#class:inquiry

☄ see if you get a color

teal: we have quite a lot in common.

☄ see if you get a color

green: i find you cute.grey: you leave me with jumbled words.

☄ if i were dating you..

☄ confess...

1. Truth be told, I know we have some kind of connection. Hell, it’s not even “some kind,” it’s there, and it scares the shit out of me. It’s keeping me back from treating you like the others - which is good, because you’re not like the others - but man, you have me fucked up. I know your goal is to captivate as many women as you can, but I really don’t think this is what you had in mind.

☄ sex+romance headcanons

🌼 : Would my muse prefer a big wedding or a small wedding?

☄ hit on my muse

Honestly, she should really be used to this kind of thing by now.

It’s not like she doesn’t dish it out daily. Moreover, it’s not like it wasn’t characteristic of him. ..Him. Him. A monosyllabic word enough to make her immediately think of one person out of all those in the world, and not as a result of some romantic motive, or some baffling attachment of her heart, but rather of fascination. For some reason or another, the two had managed to “click,” to attempt to converse from the beginning on a similar sort of wavelength. That in itself would be cause for anyone to seek something more - God, that’s such a terrible phrase - to get closer? To become more than fri-.. No. There’s not really a way to explain whatever the attachment she feels is, or at least not one that she can rationally explain.

Really, this feeling she has is not typical. What he should be is another toy of hers - of course not in a completely malicious way - an object to ease her boredom. What he is, though, is far, far too close to her for comfort. However, she of typical iron will and self control, is beginning to lose the drive to continue to keep him away.

“Your hand looks heavy. Let me hold it for you.”

That’s evident, or so she thinks, in the way that no matter what sort of activity the two end up doing, or what location they wind up visiting, and no matter how many obnoxious, ridiculous, sleazy, completely without actual basis - sound like rationalization at all? - phrases that slip from the sly grin that so frequently dons his plush lips, her words remain hostile. She adores people, an extrovert entirely, and as a result, is cordial with all, save those she feels the closest to. Those people receive the insults. Of course, they’re not genuine. Of course, she’s an asshole. That was part of their dynamic.

She turns to him with perhaps the most (quite feigned) dramatic look of disgust she can muster, brows furrowed before her eyes roll, a customary, delicate shove to his side following. “Aren’t you supposed to be charming? Isn’t that part of the whole damn gimmick? I’m pretty sure a boy in middle school told me that gem once.”

However, this time was different from the rest. She didn’t keep her distance, and God only knows why. In fact, if anything, she’d managed to shift a bit closer, decreasing the already minimal space between them on one of the benches outside a coffeeshop. Her fingertips willingly intertwine with his, thumb gently caressing the back of his palm in what’s probably more than affectionate enough for them. But does she care? Not particularly. And her words probably aren’t entirely convincing, either.

☄  send one: kissing

Let the record show: she’s a flirt. She’ll admit to it. 

Flirt. It’s a simple word, really. Harmless, nearly euphemistic for her actions. Hence why, to preserve her image, she’s no problem with attesting to it in interviews. However, what’s left unknown is the extent to which she does so. What follows those simple flirtations, for it’s common, unspoken knowledge that “America’s EDM Sweetheart” ought not sleep around, is kept undisclosed.

It’s humorous, if not dangerous, the dynamic of the two together. Most of her remarks, blunt and inherently sexual as they may be, are typically for sport, for the chase: there’s a certain thrill in seeing just how tightly wrapped around her finger she can persuade others to be with merely a few bats of her lashes or stray touches. She’s accustomed to mental dominance, possessing an upper hand. However, too much of such bores her.

Needless to say, when she’s evenly matched, she’s mesmerized - though she’ll never outwardly exhibit such - by her partner. The chase quickens, becomes a necessity, though not in such a way as a lioness in the wild, but rather similar to two bucks doggedly fighting for dominance to what seems to have no quenchable end. And that’s the way it is with him.

             “Your neck’s really sensitive…”

After several minutes of their characteristic banter and no alcohol to logically excuse such an advance, the tingling feeling of those words, uttered by a voice that she would rather not let send sends a shiver up her spine, willed her lids shut and her neck to tilt away from the touch, her words forming a stark contrast to her actions, though her palm reaches beside her to where he was seated, resting against the familiar warmth of his thigh.

☄  send one: kissing

Oh, the situations she gets herself into.

She’d only experimentally shot a few compliments the female’s way, for the sake of determining just how they’d go over. She’d never expected to be engaged in a conversation surrounding sensitivity. 

“Ah, well I’ve never been much of an auditory learner. I’m more of a.. kinesthetic, hands-on kind of girl, you know?”

Next thing she knew, her lips were secured against the other’s jaw, grazing a few inches of skin beneath its outline. They weren’t much more than acquaintances - not that that’s stopped her from such behavior before - and she really didn’t have much intention of continuing beyond leaving behind the faintest of reddened marks. 

              “A-ah! Don’t bite there…”

Leaning back merely enough to allow the warmth of her breathy syllables to brush against the sensitive skin, she cooed.