4 and 10 for 'Rico's birthday?
This is so cute btw T-T
Aaa hiya anon!! 🥹🫶 Tysm for your ask... And!! Especially for asking for these two prompts?! Omg?! Aaa!! 😭🥹
These two are too cute... Anon!! 😭🤲🩵
Tysm for joining Federico's Birthday Party Event 🎊 Please take a slice of cake: 🍰 and also!! Some extra confetti since you sent in two for his birthday: 🎉
Writing these reminded me how soft sleep-related fluff is... Oaksozkks... 🥹😭 Something about how a character would act around you when they know you can't hear or see them... And they can do or say things they wouldn't otherwise... Omg... 😢🫶
Prompt 4 is in headcanon format and prompt 10 in imagine format, I hope that's okay! The second prompt is under the 'read more' so I don't text-wall anyone's feed too much! 🙏
Anywho!! Anon and everyone! Please enjoy!!! 🥹🩵
Hora Somni
4. What would it be like to fall asleep next to this character?
or, in which Federico Giallo is beside you as you sleep.
"Rest is required, love. I will not accept argument, it is necessary."
Despite his strict, duty-bound lifestyle, Federico takes proper rest almost as serious as he does his missiona.
Eight hours of sleep per night, for at least more than fifty-percent of the week, is non-negotiable. Any less, and one's ability for effective function deteriorates.
Perhaps that is an excuse to create reason for his unreasonable need to ensure your good health. However, he will ponder that another day when it demands attention - and for now, his only duty come nightfall is to guard your rest.
Such is the explanation as to why he would find himself lying next to you in bed some nights.
Undoubtedly, the Federico of past would've been the sort to stare at you blankly and silently, until you either finally fell asleep or pouted to tell him he wasn't making rest easier.
When he rests beside you now, however, the Saint's presence is more akin to a second blanket.
He still faces you and he certainly still stares, of course; but, no longer does he lay unmoving like he's one of the marble Sankta-statues within the basilica that's been knocked on its side.
Some nights, his arm drapes around your waist.
With the lightest pressure, precisely the same as how he handled that single purple flower Sanctilaminium Ambrosii, his palm settles on the small of your back to allow his fingers to travel up your spine.
To monitor your breathing, he insists, without realizing that his up-down motions on your back feel closer comfort than clinical.
Only once does he comment, "... Your breathing has quickened, love. Is this a result of the physical contact? Tension is not ideal for proper sleep. Shall I cease my ministrations?", as your groan and the pillow launched at his face hard enough to skewed his halo was enough for him to understand your message. 'Don't stop.'
Other nights, his palm will settle over your sternum where your heart thumps under.
His other hand cradles the back of your neck, fingers settled over your nape and palm resting over the pulse under your jawline.
To count your heart rate, of course, however he does not fail to notice how his hand at your nape always ends up guiding your head to tuck under his chin.
Federico is wordless most nights. Bedtime stories are certainly not his forte, unless you'd be lulled to bed by the retellings of his missions.
On nights sleep evades you, however, his steady voice will come in hushed murmurs against your ear as he counts your breaths or every-other heartbeat.
"Unus... duo... tres... quattuor... quīnque..." A pause at times, when the pace of his counting slows and he knows sleep tugs gentle hands at your clothing, "Sleep, love. I shall ensure your unbothered rest."
The nighttime shadows fail to mask the flawlessness of his features that the Rhodes Island Engineering Department still gush over when you're not looking.
Dim lighting glints off the edges of his obsidian shard wings as if miniature stars, platinum locks of hair fall across his nose bridge and into half-lidded pale blue eyes, his darkened halo rotates idly like a baby mobile.
It's in these moments only, that Federico wonders if he should be thankful for his lightless halo. After all, otherwise, you'd have to somehow fall asleep with a permanent, non-adjustable nightlight beside you.
And, if such was so - you would surely wake up each he gathers your form into his arms and tucks forehead against his own once you've fallen asleep.