a bunch of coughing and groaning in the middle of the night (yeah... he needs to stop smoking)
random muttering and mumbling from him/you
nightmares. he will literally jump out of the bed which startles you sometimes (he offered to sleep on the couch due to his nightmares....)
his hands roaming around your body as if he wants to memorize every part of you (he does)
cuddles of course !!! it doesnt matter if hes the big or small spoon he just needs to be with you.
either of you falling off of the bed, at least once in a while
the blankets being left aside because simon says its gonna be 'too hot' (no, he just wants to be your personal heater lmao)
laying on top of each other. yeah, you might end up sleeping with your head resting against his chest.
HAIR STROKING. will stroke your hair until you fall asleep soundly
sigh... drooling. he drools a bit sorry to break it to you guys
a lot of admiring. he'll admire you as you sleep, its the only view that helps him doze off
FOREHEAD KISSES. either you or him. if he stirs awake he'll just give you a small forehead kiss before holding you closer to him (if thats even possible) and dozing off once more
nuzzling. he loves to nuzzle into the crook of your neck :(
tangled legs. his legs are gonna be intertwined with yours oooor one of his leg is going to be on top of yours.
clark being so ridiculously oblivious that women find…clark attractive as a person, that he doesn’t even notice the number his local barista scribbled onto his venti white mocha.
he brings the two large takeout cups into office. obliviously handing you one of the cups. when you thud it back onto his desk after taking a quick look at the message on it —
‘call me x?’
that’s probably the day clark kent gets to see you truly jealous for the first time, given how you dragged him to the bathroom to suck him off/get your pussy ate
It begins when Flins removes his collared black capelet, before putting it gently on the side. Then, he pushes his gloved hand onto his mouth, teeth quietly latching onto the fabric, before tugging it ever so slowly.
What’s next is his belt that keeps his dark coat altogether. With one exposed hand, he languidly unbuckles it, making sure that you are seeing all of it.
Inside his basement where he writes his reports, you immediately hide your steaming face behind the documents you’ve been sorting out. You have no idea why Flins decided to strip in front of you now, and out of all the places in his dwelling—he chose where you are. “Kyryll. What are you doing?”
Dull, yellow pupilless eyes flicker to your direction. He replies shortly, “I am simply undressing.”
You peek from your documents. “And did you really have to do it here?”
He shifts slightly, before blinking innocently. You swear to all the archons out there that there’s a tiny smirk on his lips, you just can’t see it properly because of how dimmed this place is. “Oh. I had the assumption that you’d enjoy the show.”
Your face glows. It unnerves you how this—unsettling, off-putting yet shockingly gorgeous man can speak so forwardly. “Kyryll—“
“Shall I put an end to this, then?” he asks. “If you are uncomfortable—“
“I’m not—“ you blurt out, and you quickly cover your lips when you realized that you spoke before you can even think. “It’s just—why now, out of all times?”
“Hm. It is quite late now, isn’t it? Wouldn’t this be the perfect time—“
“I get it—“
“—to woo you into our chambers?”
You hide your face behind your documents again. Always straightforward. He has no hesitation at all. “. . . Kyryll.”
Flins doesn’t reply. You lift your head again when you hear leather dropping onto the floor, and he sheds his coat off—leaving him now to his purple shirt, grey pants, and black lace-up knee boots.
Then, he saunters toward the long table where you’re sitting in, casually perching himself on the edge—far enough for him to resume his actions where he can cross his legs, and slip his fingers under his thigh straps.
( Oh. Archons. You forgot he had those— )
But then he pauses halfway in unfastening it, waiting, and you—oh, naïve you, who’s curious, and wondering what his big deal is, look up at him again. You can quickly evade traps that are obviously have been set up, but nothing can truly ever prepare you for a lantern fae’s plans. They are calculated, deliberated—guaranteed.
He wants where he wants you.
So it shouldn’t be a surprise when he greets you with an entertained gaze—a gaze where his eyelids are lowered, and his lips are curved to a deep, sultry smirk. Instantly, you snap out of your daze and flinch, hard, your shoulders raising upward and jaw dropping downward.
Caught you—is what he wants to say, with victory and mischief, but he remains still and silent.
You just groan and bury your face on your hands. Yes—Flins wants where he wants you, and despite all efforts ( if there even were efforts? ) you’ve just dug a grave for yourself.
You feel yourself getting warmer when he releases a chuckle—an oh–so charming chuckle that surely triggered your heart in performing somersaults. “Since you’re so engrossed in watching me divest my clothing, would you like to do the final honors, my light?”
“You could’ve just told me you wanted to do the deed tonight instead of—this. . .”
“Ah, that may be true,” he tells you, and then the table creaks. His ungloved hand makes its way on your steaming cheek. Automatically, you glance up at him, despite being meek and flustered. He is so amused—you notice, but as always, there’s something else. “But where would be the fun in that? And wouldn’t it be improper to abruptly disturb you in your duties and bend you over the table, my treasure?”
The image he provided doesn’t sound too bad. And this certainly doesn’t help your predicament. You make a face you’re not sure of what it looks like on the outside, and not answer for a few minutes—but this is enough for Flins to blink again, before gaping at you, and processing it all.
Flins reaches a conclusion. Before you can even understand yourself, he always beats you to it.
He chuckles once more—and a shiver runs down your spine.
