth of it on your fingertips against his skin.

His breathing staggered as you asked permission to touch him, as he said yes, as you moved your hand accordingly. He could barely breathe at all.

Christ, you would be the death of him…

Breakfast turned into brunch, something between a first bite and a full lunch. After all, when you migrated to the kitchen after taking a shower, it was already noon. It was Andrew’s turn to shower while you cooked. He had already made pancakes while you were showering, you added bacon, fruits, yogurts, honey and some warm beverage.

His hair was wet when he joined you, droplets dampening his plain, white undershirt. You stared at his bare arms as he entered, he noticed how your eyes remained glued to his skin, how they lingered on his collarbones and his shoulders as well, that were left mostly visible by the undershirt. And for a moment he was just self-conscious, longing for the protection of the clothes he had left in your bedroom. After all, he didn’t have prominent muscles, hitting the gym was definitely not his thing. Swimming a lot kept his body lean and muscular enough, but in comparison to Frank’s body his was ridiculously gangly, lanky; and perhaps you didn’t find him as attractive as you did Frank, he was a handsome chap, definitely the hitting-the-gym-everyday kind of guy…

But then, he saw how you averted your eyes, how you took a deep, shaky breath as you focused on the fruit you were cutting again. An apple, sliced in perfectly even pieces. You fumbled with the knife, cleared your throat, tried to hide how flushed you were. When the knife sank in the fruit again, the cut was everything but even.

A weight was lifted from Andrew’s shoulders, he smiled at you even if your back was to him now, walked closer until he could wrap his arms around you from behind.

He needed to stop worrying so much. He needed to stop yielding so easily to this self-sabotaging voice in his head. He needed to stop comparing himself to Frank. Frank was not here, Andrew was the one who had spent his night and morning drowning in pleasure with you. Andrew was the one you were allowing to stay for breakfast now, in your kitchen, the one you let hold you like this, tight and a little possessive maybe, your back to his chest and his chin resting on the top of your head.

“Bacon smells nice,” Andrew whispered, tone quiet, longing to protect the tenderness that had settled in your home.

“Thanks. Didn’t burn it, as you can see.”

He rolled his eyes, playfully pinched your side and made you giggle.

“Thanks for the pancakes,” you grinned even though he couldn’t see the gesture, but he still heard it in your voice.

“’Welcome,” he mumbled before tightening his hold on you.

You let out a content sigh in response.

“Any plans for this afternoon?” you asked, but Andrew shook his head.

“Nothing, no. Elwood’s with my brother, so… I don’t know…”

“Do you… Would you like to stay this afternoon?”

Andrew’s heart grew warmer, the smile that settled on his lips was one he couldn’t refrain, despite his best efforts and his will to hide how happy and eager he was to spend more time with you.

“Of course,” he agreed. “What would you like to do?”

“I don’t know… just… spending time with you. It doesn’t really matter what we do.”

God… how could you say things like that? You were tearing his heart to pieces every time, in the most wonderful way possible. He was already in love with you, how come you kept on making him fall harder and harder?

He hummed, softly made you sway left and right as he thought of something to do, and he heard you chuckle because of his movements. He stared at the city that laid at your feet beyond your window, stretched as far as the eye could see with its chimneys, its windowpanes glimmering with sunlight, its shimmering rooftops. It was still sunny today, although the weather forecast predicted some rain by the end of the afternoon.

“We could go for a walk. Or… we could go to the cinema! I haven’t been in a while.”

“That would be nice,” you nodded. “We can pick a movie while we eat.”

“I’ll have to go home to change though.”

“We can meet up at the cinema.”

“Or you can come with me to my place, I quickly get changed, and then we head to the cinema together.”

You nodded, a grin on your lips.

“Hmm… that works too.”

You finally sat down to eat, keeping the conversation smooth and light while you ate, picking up a movie to watch that afternoon. By the time your plates were empty and your stomachs full, Andrew’s hair was dry, you were holding hands, feet touching under the table.

And this was so nice… it felt so right to be there with you, to be intimate with you, to share your space, to live in the intimacy of your home, to eat brunch with you.

You grew nervous all of a sudden, right when the conversation slowed down and a comfortable silence was about to settle in. Andrew carefully studied your expression, tilted his head slightly.

“You’re alright, love?” he asked, and you nodded quickly, but the nervousness didn’t leave your features.

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“You… you seem worried. Is there something wrong?”

His brain jumped to conclusions, as it always did in that type of moment. Listening to the ugly voice in his head.

Perhaps you didn’t want to spend your afternoon with him, anymore, perhaps it was too much too soon…

“I just… I think we should discuss… like… erm… what we are to each other.”

Andrew raised a surprised eyebrow.

“Oh… erm… okay.”

“Like… Do you want us to be exclusive?”

You frowned at his expression. He narrowed his eyes at you.

Exclusive? Did you not want that with him? He had not even thought that not being exclusive was an option… you were in love.

“Of course,” he truthfully answered. “Of course, I want to be exclusive. I… I have feelings for you.”

You let out a sigh.

“Good… okay…”

“You… you don’t want that?”

“No, Andy, that’s not…”

“Cause I’m not signing up for anything less than you being my girlfriend…”

“Andy. I want to be exclusive. I just thought we should clarify the situation anyway.”

Slowly, Andrew nodded.

“Good… Grand… Cause like… I love you. I want us to be together.”

“Me too. That’s what I want too.”

“So… I can say that you’re my girlfriend?”

You smiled, something tender and a little bit mischievous that set his chest on fire.

“Yeah, you can. And I’ll call you my boyfriend.”

You exchanged a grin.

“Grand,” Andrew mumbled, blushing as he looked down at his empty plate, feeling like a teenager with the way you were settling on those labels, but he didn’t mind.

“What about work, though?” you asked. “Should we… like… tell Lydia about us?”

“There’s no rule or policy against professors dating each other. There’s no power dynamic between us, there’s no hierarchy, we have the same job. I don’t think it’s useful, and it’s definitely not mandatory.”

You nodded in agreement, but it was Andrew’s turn to grow nervous now.

“Darling, I… there’s something else we should discuss before going to work tomorrow.”

“Hmm?”

“I… I would prefer it if… us dating remained… a private matter.”

You frowned hard at that, let go of his hand, crossed your arms before your chest as your gaze hardened.

“What do you mean?” you asked back, tension rising in the room to make the air heavy and electric.

“I just mean that… No one needs to know about us…”

“What?”

“At work, we should…”

“So, you want us to be exclusive, you say you love me, but you want us to keep this a secret?”

Andrew raised his hands in a gesture of appeasement.

“That is not what I mean…”

“So you don’t want us to tell our friends? Our families? And for how long do you plan on keeping our relationship a secret?”

“That. Is. Not. What. I’m. Saying,” Andrew spoke softly, his voice low and appeasing.

“Of course, I don’t want us to hide our relationship. Of course, we can tell our friends and families… that is not what I’m saying.”

“What are you saying then?” you asked back, but your voice was audibly calmer now.

“I’m saying that… rumours and gossips are truly hurtful sometimes in our line of work. Not just in our academic career, but with students too. I’m not saying that I want us to hide our relationship to the world, I’m just saying that… for the time being, while we’re just beginning dating and it’s still all brand-new… perhaps we should try to only behave professionally at work. I just… I don’t want gossips to weigh our relationship when we’re trying to build it. Of course, we can tell our friends at work, like… I will probably tell Colm tomorrow, to be honest! But we should act like professionals when we’re in public at work for now. Students have no business knowing about our private lives, and neither do the people we don’t like at work.”

He reached for your hand again, and you let him take it.

“I’m not saying that I’m ashamed of us, that I want to hide our relationship… trust me, I can barely believe I’m lucky enough to date you. But work is work. And university is not all bright flowers and rainbows. I don’t want us to be pressured by students or some of our shitty colleagues while we’re just beginning to be together.”

“Would that be so bad if they knew?”

“No, I don’t think it would be bad. But there would be rumours, and glances, and stares, and stories going round, and… I don’t want to have to deal with that now. Now, I just want to go on dates with you, I want to be in love with you, I want us to settle as a couple, I want to babble away to my friends and family about how amazing my girlfriend is, I want to build a strong, solid relationship with you. And I’m worried that letting work mix with that could make things more difficult for us, at the beginning. I don’t want to mess this up. I care and love you too much for that. I… I’m really scared of fucking this up.”

You frowned at that.

“Why? Why are you scared?”

Andrew shrugged, averted his eyes to stare at your table instead, although he couldn’t see the grain of the wood, the rasp of its surface; he was trying too hard to gather his thoughts for that.

“I… I’m scared that this is not going to work out,” he admitted. “I’m scared to be hurt again. I’m scared that you… that you could leave me. I’m scared that you could realise that you can have better than me. I’m scared to do something wrong, something that will make you see I’m not good enough for you. I’m… I’m really scared you’re going to leave. I don’t… I don’t want to give you extra-reasons to give up on us, like… exterior motives. Bearing with me is trouble enough,” he joked, but you knew he was still serious, “do you realise how high-maintenance dating a lanky guy like me really is? You’ve got to feed me up leaves and stuff…’

You laughed at that.

“You clumsy giraffe…”

“Yeah…”

“I love you, Andy. I don’t want to leave, I want to be with you. And I don’t think that I deserve better. I think you’re too good for me.”

“Nonsense,” he rolled his eyes and stared at you again, but you shrugged.

“I hear what you’re saying. Maybe adding extra-pressure at work at the beginning isn’t a good idea. Besides, we’ve both worked so hard for this, I don’t want rumours to tarnish our careers.”

“Me neither. Especially for you.”

You nodded, he knew that it was a hard thing to hear, it was hard for him to say it too. But the reality was that you were a woman working an academic job at a high rank, that you would probably aim for higher still in the coming years. You couldn’t afford to have rumours saying that you were having a fling with a colleague, especially a man. It would soon be turned into you sleeping around for promotions, it would make your work worthless, it would tarnish everything you had accomplished and would accomplish from now on. If the two of you were a serious couple, things would be different. But for now, you were still searching for your footing, and perhaps this would fail, despite your genuine love for each other. Andrew didn’t want either of your careers to be impacted by it. As you said, you had both worked too hard for it.

“We can stop being careful after a while,” he went on.

“So… no PDA at work?”

“Yeah, no PDA.”

“Okay. Deal. But… when we’re alone in our office?”

Andrew shot you a seductive smile.

“Do you really think me capable of sitting all day in the same room as you without kissing you?”

You laughed at that, and so did he, even though he was only half-joking.

“You did so for months!”

“I hadn’t seen you naked then! You weren’t my girlfriend!”

You laughed, got the conversation drifting off and becoming more playful again.

God… Andrew hoped you would not leave. He couldn’t survive it, this time around…

[self-shipper-snowdrop]

! Tag Updates !

For anyone who may be here doing filtering or anything of the sort, I just wanted to let everyone know about the updates I just did! Since I'm back in the depths I thought of new ones so <33333

Megatron tag: [Original] the warlord and his queen -> [new] the world sings your name

Starscream tag: [Original] aspiring leader -> [new] amaryllis and energon

Knockout tag: [Original] retro chic -> [new] don't keep me waiting

Optimus tag: [Original] the sweetest spark -> [new] counting constellations

[noellefan101]

Your First Date-Genshin pt 3

Characters: Lyney, Freminet, Wriothesley, Neuvillette, Alhaitham x gn reader

Summary: Your first date with them,

Warnings: lyney flirting, tea

Note: omg im finally done, i really liked writing these tho, ye thats all i have to say school literally destroyed my brain, love you

Lyney

he would definitely preform a TON of magic tricks during your first date, both romantic, some are just pretty to look at and then there´s the brother-you're-just-embarrassing-yourself magic tricks

: said ever so kindly by Lynette

wouldn't make your date as public as his shows, since he wants to share the moments and magic tricks with you only

(+ Lynette, Fremi and "father" if she asked him so, but yk, they're only made for you)

after he had given you more rainbow roses than you could ever count to, he set out some homemade goods, like cookies, a cake, cupcakes(whatever you lik)

(in which he definitely didn´t spend a few days learning to make)

overall 10/10 (if you dont ask lynette, she had to leave bc of the amount of secondhand embarrassment(she was there at the start)) and it was enjoyable for u.

Freminet

yes, you would be underwater for your first date, but if you really don´t like it(yet)he can just take you some other time

^^but he would prefer to show take you on your first

[and yes, Lyney and Lynette (+his other siblings at home)did bet on when he would finally confesses and take you on a date]

he would let you wear his diving helmet if you really wanted to, but he would also just wear it if he felt embarrassed, or wanted to tell you a story (most likely abt pers)

he aslo ended up showing you a few of his mechanics(robots?)

and showed you some works in progresses other people haven´t seen, other than him and pers ofc

Wriothesley

he would drink tea with you in his office

^^maybe Sigewinne baked you something too,

but you mainly drank tea and just talked the whole time

(bro likes tea so much, someone pls make him shut up abt it)

well other than showing you and talking about his (absolutely massive) tea collection (and cake/bakery(sry))

if he´ll ever let you talk, ofc he will(its a very unfunny joke), he´ll listen to you for as long as you´d want to talk

you also laughed a little when he told about how melusines and stickers dont work well

and he liked seeing and hearing your laugh, so he might go for a date number two

Neuvillette

he would take you out to a fancy restaurant or he would just sit and talk with you somewhere more private

but maybe include a Melusine passing by here and there, checking on you both or for some work-related reasons (that they then put off, just a little, when seeing you both together)

i imagine that you would try some different types of water with him, by his request, and tried your dam best to find a difference.

but he would also get you any kind of drink, dessert or food you´d like

all in all its pretty easy bonding with him, and he just likes being beside you and spending time with you

Alhaitham

he would take you to a quiet cafe where you could sit in peace, since he doesn´t like loud places and want you two to be alone for the most part

he would pay 100% he doesn't even give you a chance to try and pay for anything (he´s nice when he wants to be)

he definitely brought a book with him to read(+ one for you) and would either let you talk while he reads a "little", or he would just read out loud so you know what kind of books he likes

he´s not good at doing any kind of romantic things, but he did try and do something

that including:

taking you out on the date later in the evening so he later could show you the stars, and point out some constellations

asking your friends (and maybe family) what you like food-wise, so he knows what kind of place he should have in mind when picking the place of your date

thank you for reading i don´t think i´ll make any more of these, but if you want it i´ll do it, luv ya-Masterlist

You are welcome to reblog and like any of my posts, but you CAN NOT translate, copy or hate on anybody for liking my posts

[angelilacs]

january prompts ˎˊ˗

1 ⭑ doing each other’s hair

2 ⭑ date night gone wrong

3 ⭑ strip club

4 ⭑ misheard runaways

5 ⭑ running into each other outside a coffee shop

6 ⭑ having trouble communicating

7 ⭑ strawberry kisses

8 ⭑ smooth whiskey

9 ⭑ photograph session

10 ⭑ acing a class

11 ⭑ star constellations

12 ⭑ childhood friends turned enemies

13 ⭑ hiding from your partner

14 ⭑ lights turned off

15 ⭑ maroon sweater

16 ⭑ vinyl record

17 ⭑ rainy day at the beach

18 ⭑ first time

19 ⭑ soaked clothes

20 ⭑ secret liquor store next to a college campus

21 ⭑ new year’s resolution

22 ⭑ counting their freckles

23 ⭑ lemon and garlic salmon

24 ⭑ missing all the signs

25 ⭑ a miniskirt and red sport bra

26 ⭑ late trains

27 ⭑ romantic novels

28 ⭑ ponytail with a white bow on top

29 ⭑ a real girl’s girl

30 ⭑ entering the wrong lecture room

31 ⭑ best friend’s fridge

[interstellarlyinlove]

First Date (January 5th)

word count: 486

@wolfstarmicrofic

“You know what I realized the other night,” Sirius says absentmindedly, biting his lower lip. The wall he just finished painting is way too streaky for his liking and he’s not sure he knows any spells to fix a streaky wall. 

“What did you realize?” Remus asks. Sirius can’t see Remus as he’s staring at the honestly worst paint job he’s seen in his life. Remus’ job is to build baby Harry’s crib and Sirius hopes Remus’ building skills are better than his painting ones. If only to avoid Lily murdering the both of them.

“Do you think we can fix this?” Sirius asks, finally turning around to look at Remus for the directions of properly painting a stupid wall. Remus is on the floor surrounded by all the small crib parts and screws and the sight of him makes Sirius feel better about his shitty wall. 

Remus looks at Sirius. “Fix what?”

“I realized that I don’t really know what to consider as our first date,” Sirius says, remembering to finish his first sentence. 

“What?” Remus blinks. “Why is that wall so ugly?”

Sirius scoffs. “As if. Why is there no standing crib yet?”

Remus looks thoughtful. “I’ve always considered the time we spent doing homework on top of the Astronomy Tower as dates. In their own special and awkward way. So I guess our first date was during, what was it, third year?”

“No way those were dates,” Sirius says. “We barely spoke and were actually doing homework.”

“There is no standing crib because these instructions are so stupid.” Remus huffs, crumpling what Sirius assumes is the instructions manual. 

Sirius grins. He gives up on his wall for now and sits cross-legged in front of Remus. “Do you think it’s a smart idea to get rid of that?”

Remus throws the crumpled piece of paper in Sirius’ direction. He’s also smiling. “Work on fixing that horrendous wall, my love.”

“I think our first date was when we spent that winter break at Hogwarts in fifth year and you taught me how to crochet.”

Remus cocks his head to the side. “I forgot we did that. That was fun.”

Sirius nods. “Yeah.”

“Why not consider our first date that new year’s eve party we ditched then snuck into Hogsmeade and you showed me how to recognize all those constellations.”

“Because we weren’t dating yet in fourth year,” Sirius says, then laughs. “Though stargazing is pretty damn romantic. How weren’t we dating then?”

Remus smiles. He kisses Sirius’ cheek and gets up. “Here’s the plan: I go get some cute wallpaper and you try and have something resembling a built crib before James and Lily come back.”

“Aye, aye, captain,” Sirius says, uncrumpling the crib instructions. He pauses. “You know, I did spend those Astronomy Tower nights thinking about your cool scars and dreamy eyes so they might as well be considered dates.”

Remus laughs. “Sure.”

[blueberrymocha]

hi! can i request à main 4 x reader stargazing date? Like they know the reader loves anything space related and they suprise them by going to a secluded grass hill to look at the full moon/bright stars and it’s like rlly romantic 🤗🤗

main 4 stargazing ✩₊˚.⋆☾₊✧

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

ׂ╰┈➤ fluff

➣ characters: gon, killua, kurapika, leorio

➣ word count: x

➣ a/n: thank you for the request :) sorry that it took forever! i’ll find the word count later loll.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

gon

⋆ would adore the idea of going out into nature and watching the sky with you

⋆ so it’s not even a one time thing

⋆ but since you’re interested in space, he’d make this date extra special

⋆ starts the day off by taking you to a gift shop

⋆ there, he buys you two matching space themed necklaces

(and you might see it tucked under his shirt every now and then; he wears it a lot)

⋆ later that day, he’d take you to a remote hill

⋆ the two of you might roam the area while you wait for sunset

⋆ whether it’s wading through a stream or picking daisies, nature keeps you occupied for quite a while

⋆ but as soon as it’s dark enough, he helps you up a tree, where the stars seem closer than ever

⋆ points to constellations and asks you which ones they are, and if you know the story behind them

⋆ as you get deeper into topics, he can’t help but listen, being enthused by your enthusiasm

⋆ even though his knowledge of space is very limited (he wouldn’t be able to name the planets at gunpoint 💀)

killua

⋆ he usually tries not to do anything conspicuously caring for you

⋆ cause, y’know, he has to be nonchalant

⋆ but beneath his tsundere tendencies, he’s a very observant and considerate lover

⋆ so if it were a special occasion, like an anniversary, he doesn’t mind planning a little surprise

⋆ unfortunately for you, this gremlin would go stargazing in the coldest of weathers

⋆ it could be november, and he’ll just tell you to grab a blanket and huddle in

⋆ so there you are; cuddled against him next to a bonfire, a chill breeze tickling your face every so often

⋆ at first, you’d mostly just talk while admiring the sky

⋆ though as your conversations started to dull, he’d count the stars aloud

⋆ each one a soft murmur, as he tries to make this a relaxing night

⋆ and by his luck, if you do fall asleep

⋆ he’ll carry you all the way home, a rare and genuine smile spreading across his features

kurapika

⋆ he’s very busy, so it’s not uncommon for you feel like he doesn’t care or pay attention

⋆ but believe me when i say he definitely does

⋆ he’ll make a mental note every time you ramble on about space

⋆ and the minute he has free time, he’ll be telling you how he wants to take you somewhere

⋆ ignoring how odd it is for him of all people to plan some sort of ‘surprise’ at night,

⋆ the two of you would get in the car and head out of the city to a more rural part of town

⋆ at that point, you’re probably half convinced he’s going to murder you, instead you’re met with a happy surprise of cozy blankets and snacks next to a telescope

“surprise, darling.”

⋆ as he leads you out of the car and onto the blanket, you look up at the sky, noticing the bright, full moon

⋆ and that smile he’s been hoping to see washed over your features

⋆ hands interlocked with his, you sit there for a while in awe

⋆ and soon, you’d start to babble about space again

⋆ he’s always found your knowledge impressive, and he did his research so the two of you could have a proper discussion

⋆ you spend the night chatting, enjoying eachother’s presence.

⋆ if he already knew something, he’ll nod along and ask about it anyway, tracing shapes over your hand as you “educate” him

⋆ if not, whether it’s star signs, exoplanets, theories, or whatever, he’s glad to learn more from you.

leorio

⋆ admittedly, he doesn’t find it super interesting himself

⋆ but he’s determined to make stargazing enjoyable for the both of you

⋆ so expect a beer to be waiting on the blanket next to some binoculars

⋆ and they might not be the best quality, but it’s the thought that counts

⋆ brings a lil record player with some jazz on it

⋆ then invites you for a dance under the bright moonlight

⋆ as soon as you’re done, you both just collapse on the grass

⋆ so whatever semi-serious conversation you were having about the stars is replaced with teasing banter and giggles

⋆ he thinks it’s a win-win that you get to look at your pretty sky, and he gets to still have fun

⋆ though if you really want to, he doesn’t mind listening while you talk about space

⋆ and who knows, maybe he’ll come out of it with a newfound interest?

[authorred]

Li Shen/Zayne (N)SFW Headcanons bc I'm horny for this man | Love and Deepspace | gn!Reader

Preface: As enigmatic Doctor Zayne tries to be, it's not difficult for you to figure him out. In fact, it unnerves him a little as to how easily you can pick him apart (not that he'd ever admit it and blow your ego up)

I LOVE THIS MAN MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF OKAY--XAVIER MIGHT BE NEXT SO KEEP AN EYE OUT FOR THAT POOKIE X

This will definitely be NSFW (18+) so minors DNI (do not interact). Unless you do, which in that case I refuse to be held responsible for the content you consume.

Warning(s): NSFW content sprinkled in

Established lightweight--one glass of wine would make him a bit tipsy, but 4+ would make him borderline drunk

Gets more affectionate when drunk but is super pouty during??? Like he's not the one who touched you first??? Acts like he doesn't want to even though his hands are literally mapping your body like a constellation???? Tsundere even when drunk and obvious smh

When the jig is up he accepts defeat and just hugs you--doesn't care about sex or whatever, but wants to keep you close in whatever form that may be

Calls you 'my dear' a lot, and sometimes when he's feeling real romantical he'll call you 'darling, my love, sweetheart'

Doesn't like calling you 'baby'--it feels infantilizing to him. Same thing with 'baby girl' (to my fem!readers) but might do it on occasion if you really like it

Doesn't care if you call him petnames or not, but if you do he really enjoys 'my love' or if you have a nickname in another language (e.g: mi amor, 親愛なる, mon cœur, etc)

If you can speak more than one language fluently he is extremely impressed--he probably never bothered to learn another language that thoroughly, but he's super eager to be taught by you

Domestic, husband material as the fandom has agreed upon

Learn to cook together, or teach each other recipes

Is not dominant in the bedroom--or at the very least, a switch

Because you're telling me THIS MAN WHO WORKS HIS ASS OFF SAVING PEOPLE'S LIVES AND HAS THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE COUNTING ON HIM AND HIS RESEARCH AND WORK IS GOING TO GO HOME AND CONTINUE MAKING DECISIONS?

No

Not how that works psychologically

He is for your pleasure 100% but it's from a submissive stance

Will know what you want/how you want it/where you want it, and will give it to you without being asked if you're tired or are also mentally fatigued

Probably would not ask to be pleasured back, that's something you have to ease him into bc he doesn't feel he needs/deserves it?

Suck him off

Sometimes he'll come home frustrated from a bad work day, and then he might get a bit pushy/dominant

But overall he is submissive

Definitely is a top when it comes to penetration--wouldn't mind trying to get ate out/fucked from behind but I genuinely doubt he'd enjoy it that much

Might do it occasionally if you want it that badly

Does not get jealous, but gets territorial in a very condescending way

Is scared to love you at first

But he can't help it

I don't think he'd mind having kids, but I also don't think he'd mind not having kids--it'd be up to you, really

He would make a great father though--especially to a girl

Would die for you--genuinely, no exaggeration, would lay down his life for you if it meant you lived

Jokes on him bc you'd die for him too

His neck is sensitive to the touch

Always cold, please warm him up thanks

I feel like he likes iced tea but hates Arizona Tea

Likes teasing you a lot, nonsexually

He'd do well with someone contrasting to his personality

Wouldn't mind owning a cat or two, he'd just feel bad since he would have little time to spend with it

Is a sound sleeper but wakes easily