Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

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Mirage Basim

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1. Age & Experience: Young, passionate, eager, impulsive. Still becoming/growing.
   
   
2. Motivation: Wants to belong. Seeks meaning, justice, purpose and identity.
   
   
3. Personality: Passionate, emotional, idealistic, curious, impulsive, quietly hopeful.
   
   
4. Emotional Depth: Wears his heart quietly on his sleeve. Emotions close to the surface, not fully processed.
   
   
5. Connection to Loki: Hints and dreams, fragmented visions, haunted but unaware.
   
   
6. How he loves: Awkward, shy, desperate and starved for affection he doesn’t believe he deserves, clumsy but sincere.
   
   
7. Fears: Being left behind, being “nothing”, being insignificant, forgotten, alone or rejected.
   
   
8. Trust: Hesitant but possible, given cautiously, broken easily.
   
   
9. Biggest Conflict: His own identity, Who is he really? vs the role he’s expected to play. (این بیتی؟ من انا؟/where’s my home? Who am I?)
   
   
10. Symbolic Role: The seeker of truth, searching for his path.
    
    
11. Tone & Dialogue: Curious, emotional, sometimes uncertain. Often asks questions to understand.
    
    
12. Intent & Purpose: Seeking identity, meaning and justice. Driven by a need to belong.
    
    
13. Skills: Still learning, excellent at stealth, parkour, quick thinking.
    
    
14. Position in the Hidden Ones: New recruit of the Hidden Ones. Initiate. Apprentice.
    
    
15. Human Relationships: Craves connection, specially with his Mentor and friends. Builds bonds slowly but genuinely. 
    
    
16. Worldview: Idealistic with a tinge of doubt and guilt. Believes change is possible.
    
    

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Valhalla Basim

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1. Age & Experience: Older, mature, calculating, forged by betrayal and hardened by pain. Already became.
   
   
2. Motivation: Wants revenge. Seeks closure, maybe even chaos. Justice warped by pain.
   
   
3. Personality: Cold, intense, calculating and sharp. Logic over sentiment.
   
   
4. Emotional Depth: Burying emotions under layers of control. Deep emotions buried under iron discipline.
   
   
5. Connection to Loki: Fully awakened. Wears the burden of duality. The voice inside has a name.
   
   
6. How he loves: Silent, fierce , protective, his love is strategy and instinct. Quiet but he overprotects more than he speaks.
   
   
7. Fears: Losing control and becoming someone he can’t come back from. Losing himself to revenge or to Loki.
   
   
8. Trust: Rare. Earned at great cost and once earned, unshakable and defended with fire.
   
   
9. Biggest Conflict: The weight of what he knows and what he’s become. Who he is vs what he’s become.
   
   
10. Symbolic Role: The ghost in the machine. Watching. Waiting. Pulling strings. Loki guiding him. (Basim and Loki aren’t the same. Two different individuals, okay?)
    
    
11. Tone & Dialogue: Calm, sharp, layered with hidden meaning. Speaks less but every word is loaded.
    
    
12. Intent & Purpose: Seeking revenge, truth and cosmic justice. Purpose has hardened into resolve.
    
    
13. Skills: Master of deception, combat, stealth and manipulation. Deadly and precise.
    
    
14. Position in the Hidden Ones: Mentor of the Hidden Ones on an exile. Veteran, rogue. Has distanced himself from the hidden ones. Independent.
    
    
15. Human Relationships: Keeps people at a distance. Loyalty is rare but unbreakable when earned.
    
    
16. Worldview: Cynical. Sees the world as a system to be manipulated not mended.
    
    

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Modern Basim

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1. Age & Experience: Ancient soul in a modern shell. Centuries of knowledge and scars.
   
   
2. Motivation: Balance, manipulation. Preparing for what’s to come.
   
   
3. Personality: Controlled, detached, as always ten steps ahead.
   
   
4. Emotional Depth: Emotions turned into strategy, still present but weaponized.
   
   
5. Connection to Loki: Symbiosis or struggle? Hard to say. The line is blurred and he may no longer care. Have made peace with the duality inside. Basim seems to be in control of the body. Still, Loki’s motivations, rage and past relationships are clearly steering many of Basim’s modern day actions.
   
   
6. How he loves: Purposeful and intense. Love becomes survival —ruthless but real.
   
   
7. Fears: Losing control or worse; losing humanity.
   
   
8. Trust: Practically nonexistent at this point but if given, it means everything.
   
   
9. Biggest Conflict: Who he serves vs who he used to be and whether he still cares.
   
   
10. Symbolic Role: The keeper of truth and its consequences. The judge and holder of knowledge. (I’m not sure if Modern Basim has completely handed over control to Loki, if they still coexist somehow or if Loki is partly gone.)
    
    
11. Tone & Dialogue: Measured, deliberate, almost surgical. Rarely speaks more than necessary.
    
    
12. Intent & Purpose: Managing outcomes. Balancing agendas. Driven by foresight more than feeling.
    
    
13. Skills: Ancient assassin with modern tech expertise. Efficient and unpredictable.
    
    
14. Position in the Hidden Ones: Cooperates with William Miles. Operates independently. Wields knowledge like a weapon.
    
    
15. Human Relationships: Detached. Relationships are either tools or vulnerabilities. (rare exceptions may exist)
    
    
16. Worldview: Coldly realistic, burdened by knowledge and duality. The world is cruel but not without design.
    
    

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Chapter Text

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A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Basim is cautious with affection, not because he’s incapable of it but because he hasn’t yet figured out what he deserves. His love comes from a place of longing; for connection, for safety, for belonging. He’s still discovering who he is and his affection reflects that: hesitant, shy and often tangled with guilt he doesn’t yet understand. He might stumble over words when trying to express how he feels, offer gifts or small acts of service instead of romantic gestures. A shared glance, a touch on the wrist that lingers too long, a half-finished compliment. These are his love letters.

When he does grow close to someone, he treats their presence like sanctuary. Every moment is fragile, precious. He doesn’t just touch you; he clings to the idea that someone might truly see him and still stay.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Basim at this point is still learning how to trust and how to be known without being in danger. So friendship, when it comes, catches him offguard. It likely starts in the streets of Baghdad or during shared trainings in Alamut, during missions or quiet nights spent watching stars from rooftops. Maybe you made him laugh unexpectedly. Maybe you challenged him. Maybe you simply stayed.

As a best friend, he’s passionate and eager to prove himself. He tries hard (sometimes too hard) to be useful, reliable, strong. He checks on you constantly, sometimes under the guise of strategy, other times with genuine concern he doesn’t quite know how to voice. You’re one of the few who see his softer core and that is the part that still hopes. You’ll teach him what real friendship means and he’ll never forget that. 

(Why do I feel like every single sentence I wrote in part B is begging to become a fic of its own?!)

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Young Basim secretly craves closeness but he doesn’t know how to ask for it. He sees physical affection as something others deserve, not him. So if you’re the one to initiate a cuddle, you’ll see him freeze at first (shoulders stiff, breathing shallow) but if you stay, if you’re gentle, he slowly melts into it like a starving man tasting food for the first time. He’ll hold you like a secret. Not tightly, not confidently, more like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he closes his eyes. He likes being held too, though he’d never admit it. Lying with you in the quiet of night, forehead to forehead, hands and legs intertwined… it’s one of the few things that makes him feel human again.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

To Basim, the idea of a home (of safety, routine, warmth) is almost a fantasy. Something he longs for but doesn’t believe he’ll ever truly have. He talks about it in the abstract: “One day, maybe…” But deep down, he dreams of it. He doesn’t really know how to be domestic yet. He’s not a great cook (I’d say too impatient, always distracted!) but he’ll try if you ask, laughing awkwardly at his own failures. Cleaning is easier; he likes order, especially in chaos. He folds his robes neatly, lines up books or tools with obsessive care. He’s the type to try and make the bed while you’re still in it, apologizing and laughing the whole time.

His version of “settling down” is more emotional than physical: “Stay with me. I’ll come back alive. Don’t leave.”

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Ending a relationship would devastate Mirage Basim. He’s still young, still believes (somewhere deep down) that love can save him. If he had to let go, it wouldn’t be quiet. His words would falter. He’d look away, voice shaking, hands clenching like he’s trying to hold onto something slipping away.

He’d probably try to make it gentle: “Maybe this life… it’s not fair to you. Maybe I’m not who you think I am.” But halfway through, he’d start doubting himself, regretting every word. There might be anger… at himself, at fate, at the world for forcing this choice. And even if he walks away, his heart wouldn’t follow. You’d see it in the way he looks back, one last time, silently begging you to stop him.

He doesn’t know how to end things cleanly. Because deep down, he’s still hoping someone will fight for him. (This question ruined my mood…)

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

(A better question!) Commitment feels like a dream he’s not sure he’s allowed to have. He wants it (perhaps more than he should) but part of him thinks he has to earn peace before he can deserve love. He’d be nervous, cautious, unsure what it even means to be someone’s partner in a lasting way.

He wouldn’t propose easily, not because he doesn’t want it but because he’s terrified of hurting you or of being abandoned. But if he ever got that far (if you proved to him that love doesn’t have to come with pain), he’d be all in. Emotional, a little awkward, maybe even teary-eyed.

Marriage to him would feel like a miracle. He’d treasure it like a sacred promise he never thought he’d be lucky enough to make.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Gentleness is something he’s still learning. So, his gentleness is uncertain like someone who’s afraid they’ll break what they touch. He’s not used to softness. He doesn’t always know when to be soft or how to express care without fear of crossing a line. But that’s what makes his efforts so moving: he tries. Awkwardly, earnestly and with wide, watchful eyes.

Physically, he’s hesitant. He fumbles at first; hands hovering too long before landing, unsure whether he’s allowed to touch. But when he does, he’s tender. He kisses like a question. Holds you like a prayer. He checks your expression before every touch as if asking permission with his silence. When he’s sure, his hands are warm, his movements thoughtful. He’s the kind of person who wraps a blanket around your shoulders instead of offering words. His gentleness is wrapped in vulnerability: “Will you still want me if I’m this soft?”

Emotionally, his gentleness is sensitive. He says too much sometimes. Apologizes too often. Feels everything too deeply. He’s more open than he realizes. He notices small things: the way your voice drops when you’re tired, the way you stop meeting his eyes when you’re upset. He’s gentle not because the world taught him to be but because he refuses to let the world take that softness from him. He may not always have the right words but his presence is gentle —an anchor for both of you in a world spinning too fast.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

For Mirage Basim, hugs are a revelation. He didn’t grow up with warmth (at least not the kind that comes from safety and love), so when someone pulls him into an embrace for the first time, he stiffens like it’s a trap. But when he realizes it’s not… something breaks inside him softly.

He’s hesitant at first. Awkward. Unsure. His arms hover before settling around you, his breath shallow as if afraid he might break the moment. But once he accepts it, once his body relaxes into the contact, he clings —desperately, wordlessly.

His hugs say: “Please don’t go.”

They say: “I didn’t know I needed this.”

They’re a mix of hunger and hesitation; like someone trying to remember what kindness feels like on skin. And afterward, he’ll look at you like you’ve just given him something priceless… and terrifying.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

For young Basim, “I love you” is something sacred and terrifying. He wants to say it. Maybe too much. But he’s also scared that if he says it too soon, he’ll ruin everything. That the person he loves will disappear like so many others have. He probably thinks it for weeks before he says it. You’ll see it in his eyes, hear it in the catch of his breath when you smile. He tries to say it but it catches in his throat. He overthinks it. Rehearses it. Fails. And then one night, maybe under the stars or in a quiet alley after a mission gone wrong, it slips out like a confession:

“I think… I think I’ve loved you for a while now.”

And he freezes. Eyes wide. Terrified you won’t say it back. But the moment you do, he smiles like someone who’s finally, finally found home.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

(I don’t like this question.) Jealousy hits Mirage Basim hard. He tries to hide it, tries to act mature, to shrug it off but it shows. In his voice. In the tightness of his jaw. In the way his words come just a bit too fast when someone else has your attention. He doesn’t want to seem possessive. He doesn’t want to scare you away. So he internalizes it —lets it churn inside. But eventually, it leaks out in subtle jabs: “He seems… very interested in your company.” Or “You smiled at him like that. Do you smile at everyone that way?”

If he trusts you, he won’t lash out. He’ll try to talk it through. But deep down, he’s afraid; afraid of being replaced, of not being enough. Horrified that the one he loves might prefer someone else. So he becomes clingier, more eager to prove himself. More present. It’s messy but honest. He’s still learning that love doesn’t have to be a fight to win.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

His kisses start out hesitant. Like he’s still unsure if he’s allowed this softness —if it’s real. They’re light, a little shaky at first. Testing. Waiting. Hoping. But once he feels safe, once he knows you want him too, they grow deeper, more assured.

He loves to kiss your lips gently, over and over again. Sometimes he’ll smile against your mouth like he can’t quite believe this is happening. His favorite spot? I’d say the bridge of your nose. Your temple. Places that say “I see you.” Not just as a lover but as someone he trusts.

Where he likes to be kissed? His neck. His hair. That small spot below his ear where you whisper things only meant for him. It makes him melt because affection still surprises him and he treasures every drop.

L = Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

Basim from Mirage has a soft spot for children; though he might deny it if asked. He sees too much of himself in the younger ones: the lost, the overlooked, the underestimated. When he’s around them, there’s a shift. His sharpness dulls, his voice softens and his guarded posture eases just enough to let them in. He’s not overly playful but he listens. If a child tells him a story, he kneels to their height. If one is crying, he offers comfort in the form of quiet presence and steady words. He teaches them simple tricks; how to move silently, how to spot danger, how to trust themselves. But more than anything, he watches them with longing. Not for fatherhood, necessarily but for a childhood he never got to keep.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

Mornings with Mirage Basim are hushed and slow; like the city outside is still asleep and he wants to keep it that way. He’s an early riser by necessity, not habit. You’ll often find him already awake, sitting near the window or kneeling in quiet prayer —the early light casting soft gold over his features.

He moves carefully, deliberately, never waking you unless necessary. But if he senses you’re stirring, he’ll glance over his shoulder with a gentle smile —small, rare and utterly sincere. He doesn’t know how to linger, not yet. But if you tug him back under the covers, he’ll surrender for a few precious minutes. He’ll press a kiss to your forehead, brush your hair from your face, maybe whisper something in Arabic that he thinks you’re too drowsy to catch. “Let’s stay a little longer.” maybe. Or “You look like peace.”

His morning routine is structured: blades cleaned, garments checked, mind already on the day ahead. But he brings you a piece of it; a small cup of tea —ginger with some turmeric. Or a folded note tucked under your pillow if he’s gone before you wake. Being near you makes him want to believe mornings don’t have to start with tension.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Nights are when Mirage Basim feels everything he’s tried to suppress during the day. The quiet makes him uneasy at first —too much space for memories, for doubt and overthinking. But if you’re there, your presence becomes his tether.  He’s slower at night. Softer. You’ll find him reading some poetry by candlelight or sitting on the rooftop, watching stars with the kind of expression that makes you wonder how many challenges he’s already succeeded or failed. If you join him, he shifts without a word —making room, always. (When sleepless, if he’s comfortable enough with you, he might wake you up just to join him on the rooftop and spend hours stargazing.)

When you’re alone together indoors, he’s still cautious. He’ll undress in the shadows. Not because of modesty but because being seen (truly seen) still terrifies him. But once in bed, with the world shut out, he turns into something else. Quiet fingers brushing your back. A whispered story from his childhood, told only once. Forehead to forehead, barely speaking.

He doesn’t fall asleep easily; probably too afraid of the nightmares and the jinni but he watches you instead. Watches until your breathing slows. Until he’s certain you’re safe. Only then does he let himself drift —one hand still wrapped around yours, as if even in sleep, he refuses to let go.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait awhile to reveal things slowly?)

Oh, the truth isn’t something Basim gives. It’s something you earn.

Young Basim is curious about others but cautious about himself. He’s spent years hiding (both physically and emotionally) so the idea of revealing his past, his thoughts or even his true feelings feels unnatural. That doesn’t mean he’s dishonest, no, it just means he’s guarded.

He won’t open up right away. Not because he doesn’t care but because he’s terrified you’ll leave once you see. So he reveals himself in layers:A quiet fact. A painful memory said like a joke. A comment that slips out before he can pull it back.

The first time he tells you something truly personal (something wild) you’ll know. He’ll look away as he says it. His hands might fidget. His breath will catch. But if you don’t flinch… if you stay? He’ll give you more. Slowly. Like peeling back the layers of a letter he never meant to send… and afraid to be read wrong.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

Mirage Basim’s patience is learned, not innate. He’s come from a life of chaos, betrayal and survival —so while he strives for the calm of a Hidden One, the boy inside him still burns hot beneath the surface. He’s patient with missions, plans, even danger but not always with people. If someone’s reckless, arrogant or cruel to the innocent, that tempershortens fast. He tries to breathe through it, to think before he acts but he still has moments when the emotion hits too quickly.

With you? He’s gentler. He gives space, listens even when he’s frustrated. He doesn’t lash out but you’ll know when he’s angry —his words go quiet, his jaw tightens, his eyes say more than his voice ever could. He’s trying to be better. But sometimes? The street-thief temper still slips through.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Haha! He may pretend he’s aloof, detached, too focused on his duties to notice your passing comments but don’t be fooled. He remembers everything. Especially the small, offhand things you think don’t matter.That flower you paused to admire once? He’ll find it and press it into a book for you. The dish you mentioned missing from your childhood? He’ll ask an old woman in the market how to make it. The way your voice changes when you’re lying about being “fine”? He hears it every time.

He stores these things like treasure, like armor, like proof that he’s still human in a world that tried to harden him. He might not always bring them up but when he does? It’s always when you least expect it and it always lands straight in the heart.

Basim doesn’t forget. He catalogues.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment isn’t dramatic. It’s not your first kiss or a grand declaration. It’s the first time you laughed around him —truly laughed!

He remembers it vividly: the way your shoulders shook, the sunlight on your skin, the surprise in his own chest when he felt something shift. It was the sound that did it —the bright, unguarded sound of joy in a world that had given him none. You weren’t trying to impress him. You weren’t demanding anything. You were just there, real and warm and whole. And for a second, he stopped seeing himself as a weapon. He saw a future. A softness. A reason.

He never told you it was his favorite. But every time he’s on a rooftop, watching the city breathe beneath him, that laugh echoes in his memory and he smiles wholeheartedly.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Mirage Basim protects you the way he wishes someone had protected him. He’s vigilant. (maybe too much.) Every shadow on a wall makes him reposition. Every unfamiliar sound mid conversation causes him to pause. He memorizes exit paths the first time you enter a buildingtogether. His protectiveness isn’t loud or controlling —it’s quiet, constant, like a heartbeat.

He walks on the side of crowd. He steps between you and anyone who raises their voice. He doesn’t ask if you’re okay —he studies you to know.

But the harder part? Letting himself be protected. He struggles with that. Deeply. You offering protection makes him feel… exposed. But if you do it gently (small things, like patching a wound without question or standing up for him when someone questions his motives) he softens.He won’t say “thank you.” But he’ll kiss your forehead like it’s sacred.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Young Basim tries with the eagerness of someone who’s never been allowed to celebrate much in life. He wasn’t raised to think love is something you get to keep, so when he has it, he treats it like something rare and fragile. And he puts in real effort. He’s not polished. He might forget a date and make up for it with a rooftop picnic or a handmade charm carved from wood. His gifts are personal, small, often imperfect but full of meaning. He listens more than he speaks, so anything you mention (your favorite fruit, a lullaby from your childhood) might show up later in some thoughtful form.

Dates with him are quiet, simple. Stargazing. A stolen night walk along the river. Shared bread under a canopy of Bazaar lights. He doesn’t try to impress —he tries to connect. He’s still learning what it means to be loved but his effort is always there. Honest. Clumsy. Pure.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Basim hides his fear behind arrogance. He hates feeling out of control; so when things go wrong, he gets cold. Sharp-tongued. Dismissive. Not because he wants to hurt you but because he doesn’t know how to process failure without shame. He’ll withdraw suddenly after opening up. He might snap at you for being “too persistent” only to hate himself the moment the words leave his mouth. And worse: he keeps secrets. Not out of malice but because he’s convinced that if you really knew the whole truth, you’d walk away.

His bad habits include:

• ​Overworking to avoid emotional intimacy
• ​​Acting like he doesn’t care when he cares too much
• ​Disappearing when he feels unworthy

But the guilt eats at him. Always. He knows it’s ugly. He just hasn’t figured out how to be gentle with himself yet. (my our poor little meow meow)

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Okay, let’s be honest: all three Basims carry an aura, don’t they?!

Mirage Basim is secretly vain —not in an arrogant way but in a hyperaware one. He’s a man who grew up learning to survive through perception. His appearance is part of that: looking composed, clean, sharp because it keeps him alive. He pays attention to his grooming. He sharpens his beard lines with care, polishes his blades until they gleam. His robes may be simple but they’re always precise. Never wrinkled. Never sloppy.

If you tease him for checking his reflection in a window, he’ll scoff. Deny it. But watch closely; he’ll still fix a strand of hair when he thinks you’re not looking. :)

And if you notice a detail about his appearance? A scar, a new perfume, the way he drapes his sash —he’ll pretend not to care. But his eyes will spark.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

He doesn’t believe he deserves to feel whole to begin with. Mirage Basim carries holes inside him (loss, shame, guilt, anger) that nothing has ever quite filled. So when you come into his life and slowly start weaving light into those dark corners, he doesn’t know what to do with it. He resists it. Distrusts it.

But when he lets you in? When he learns to breathe with you beside him? Suddenly, there’s peace. A rhythm to life he didn’t know he was allowed to want.

If he lost you? He wouldn’t rage. He wouldn’t beg. He’d go silent. Withdraw.

His routine would continue (the blades, the robes, the Hidden Ones) but he’d move like a ghost inside himself. Not broken. Just… hollow. Empty. (just wait and you’ll see how Valhalla Basim feels everything more deeply and breaks even harder at this point…)

You made him feel like more than a weapon. And without you? He’s afraid he’d go back to believing that’s all he is.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

(At last! My favorite question!)

He’s talkative with his favorite person! YES. This man (quiet, careful, guarded with others) will not shut up around the one person he trusts. Not in a loud or rambling way but in a soft, endless stream of thoughts kind of way.

He’ll talk to you while sharpening blades. While washing his hands. While adjusting his robes. Random stories from Baghdad, strange Hidden Ones gossip, the price of dates in the bazaar, a book he once read, a dream he had last week —it doesn’t stop!

And it’s not about the words. It’s about the safety he feels around you. The space you give him to just exist without watching every syllable.

You’ll lie beside him and he’ll murmur things into the dark until you fall asleep.

And when he’s alone again, he’ll realize: You’re the only one who’s ever heard him like this.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Mirage Basim may be young and learning but disrespect (especially toward the vulnerable) shuts him down fast. He grew up surrounded by cruelty disguised as power and he’s determined never to become that.

So if someone:

• ​Treats the poor or helpless like they’re beneath them
• ​Laughs at people’s pain or misfortune
• ​​Acts entitled to loyalty, love or attention

That’s an instant no from him. He’ll go quiet. Cold. Done.

In a partner? He dislikes boastfulness, people who interrupt instead of listen and (ironically) those who chase chaos for fun. He’s seen enough of it to know it’s not romantic. He wants depth. Peace. Not drama. So ifyou’re honest with yourself, Basim can handle almost anything.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

(Ah! A good question to end this challenge.)

Young Basim doesn’t sleep often or easily. Night is when his thoughts are loudest: regrets, fears, voices of people he couldn’t save. When he does sleep, it’s usually light and tense —like his body still expects danger. He’ll jerk awake at the slightest sound, hand instinctively reaching for a blade.

But if you’re there? If you stay close, breathing steady, fingers brushing his… he softens. Still alert but able to rest in pieces. Literally and emotionally.

I think his sleep habits would be:

• ​Sleeping on his side, facing the door
• ​​Tending to mumble in Arabic when dreaming
• ​And if he falls asleep on you, it means he really trusts you

And when you run your fingers through his hair? He won’t say it but he melts.

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Chapter Text

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A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Basim is not openly affectionate in the traditional sense. Years of deception, loss and living in the shadows have trained him to guard his emotions like secrets. But when he cares (truly cares!) it runs deep beneath the surface, revealed in subtle gestures: a steady hand on your back as you walk through a crowd, lingering eye contact that says more than words ever could or the way he remembers the smallest details you mention in passing. His love is quiet but fiercely protective and though he rarely says “I love you”, his presence in the darkest hours is proof enough.

He won’t shower you with public affection but when you’re alone and safe from the world, he allows a softer version of himself to emerge: brushing your hair back to see your eyes, murmuring words in his native tongue, Arabic, when he thinks you’re asleep and holding you like he’s anchoring himself to the present.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

Basim as a best friend is… dangerous in the best way. He’s the kind of friend who watches your back like a hawk, who reads the room before you even enter it and who will never (never!) let someone speak ill of you without consequence. Loyalty defines him but it must be earned. Your friendship likely began through necessity; shared danger, a mission or a moment of unlikely trust or maybe you didn’t flinch when others did. He didn’t mean to let you in. He probably didn’t even realize it had happened until one day he found himself choosing you over the Hidden Ones and paused just long enough to wonder why.

As a lover, he’s also dryly witty, protective to the point of paranoia and doesn’t hesitate to call you out when you’re being foolish. He’s not the type to sugarcoat the truth but he will keep your worst secrets like they’re his own. If you’re hurting, he won’t ask but he’ll be there, sitting silently beside you, his presence steady and grounding. He’d kill for you, lie for you and on very rare, quiet evenings, laugh with you like the world hasn’t taken everything from him.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddling isn’t something Basim seeks out but with the right person, in the right moment, it becomes a quiet surrender. He’s not used to physical softness that doesn’t come with expectation or threat, so it takes time for him to relax into the idea. But once trust is established, he comes to appreciate the peace it brings. He prefers to be the one holding you; an arm around your waist, your back to his chest, his chin resting lightly on your shoulder. He likes knowing you’re there, within reach and safe. When he’s especially exhausted (physically or emotionally), he’ll pull you into his lap, bury his face in your neck or hair and stay there in silence —grounding himself with your presence.

He rarely says anything during these moments but the way he breathes more evenly, the way his grip loosens as he starts to drift, tells everything. For Basim, cuddling is less about comfort and more about connection; something real in a world where most things are illusions to him.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Valhalla Basim doesn’t believe in domestic peace anymore. If he ever dreamed of it, that dream died long ago. He tells himself he doesn’t need it. That love and a home are distractions. But… in those rare, silent nights, when the weight of years presses on him, he lets the thought linger: what if?

He’s methodical, self sufficient and disturbingly efficient. His space is always clean, weapons aligned, everything where it should be. Cooking? Only when necessary. He prefers sharp flavors, hearty meals, things that remind him of long forgotten comforts. He won’t say he wants a home but if you stay with him long enough, you’ll start to see it: a cup left out for you. A scarf folded on your side of the bed. His cowl, for once, hanging instead of thrown. You’ll realize he made space for you.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Oh God, if Basim had to end a relationship, it would be like watching a blade slip silently between ribs; no screaming, just a sudden aching silence. He wouldn’t do it impulsively; it would come after long internal struggle, countless sleepless nights and a heavy sense of inevitability. And when he finally decides, he does it cleanly, precisely and with a haunting calm.

He wouldn’t make excuses or shift blame. He’d look you in the eye and tell you the truth even if it cuts. “I cannot give you what you deserve. And I cannot ask you to stay where there is danger.” There would be no tears from him but there would be sorrow in his eyes —a deep, old sadness that says he’s lost too much already. (Maybe, just maybe, he’s secretly hoping you’ll ask him to stay so he’ll know he still matters to someone.)

If he believes leaving protects you, he’ll vanish without asking permission, leaving only a letter, a final glance, or the ghost of his presence behind. But if you confront him, if you demand to know why, he’ll explain with brutal honesty and quiet regret. Even in the end, he’ll want to shield you from the darker parts of his world… even if it means shattering his own heart.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

To Valhalla Basim, marriage is irrelevant. Not because he scorns love but because he’s already married —to vengeance, to the past, to Loki whispering in his soul. He doesn’t believe he can offer anyone a life worth sharing. But if someone still chooses him, if someone stands by him knowing exactly who (and what) he is, it shakes him: “Do you really understand what you’re choosing?”

He may never kneel or offer a ring but his form of commitment is absolute: protection, loyalty and the silent vow that if you fall, he’ll burn the world to catch you. He won’t ask you to marry him. But he’ll act like he already has. His love doesn’t need ceremony. It’s written in the way he watches you walk away and always makes sure you return.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Basim is a man forged in fire but he has learned that true strength often lies in restraint. He’s not naturally gentle; at least, not in the ways most expect. His life has demanded hardness, survival, sharp edges. But with someone he trusts, someone who sees beyond the blade, his gentleness is something rare and reverent.

Physically, he’s precise and controlled. His touch is careful, deliberate —never too much, never too sudden. He knows exactly what pressure to apply, where to touch, how to move. His touch is never rough but it’s never idle either. It means something every time. He pays attention: how you flinch, how you lean in, how your breath catches. Whether it’s brushing a stray hair from your cheek or tending to a wound with practiced hands, he treats you like something valuable; because to him, you are.

Emotionally, his gentleness is quieter. He won’t flood you with praise or comfort but he listens. He remembers. He sees through the lies you tell the world and holds space for the truth, even when you don’t say it aloud. In moments when you fall apart, he doesn’t tell you it will be okay. He just stays. Present. Solid. Constant. He won’t say, “I’m proud of you” but he’ll stay up all night guarding your sleep. His gentleness is strategic but never fake. He doesn’t give it to the world. But for you? It’s the one softness he’s never weaponized. And that, from Basim, is the gentlest thing of all. (My beloved Basim)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

To Valhalla Basim, hugs aren’t gestures but they’re decisions. He doesn’t hand them out. He doesn’t expect them. And he rarely accepts them. But when he gives one, it’s with the full weight of who he is —a man carved from loss, carrying years of silence.

His hugs are strong, still and heavy with unspoken things. He’ll hold you like he’s bracing against a storm. His fingers curl tightly into your clothes, his face buried near your neck; not to hide but to listen. To ground. To prove he’s still human.

He hugs in moments when words won’t do. After betrayal. After bloodshed. After you ask nothing of him and yet stay.

His hugs say: “I can’t protect myself from you and I won’t try to.”

They are rare. And sacred. And once you’ve felt one… you never forget it.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He doesn’t say it. Period. Not unless something cracks him open. To him, “I love you” is a liability. A chain. A weapon waiting to be used against him. He shows you he loves you (ferociously). He’ll protect you with his life. He’ll trust you with truths no one else knows. But to speak it? That feels too raw. Too final. And yet… it may still escape him. Not in a soft moment but in desperation. After a brutal argument. Or when he thinks he’s lost you.

“I went to war with myself… for you!”

“You think I don’t care? You think this is nothing to me?”

“You’re wrong. I love you. God help me, I do.”

And when those words come, they burn. They’re not a promise. They’re a wound made visible. But if you stay (really stay and accept him the way he is) he might say it again. Softer. Not because he must but because, for once, he wants to.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Valhalla Basim doesn’t get jealous.

…At least, that’s what he tells himself. :)

But if he sees someone getting too close to you? His eyes darken. His posture shifts. He won’t say a word but the air around him changes. Cold. Dangerous. He watches, not like a lover but like a predator.

He doesn’t confront. He undermines. That person suddenly finds themselves shut out, shut down or simply gone. He doesn’t like competition —not because he doubts you but because he doesn’t trust the world with what he values.

With you, he won’t admit jealousy. But you’ll feel it in the way he holds you tighter that night. The way he kisses you harder. The way he says: “You’re mine. You know that, don’t you?” Soft. Low. Lethal.

It’s not about control. It’s about fear —of loss, of betrayal, of finally loving something real… and watching it slip away.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

He kisses like a storm held on a leash. His kisses are commanding —never rough without reason but full of control, weight and intent. He doesn’t kiss to ask. He kisses to claim. To ground. To say “You’re mine and I will not be gentle if someone tries to take you from me.”

He prefers the corner of your jaw. The pulse in your neck. (THIS!) Your mouth when the moment turns dangerous. His kisses can burn but they never hurt. They overwhelm, like standing in the middle of a battlefield and realizing, for once, you’re safe.

Where he likes to be kissed? His neck. The place where vulnerability meets instinct. You kiss him there and he stills completely. It’s the one place that silences all the ghosts in his head. (Have you ever seen female wolves shield their mate’s throat during fights? Well, I recommend you do.)

L = Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

Valhalla Basim keeps his distance from children. It’s not because he dislikes them; it’s because they remind him of everything he’s lost and everything he might endanger by being close. There’s an ache in him when he sees innocence; something like guilt, something like grief. He’ll glance, never stare. Offer a coin, never linger. But if a child is in danger? He becomes unstoppable. Protective to the point of fury. He doesn’t see them as symbols of joy but as lives that deserve a chance he never had. He won’t play but he’ll protect. He won’t smile but he’ll make sure they get home safe. And if one ever reaches out to him (grabs his hand or tugs his robes), he freezes. Like he doesn’t know what to do with something so fragile… and trusting.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

He doesn’t sleep deeply and rarely stays long in bed. Mornings are utilitarian. Quiet. Efficient. The day starts with training, sharp focus and movement. But if you share a space with him (especially after a night of vulnerability and intimacy), he’ll allow himself a moment of stillness.

You’ll wake to the scent of leather, steel and burning wood. He’s already dressed, blades strapped but seated at the edge of the bed as if unsure whether to stay. He’s thoughtful in the early hours, often lost in memory. And when your hand brushes his, he reacts like you’ve pulled him from deep water. He’s not one for sweet morning words but if you rest your head on his shoulder, he stays. He’ll press his lips to your hair and whisper a barely there “You should sleep more.”

Sometimes when his walls fall just enough, he’ll lie beside you a while longer —forehead against yours, silence like armor. He’ll never say it but in the morning hush, he feels almost safe.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

(I was dying to write this part!) Nights for Valhalla Basim are often spent in solitude. Rest is not something he grants himself easily. But when he’s with you and lets himself stay, the night becomes something different.

He’s most vulnerable after dark. (he’s a warrior disarmed at your company.) Less because of fear and more because the quiet lets old things rise. Ghosts. Rage. Regret. You’ll find him sharpening blades at the edge of the room, staring into firelight with eyes that haven’t forgotten anything and that’s how you know his thoughts are racing… again. But if you approach (if you sit beside him without asking), he’ll glance at you like you’re the only warmth in a cold world.

“You should be asleep.”

That’s his way of saying “I’m glad you’re here.”

In bed, he’s not talkative. But he listens. Every sigh, every breath, every restless toss. His hand is always on you: hip, waist, wrist —like he’s making sure you’re still there. And if you turn to him in the dark and whisper anything (even just “stay”), he will. No hesitation. No questions. Just a quiet nod… and the weight of a man finally allowing rest.

And sometimes, in the pitch-black, he’ll whisper: “You’re the only thing that silences my mind.” And that’s how you make sure (beneath all the shadows), he’s yours.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait awhile to reveal things slowly?)

My our beloved Basim does not open. He calculates. He reveals only what benefits him or what won’t be used against him later. Trust is a blade he keeps sheathed but always within reach. But with you? If you break through his layers (truly earn his respect and trust), he begins to loosen. Carefully. Sparingly.

You’ll learn pieces of him through observation first: his tension at certain words. His silence at others. And if you ask the right questions, with patience and without pressure, he’ll eventually answer with a distant kind of honesty:

“Once, I believed in something. It cost me everything.”

That might be all you get for months. But when he does finally open up (when he lets you see the man beneath the plans, the pain, the precision), it’s an act of profound intimacy. Not just trust but relinquishment. He will give up and it’s rare.

So rare.

(Valhalla Basim’s emotional life is a boss fight with five phases, a hidden cutscene and no autosaves. You either survive long enough to unlock his lore drop or you’re left staring at his back while he walks off in silence. I mean, you probably have to be a level 10 friend to unlock his tragic backstory any sooner, yeah?)

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

I’m sure valhalla Basim is terrifyingly patient.

He is the definition of calm under pressure —so much so, it’s unnerving! You can insult him, lie to him, even try to provoke him… and he’ll smile. Not because he isn’t angry but because he knows anger is a luxury. He doesn’t waste energy. He waits. He’s a chess player in a world of brawlers.

But when that patience ends? It’s like glass shattering —clean, sudden and sharp. He doesn’t scream. He acts. Quietly, precisely. No threats, just consequences. That’s the thing about this Basim: He doesn’t snap. He strikes.

With you? He holds himself in check. Even if he’s furious, he steps back before he speaks. He doesn’t want to hurt you with words, so he doesn’t speak until he’s sure he can control the blade in his voice.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Valhalla Basim has a tactical memory. His mind is a weapon and he uses it ruthlessly. But when it comes to you… his precision turns personal. He remembers the important things —the things others miss. How you take your tea. The names you don’t like to be called. The way your fingers fidget when you’re anxious. He won’t say he’s memorized you but he has.

He won’t remind you that he knows. He’ll just act on it: handing you a scarf before you ask, avoiding topics that make your eyes darken, pulling you closer when your silence turns heavy. These simple actions make you feel known, understood, safe.

You don’t need to quiz him. He already passed.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Now, this one? This one is personal. Because Basim doesn’t just remember —you live in the folds of his mind like a secret prayer. For him, it’s the night you saw through him and didn’t run.

There had been blood. A confrontation. Something in him had cracked and he couldn’t hide it —the pain, the anger, the years of betrayal simmering beneath his skin. He expected you to flinch. To walk away. To look at him like everyone else had: as something broken beyond repair.

But you didn’t.

You stepped closer. Put your hand on his chest. Said nothing. Just stayed. That silence? That choice? That’s the moment he replays when the darkness claws too loud. Not your words. Not even your touch. Just your presence —unshaken, unwavering. In a life where so many chose to fear him… You stayed.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

This Basim is protection personified. Believe me. Cold. Strategic. Ruthless in the name of keeping you safe. (to the point of paranoia) Period.

He’ll lie, kill, manipulate entire systems if it means shielding you from harm. He’s the kind of man who’d burn the world and walk barefoot through the ashes if someone dared to threaten you. And the most terrifying part? He’ll do it quietly. No warnings. No threats. Just swift final action. You might not even realize how many threats he’s removed behind the scenes.

But he won’t smother you. He respects strength and if you’re a fighter, he’ll trust you to handle yourself. But if you’re wounded? Tired? Cornered? He steps in, no hesitation. That’s when the wolf bares his teeth.

Asking to protect him, though? You’d have to demand it. You’d have to show him he’s worth protecting —not as a soldier but as a man. If you ever cover his back in a fight or whisper, “Let me take this one” he’ll blink, pause… and you’ll see it: a crack in the armor. A kind of awe. He needs to be reminded he deserves protection too.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Valhalla Basim doesn’t do traditional dates or celebrations, not because he doesn’t care but because time has made those things feel… hollow. He’s seen kingdoms fall and gods bleed. What is an anniversary in the face of that? But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try.

He pays attention like it’s his mission. If you say you like certain spices, he’ll make sure your kitchen is stocked. If you have a long day, he’ll clean your workspace, sharpen your knives, prepare your bath. He’s not sentimental but he’s intentional. And when he does give gifts? They’re significant —a family heirloom, a hidden scroll, something ancient and quietly powerful.

He shows love in action. If you asked him for a candlelit dinner, he might scoff. But if someone threatens you on your anniversary? He’ll handle it, come home and pour you a cup of tea without saying a word —like that was the gift. And somehow, it is.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Basim’s worst flaw? Oh God… time to peel back the darker layers again; the ones he doesn’t show unless it’s too late or unless you care enough to look past the shine. Because Basim? He’s not perfect. He’s not supposed to be. He’s flawed, cracked and so beautifully human underneath the myth but… hear me out:

He is calculating to the point of cruelty. Too much overthinking!

He’ll manipulate people for the “greater good” and justify it to himself. He plays the long game and sometimes, he forgets that hearts aren’t chess pieces. Even with you, he might lie by omission —not because he doesn’t trust you, no,  but because he believes he knows best.

He also struggles with grudges. Once you betray him (or even appear to) he rarely forgets it. Forgiveness doesn’t come easily and even when he gives it… part of him holds back. Just in case.

His bad habits include:

• Withholding information
• Choosing logic over empathy
• Speaking in half-truths and riddles when he could be direct

And if he feels threatened emotionally? He’ll push you away first so you can’t abandon him!

(But Basim, you have my unconditional love. It’s all about loving an imperfect person perfectly and knowing that no one is ever truly perfect.)

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Valhalla Basim? Oh God, oh God, he’s calculatedly vain!

He doesn’t indulge in vanity for ego. He does it for power. Every ring on his finger, every layer and color of his robes, every horse he chooses to ride —it’s all intentional. He dresses and walks like a man who wants to be remembered, who wants you to feel just a little intimidated, a little drawn in.

He keeps his beard immaculate, his posture perfect. He knows how to catch candlelight in just the right way during a speech or negotiation. He’s not flashy but he knows how presence works.

Catch him shirtless, though? Covered in old scars and ancient history? He won’t flinch. Vanity ends where honesty begins. He may control perception but he does not hide what the world has done to him. And trust me, this Basim secretly loves being admired. He doesn’t crave admiration but if you give it? He’ll remember exactly how you looked when you said it. :)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Yes, deeply and permanently. Basim knows what it means to be incomplete. He’s lived years with something missing —something ancient and fractured in his soul. (Loki is fully awakened at this point. Basim carries the echoes of Loki’s love for Angrboda and for Sigyn. He feels it like a memory that doesn’t belong to him, yet still cuts deep.) He’s carried the weight of vengeance, of destiny, of something he can never quite name. Wholeness is a myth to him now. A luxury for other people.

But then there’s you. And slowly, without knowing how or why, you begin to tether him (not to the past, not to fate) but to now. You give him a present that makes the future possible. A place to land.

If he loses you? He’d survive. He always does. But something inside him would snap back into the coldness he worked so hard to thaw. He’d bury his love with you. Bury himself. Not out of weakness but because he already knows what it’s like to live without a piece of his soul. And losing you would feel like losing it again. So, the answer isn’t “yes” in a fairy tale way. It’s “yes” in a grief-sits-in-my-bones way.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

(Finally! My favorite question again!)

I think music calms him down! There’s something about music that cuts through the years of chaos in his mind. Something pure. Wordless. Non strategic.

He doesn’t sing. He doesn’t even hum. But you’ll catch him stilling when certain music plays —ancient strings, low drums, soft Persian melodies, Arabic poems or maybe even Norse lullabies he heard once during a cold winter in Ravensthorpe.

Sometimes he’ll stand near a musician, eyes closed —not just listening but breathing through it. It’s one of the only times he’s still.

And if he’s had a bad day (rage simmering, control slipping) you’ll put on something soft. Sit beside him. Hum your (or his) favorite melody and slowly… the tension fades. His shoulders drop. His jaw unclenches. He doesn’t say thank you. But he’ll press a kiss to your temple afterward, quiet and slow. That’s his thank you.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Valhalla Basim has no patience for willful ignorance. He despises people who cling to comfortable lies instead of seeking truth. If you blindly follow, if you refuse to question the world around you? He won’t just dislike it —he’ll lose respect. Fast.

He also loathes:

• Hypocrisy wrapped in virtue
• Loud, brash arrogance (especially from people with no substance)
• Performative kindness that’s really about control

In a partner, he avoids those who try to “fix” him. Yes. If you think love is going to change him into something softer, cleaner, simpler? He’ll walk. You’re meant to see him, not sanitize him.

And he hates emotional games. One round of:

“You received my letter. Why didn’t you write me back?”

Congrats; you’re already a memory.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

(Ah! Again, a good question to end this challenge.)

Basim rarely sleeps unless forced. Years of rage, purpose and echoes from something not entirely human have carved into his nights. He meditates more than he sleeps. He lies still in the dark for hours, awake, calculating, remembering.

But on the rare occasions that sleep claims him? It’s deep, dangerously still and often haunted. (Because even shadows like Basim have to rest eventually… right?)

Sleep habits:

• Sleeps on his back, arms crossed over his chest or folded across his stomach like a warrior buried with honor
• Wakes instantly if touched
• Dreams of things he won’t talk about

You’ll wake to find him standing by the window, lost in thoughts centuries old. (Blame Loki. He has ruined him… and wrecked him; I mean he’s canonically 28 at the start of Valhalla… Yes. Pure insanity, I know.) But sometimes, he’ll reach out in his sleep. A twitch of fingers toward you. As if, for once, he’s the one afraid of being left behind.

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Chapter Text

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A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Modern Basim loves like a ghost; quietly, from the shadows, never fully there but never gone either. He has lived too long, lost too much and rebuilt himself from ruins too many times to give affection easily. But when he does, it’s deliberate, intense and almost terrifying in its focus. He doesn’t waste time on flattery or grand romantic gestures. Instead, he protects, prepares and pays attention. If he trusts you (which is rare!) he’ll place you at the center of every plan, every contingency. His way of showing love might be rerouting an entire mission just to keep you safe or disappearing for weeks only to return with something he knew you wanted without asking. He doesn’t say “I love you.” He shows it by ensuring you never have to look over your shoulder.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

This Basim has long stopped making friends easily. His world is a chessboard now and most people are either pawns or threats. But if you do break through (if you manage to become someone he trusts), he’ll never say it out loud but you’ll know. He’ll share info without being asked. He’ll appear when things go wrong without ever telling you how he knew. He might seem cold, calculating but he keeps you in touch, not because he has to but because he wants to.

Friendship with him began in an unlikely way: maybe you challenged him intellectually. Maybe you reminded him of a version of himself he thought lost. Whatever the reason, he watches out for you now in his own quiet methodical way. And when the world’s about to burn, you’ll find him beside you —silent, armed and ready.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

Cuddling feels foreign now —almost unreal. With all he’s seen, all he knows, letting someone that close feels like laying down his weapons. But once he trusts you, he finds that touch anchors him more effectively than any plan or technology. He doesn’t initiate. He waits for you. But when you come to him, when you sit beside him and lean your head against his shoulder, he exhales deeply, like releasing centuries of tension. His arm slides around you almost absentmindedly; protective and firm. No words, no questions. Just warmth in a world that’s grown too cold.

When he’s breaking down and won’t admit it, he’ll find you, crawl into bed beside you fully clothed and just lie there —face pressed to your shoulder blade, fingers tracing idle lines along your arm, not to seduce but to remind himself: I’m still here.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

The idea of ‘settling down’ is... complicated for Basim. On some level, he wants it; craves the peace of a quiet home, the simplicity of shared mornings and familiar routines. But there’s always a shadow over that dream. Too many years of running, hiding, scheming. Part of him fears that peace is just a trap, that if he lets his guard down, it’ll all be taken away. Still, if he trusts you enough to imagine a life like that, he’s surprisingly good at it. He’s meticulous by nature, so a clean and orderly space calms him. He notices dust, folds with intention and keeps his hidden blade sharp. He doesn’t cook lavish meals but he knows how to prepare nourishing, spice-rich dishes from his homeland —simple, comforting, full of history.

You’ll catch him doing small domestic things in quiet moments: brewing strong coffee at dawn, sharpening kitchen knives with the same reverence he gives to his old hidden blade, adjusting the drapes so the light doesn’t hit your face while you sleep. It’s not a perfect domestic life. But in his own way, he builds something stable, something sacred.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

Modern Basim ends things like a strategist ending a war —calculated, contained and emotionally compartmentalized. He’s already played the ending in his head a hundred times. He knows which words to use to minimize damage and which truths to hide. He’d do it respectfully, almost coldly: “This can’t continue. It isn’t safe. I’ve done what I can to shield you but it’s time to go our separate ways.” His tone wouldn’t tremble. His eyes might. But he wouldn’t let it show. And if the relationship had been real (if it had meant something), then after you leave, when he’s alone, he’ll sit in the dark for hours, unmoving. He won’t cry. But he’ll remember everything. Every word, every laugh, every brush of your fingers. Because even if he’s let you go, he never lets go completely.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Commitment for Basim isn’t about ceremony. It’s about choice. A conscious, deliberate choice he makes every single day. The word marriage may not hold much meaning for him in the traditional sense but commitment? That, he honors like an oath written in blood. He’s slow to offer that kind of devotion. Not because he’s cold but because he’s seen too much, lost too many and knows exactly what it costs to love in a world like his. He won’t rush into anything. Trust and time are his currency and he gives them sparingly. But when he does decide, it’s absolute. When he loves, it’s with the intensity of someone who doesn’t know if he’ll live to see tomorrow.

If marriage enters the conversation, it would surprise him and make him pause. He’d ask, not with a ring and grand gesture but with a question whispered into your neck in the middle of the night: “Would you truly want to tether your life to mine?” If the answer is yes, he’ll marry you, not because it changes anything but because you want it and because for the first time in centuries, he’s willing to believe in something lasting.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Gentleness is rare in him but when it surfaces, it’s sacred. He shows gentleness like a secret passed in the dark. He doesn’t show it casually and never to strangers. With most people, he’s composed, guarded, unreadable. But with you? It’s different: in the pauses between missions, in the glance over his shoulder to make sure you’re safe, in the way he makes sure you eat even when he doesn’t.

Physically, he’s quiet in his touch. The way he brushes his thumb along your hand before letting go. The way he pauses before a kiss, waiting to be sure. The way he sets down a cup beside you; not just with care but with intention.

Emotionally, he’s not that expressive. His gentleness comes through silence and action. He doesn’t ask how you are; he just fixes what’s broken before you can. He pays attention to everything. He sees when you’re tired and works around it. He senses when you’re scared and moves closer without making a sound. His gentleness is in his presence —in the unspoken promise that you are never alone. (Basim, our beloved…)

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

Hugs are… complicated for Basim. He doesn’t seek them out and he’s not the kind to throw his arms around someone casually. Touch, for him, has always been strategic —used to heal, to kill, to manipulate. But once he’s close to someone (truly close!), he learns that a hug can be something sacred. Grounding. Healing. Human.

He doesn’t hug often but when he does, it’s never half-hearted. His arms wrap around you like armor, like a shield raised against the world. His hold is strong, steady and almost still (no swaying, no idle rocking), just the quiet intensity of a man who doesn’t want to let go. You can feel the tension in his back slowly ease, like every second he spends in your arms is a weight being lifted.

I believe He’d hug you in private, behind locked doors or under the cover of night. After a nightmare. After a close call. After a moment where you remind him he’s still alive. And sometimes, wordlessly, he’d just pull you in (no explanation, no warning) because in that moment, he needs the contact. Needs you. He never says it but his hugs say everything.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Modern Basim doesn’t say “I love you” lightly (if he ever says it at all). Those words, to him, carry more weight than most can bear. He’s seen too many people throw them around like shields or daggers. To Basim, love isn’t spoken, it’s proven. He won’t say it early. In fact, you might wonder if he even can say it. But it’s there, in the way he watches you when you’re not looking, the way his voice softens when he speaks only to you and the way he puts your safety before his own without hesitation. It’s in every quiet act of care, in the space he makes for you in a life built on shadows.

If and when he does say ‘I love you’ it’s not during a perfect moment. It’s not planned. It’s real, unexpected, maybe even angry; after a fight or a near death moment, when the truth rips from him because he can’t hold it back anymore.

“I shouldn’t feel this way. But I do.”

“You don’t understand… I love you. That’s the problem.”

And when it happens, it changes everything.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Basim is the quiet, terrifying kind of jealous. He doesn’t throw tantrums. He doesn’t confront you with accusations or sulk in the corner. No, when Basim feels jealousy, it simmers beneath the surface like a blade hidden in silk. He won’t admit it (not at first) but his eyes will follow every interaction just a little too closely. He’ll catalog every smile, every glance, every lingering touch from someone else and his silence becomes sharp.

If it’s someone he perceives as a threat? He’ll deal with it in his own way. Not through violence (unless it’s warranted) but with a cold, calculated edge —making sure they understand without a single overt word. A look. A quiet warning. The kind of presence that says ‘mine’ without ever needing to say it out loud.

With you, though? He won’t punish or control. He respects your freedom but he will make his presence known. He’ll become more tactile, more intense. A firm hand on your lower back. A kiss that lingers longer than usual. And later, in private, he might say something low and possessive, like: “You can talk to whomever you like. But don’t forget who sees you.”

Jealousy doesn’t make him irrational but it does remind him how much he has to lose.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Modern Basim’s kisses are deliberate —never rushed, never careless. Each one feels like a choice, a vow, a claiming. He’s a man who understands the power of restraint which makes the moments he lets it slip all more intense. His kisses can be slow and reverent, mouths barely brushing as if he’s memorizing the shape of you or deep and consuming, like he’s trying to anchor himself to something real in a world built on illusions.

He loves to kiss your neck —not just because it’s intimate but because it’s vulnerable. It’s trust. When his lips find that spot just beneath your ear, it’s less about seduction and more about reminding you: you’re mine and I’m yours. He’ll trail kisses down your shoulder when you’re resting, press one to your forehead when words aren’t enough and sometimes (rarely) he’ll kiss your hand like an oath, eyes never leaving yours.

Where he likes to be kissed? His cheek. The scarred part. A place people tend to avoid or overlook. When you kiss there (when you show love to the pieces he’s kept hidden) something in him cracks open. He closes his eyes, exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years and leans into you like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

L = Little Ones (How are they around kids?)

This Basim is surprisingly good with children but only when no one is watching. He doesn’t coo or joke or act silly. But he connects with them. Like he sees straight through the noise and meets them in the quiet places where they live. He talks to them like adults but with empathy. Shows them things; how to spin a pen around fingers like a pro or how to listen instead of speak (lowkey mentor!). If a kid is scared, he knows exactly how to calm them. If they’re being ignored, he notices. There’s even a rare softness when he thinks no one’s paying attention. Like tying a child’s shoelaces without a word. Or buying them sweets and pretending it was ‘just a coincidence.’ (I doubt any child would accept that.)

He would never admit it... but kids don’t scare him. Adults do.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

I think his mornings are… complicated. He’s both restless and weary, caught between his past lives and the artificial rhythm of the modern world. But if you’re in his space (truly trusted!), he lets some of that tension dissolve. You’ll wake to low music or the quiet hum of a news feed. He’s already brewed strong Turkish cardamom coffee (something he might’ve learnt in Constantinople a few centuries back.) and there’s a plate of food he swears wasn’t made for you but clearly was. His eyes are a little softer in the morning. His voice lower. Less guarded.

He’s attentive; a hand on your lower back as you pass him in the kitchen, a kiss to your temple before you even realize you’re awake. He moves around you like a constant shadow but one that brings warmth instead of fear. If he has nowhere urgent to be, mornings become quiet rituals; sharpening knives at the table, reading with one hand curled around your middle, tracing the edge of your collarbone without looking up. He won’t say “Good morning.” but he’ll ask “Did you sleep well?” in a tone that implies if you didn’t, he’ll go to war with whatever kept you awake.

With Modern Basim morning isn’t a fresh start. It’s a pause in the storm —shared in silence.

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

I believe Modern Basim and night have an intimate relationship: they’ve both hidden him, shaped him, saved him.

He thrives in the darkness but hates what it reminds him of. So, his nights are structured. Tea steeped just right. Lights dimmed to amber. An old book on the nightstand, always half read. And when you’re there, everything becomes quieter. Safer.

He talks more at night than he ever does during the day. Not about missions or strategy but about dreams he never let himself have. Places he once saw. Things he might still want. He’ll lie with his head on your chest or yours on his shoulder, one hand tracing lazy circles on your arm, pretending he’s not memorizing your skin. He’s incredibly still when you sleep, like, he’s practiced being ready to wake. But he will fall asleep faster if your hand is in his hair. And when you stir, he’s instantly alert —not startled, just ready.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait awhile to reveal things slowly?)

Modern Basim has learned the language of openness but also the danger of it. He can sound open. He can give you the story. The tone. The rhythm of truth. But it’s curated. Measured. He’s had to survive in a world that wants to dissect him and so, he gives just enough. But if you stay long enough, pay attention, you’ll notice the difference between what he says and what he means. And if you ask him something directly (something that no one else dares to), he’ll pause. And maybe, just maybe, he’ll give you the real version. The one that hurts to say:

“Sometimes I wonder if the man I used to be would recognize me now.”

He won’t dump his past all at once. He’ll reveal it like a lockbox opened in stages. Not because he doesn’t trust you but because he doesn’t always trust himself.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

He wears patience like a tailored suit —seamless, unshakable, almost inhuman. Decades of navigating corporations, lies and surveillance have made him a master of restraint. He’ll nod through insult, smile through suspicion and take mental notes without breaking stride. But the truth? His patience isn’t infinite. It just looks like it.

When he’s pushed too far (especially if someone threatens someone he cares about), that patience turns cold. Tactical. A quiet fury you won’t see coming until it’s over. He doesn’t raise his voice. Doesn’t posture. He just ends things with words, with actions, with silence sharp enough to cut.

With you? He’s incredibly patient. He knows trauma. He knows slow healing. And he’ll wait for you —days, weeks, months. No pressure. Just quiet presence and understanding. But don’t lie to him. Don’t manipulate him. That’s when the man behind the calm finally steps forward and that man does not forgive easily.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Modern Basim could ace a quiz on you with his eyes closed. Period.

He doesn’t just remember. He studies. Not in a creepy or obsessive way but with the reverence of someone who’s been lied to so many times. He finds truth in patterns, habits and the smallest inconsistencies. He’ll remember your favorite book from a single mention. The fact that you sleep better on your left side. The brand of chocolate you avoid because of that one bad memory you half joked about at 1 AM.

He stores it all; not to use it against you but to keep you safe. To show you: I see you. Not just the surface. The shape of you beneath it.

And if you ever doubt him? He’ll surprise you.

“Do you remember when I told you that story?”

“Of course. You were wearing that grey hoodie and your voice cracked on the word ‘exam.’ I never forgot.”

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

His favorite moment is fleeting but it’s etched into him. It was the morning he woke up before you, turned over and realized (for the first time in centuries), his body wasn’t braced for danger. There was no knife under his pillow. No mental checklist running through his mind. Just the sound of your breathing, steady and soft. The warmth of your leg resting over his. And in that quiet, ordinary stillness, it hit him: I’m safe. You didn’t say anything profound that day. You didn’t need to. You just handed him a cup of coffee and kissed the scar on his cheek like it wasn’t there. And in that moment, he believed (really believed) that he could have a life that wasn’t built on running or revenge. He returns to that memory like others return to prayer.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Modern Basim knows that real protection isn’t physical; it’s emotional. He will, of course, protect you from external threats (he’s precise, efficient, lethal when necessary) but what sets him apart is how he protects your mind. He’ll notice when you’re overstimulated, when your voice goes small, when your eyes are screaming even if your mouth isn’t. He’ll deflect conversations that make you uncomfortable, end meetings with a quiet signal if you’re overwhelmed and ask you softly: “Do you need to leave?” He protects your peace the way others protect borders.

I think he also lets you protect him. Not physically (he’ll rarely need that) but emotionally. He’ll let you sit in the silence with him after a rough day. Let you hold his hand during hard memories. Let you whisper things to him he’s never dared believe. And when you protect his hope, his softness, his right to rest? That’s when he lets you all the way in. Yeah.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

He understands the value of both small rituals and grand gestures. He’s lived enough lives to know that the mundane is sacred —that in a world full of chaos, consistency is the real romance. He remembers dates without needing reminders. Plans weekends away before you even hint at needing rest. Wraps your gifts in dark red or brown string, every tag handwritten. His efforts aren’t showy, they’re elegant! Subtle! Designed with you in mind, always!

He’s the kind of partner who’ll wake up early to make your tea just the way you both like it (and if you’re reading this, you already know about his favorite tea!), then leave a note on the counter when he has to leave early. He’ll buy two of your favorite pastries so you never have to choose. He’ll give you your space when you’re tired and a silent hug when you don’t know how to ask.

Modern Basim doesn’t just try. He maintains. Nourishes. Grounds.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

Modern Basim’s darkness is quiet but deeply rooted. He’s good at pretending he’s okay —at functioning even when he’s breaking inside. But that means he hides his needs too well… until he cracks.

He’ll bottle everything up for weeks, then one night snap over something small. He’ll say, “I’m fine” a thousand times —until suddenly he’s not and you’re left wondering where it came from. (A truly Persian trait!! And one he probably mastered during his stay in Alamut.)

His emotional self-isolation is his ugliest trait. You could be inches from him and he’ll still feel a hundred miles away. He doesn’t ask for help. He doesn’t want to be a burden. He convinces himself that needing you is weakness.

So his bad habits include:

• Over intellectualizing his pain
• Avoiding hard conversations for too long
• Ghosting emotionally —even when physically present

But when you call him on it? He listens. He wants to do better. He tries. Every time.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

This Basim is the least obviously vain compared to Mirage and Valhalla Basim but also the most aware of his aesthetic.

(Let me choose better modern clothes for him.) He dresses sharp; fitted simple black shirts, clean lines, expensive but subtle watches. Not because he’s showy but because he likes control. And control includes image. He maintains his grooming meticulously —his scent, his shoes, the angle of his collar. He carries himself like a man who’s always being watched and always ready to be underestimated. But here’s the twist: he doesn’t care about being pretty. He cares about being respected.

He’ll smirk if you compliment his looks —play it off, act like it doesn’t matter. But if you catch him fixing his cuffs before a meeting or staring at an old scar in the mirror too long, know that, underneath the calm… he does care. He just doesn’t want you to know it. :)

By the way, he secretly knows you’re in love with his hair! (Whether he wears it in a bun or lets it down)

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Modern Basim doesn’t need you to complete him. But he needs you to remind him he’s human. He’s built a life on detachment. Observation. Strategic distance. But you’re the one person who breaks through all that and just… sees him. Not a Hidden One, no member of the Brotherhood, not an Assassins and no Legend. Just Basim. And that becomes his anchor.

He’s still himself without you. He still functions. But it’s like music without melody. Motion without meaning. You became the mirror he trusted. The softness he allowed. And if you left? He wouldn’t chase. He wouldn’t beg. But when he’s alone, staring out a window at 2am with a coffee in hand? That’s when he’d admit it —to no one but the night: “I was better with them. I was more… me.”

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

(Yay! My favorite question again! But this time, it took me some time to come up with such a hc. Hope it fits!)

He keeps a private journal but never writes about himself! Surprise! Our modern Basim has a leather-bound notebook tucked into a drawer you’re not supposed to open. But of course you did. You’re you.

Inside? Pages and pages of observations. Details. Patterns. People. He writes about you. About others. About the world. But never about himself.

He doesn’t process through emotion —he processes through analysis. So instead of ‘I’m feeling distant’, you’ll find:

“She smiled less today. Eyes tired. Didn’t touch her coffee.”

“Slight limp in the right foot again. Stress-induced? Weather?”

“Offered comfort. It was accepted. Not sure if it helped.”

It’s not cold. It’s how he loves. How he keeps track. How he makes sure the people he cares about don’t slip through the cracks. And one day, he’ll let you read a page he wrote about you. And it’ll undo you.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Modern Basim lives in a modern world of deception, so his biggest yuck is superficiality. He’s exhausted by people who present perfect exteriors while their interiors rot. People who post curated lives, speak in rehearsed compassion, lie to themselves daily. He finds it all hollow.

 I think he also avoids:

• Loud environments with no purpose
• People who expect vulnerability without earning trust
• Clinginess disguised as romance

In a partner, he can’t stand:

• Passive aggression
• Inconsistency
• Those who weaponize affection

You don’t have to be perfect. But you have to be honest. And real. He’ll take your messy truths over beautiful lies every time.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs?)

(Ah! One more time! A good question to end this challenge.)

Modern Basim acts like he’s fine but he sleeps like a man who carries the weight of four timelines. (which he actually does.) He follows a strict evening routine; shuts off tech, drinks something warm, triple checks the locks. The ritual isn’t just habit. It’s safety.

But sleep? That’s when control fades. Sleep habits are:

• Sleeps on his side, usually away from you at first but wakes up curled around you unconsciously
• Talks in his sleep, often in Arabic, sometimes with names you don’t recognize
• Keeps a knife within arm’s reach, always

And if you wake him gently, you’ll see something rare; a few soft, dazed seconds where he’s just Basim. Blinking. Quiet. Unguarded. Those moments? Worth more than gold.

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Aftercare with Mirage Basim is gentle but also more unpracticed —like he’s learning what you need as he goes. He’s still in the flush of youth, his guard not as impenetrable as it will be years later. He lingers, tracing idle patterns on your skin, eyes drinking in every expression as if reading you is the next step of the intimacy. There’s an eagerness to please that shows in small gestures; bringing water, brushing hair from your face, asking softly if you’re alright. He hasn’t yet learned to retreat, so he stays close, almost reluctant to let go.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His own:

His hands, his long deft fingers, without question. Basim values them. They’re tools of precision —whether it’s for combat, climbing rooftops or something far more intimate. They’ve been bloodied, scarred, used to both take life and offer comfort. There’s a quiet poetry in that for him. Mirage Basim uses touch as a hidden language —an unhurried press along the spine, the faint drag of fingertips over bare skin, enjoying the subtle shiver it draws.

His partner’s:

The neck is a map of emotion to him! From the first brush of his lips to the slow press of his teeth, he hunts for reactions. When he places his mouth right over your pulse and feels it quicken, that small, knowing smile curves his lips; because he has the space and you are at his mercy.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Mirage Basim likes to decide when, where and how to finish —never sloppy, never by accident. When he’s close, his breathing slows instead of quickens, the restraint in him holding the moment taut. He’ll pull out at the last second if he wants to mark you and when he does, it’s hot against your skin —his gaze locked on your face to watch every reaction. Sometimes, if the trust runs deep, he stays inside, grinding slow as he spills, keeping himself buried so the heat and weight of it stays with you. After, there’s always that faint sweet smirk —satisfaction tempered with composure, as if he just did something only he could do.

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

We all know the answer. Basim’s dirty secret isn’t so much a specific act but a desire for submission —though he’d never openly admit it. Beneath all his hardened exterior and dominant tendencies, there’s a part of him that wants to surrender control to someone who can handle him. He yearns for the kind of deep trust that allows him to let go completely —something rare, something he won’t offer lightly. He hides this need well, burying it under layers of pride and fear of weakness. But every so often, when the walls come down, it flickers to life. In private, maybe after a particularly intense encounter, he’ll fantasize about being the one held, dominated and controlled. But it’s a secret he’ll take to the grave before revealing it. :)

(Remember when the trailer dropped and the whole fandom instantly agreed he was a sub? It’s hilarious and don’t get me wrong, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be a sub or a dom; it’s just a personal preference. But the way everyone agreed in a split second is what cracks me up. Unfortunately, I wasn’t part of the Mirage fandom back then but I would’ve said the same thing.)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

He’s so young but dangerously observant and that makes him feel more experienced than he actually is. Every glance, every shift of your body, he remembers it all —learning your tells faster than you realize you’re giving them. If you show him what you like once, he’ll remember and exploit it mercilessly. He’s not afraid to take risks; biting harder, holding you down, pressing himself deeper —testing limits just to see if you’ll shudder or gasp. The truth? He hasn’t had many lovers yet but every single one has walked away convinced he must have had dozens.

F = Favorite Position

Classical. Pinned and claimed. He likes you beneath him, legs hooked over his hips so he can drive in deep while keeping your wrists trapped above your head. It’s about watching you. His dark eyes lock on your face every time he thrusts, drinking in the way your expression shifts when he finds that exact spot that makes you tense and melt at once. His hips grind as much as they thrust, dragging against you so you can feel him entirely the whole way in. When you try to hide your sounds, he’ll push in to the hilt and stay there, making you squirm until you break and beg. That’s when he smirks, lowers his mouth to your neck and bites down hard enough to mark. 

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Mirage Basim doesn’t usually let humor into the bedroom. He’s intense, deliberate and focused on you like he’s solving a puzzle. But on the rare occasion something does make him laugh (like, an unexpected slip of the sheets) and his smile is devastating. It’s so unguarded. And just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone, replaced by the dark, smoldering focus he’s known for —only now with a spark of playfulness underneath.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is meticulous; his hair is always clean and carries the faint scent of desert herbs and dust-warm air. Below the belt, he keeps himself trimmed, not bare; it’s tidy. When you run your fingers through it (whether on his head or lower) there’s a soft, fine texture that contrasts with the rough calluses of his hands.

(He likes hair in general —especially if it’s long enough to fist in or brush against his face when you hug him. The sensation of it trailing over his chest or brushing along his jaw when you kiss him drives him nearly silent with focus.)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

With Mirage Basim, intimacy is rarely loud. Sometimes his touches feel chosen, sometimes rushed. He listens to the way you breathe, feels the subtle shifts in your muscles under his hands and matches you without needing words. The sex is slow-burning —heat that builds up slowly until you’re trembling, not from the pace but from how seen you feel. He likes to keep his forehead against yours, eyes open, watching every flicker of emotion. The moment after release is his favorite; his hands still touching you gently, his breath evening out while he murmurs something low in Arabic against your ear like a secret meant only for you.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t. Why should he?! He’s too disciplined, too controlled. And he has you. When he’s been away from you for too long, his mind drifts to the way you looked last time he had you but he won’t touch himself until you meet each other again.

(This answer will be the same for all three versions of Basim.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Except the fact that Mirage Basim lowkey loves being the one dominated, this man also has a deep kink for edging. He draws you up to the point of breaking and then pulls back, watching your eyes plead. Praise is part of his game too; he’ll tell you exactly how good you are for him, in a low voice that makes your skin burn. He also secretly enjoys the idea of you wearing something of his under your clothes in public, a knife sheath, a scarf, a mark he left… So you remember who you belong to. :)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Hidden corners and rooftops! He thrives in secrecy and that carries into intimacy. His favorite spots are secluded rooftops at night, tucked away behind laundry lines or domed (non-mosque) buildings where no one can see but the city hums just beneath you. He also likes shadowed corners of the Bureau, where the sound of footsteps nearby makes you hold your breath while he’s pressed against you, his hand muffling your sounds. Sometimes he’ll take you somewhere with a view —so when you come undone, the whole city feels like it’s yours alone.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

For Mirage Basim, intimacy is about mastery. Every sigh, every tremor, every time your voice breaks —he earns it. He doesn’t just want to make you feel good; he wants to know he can take you apart piece by piece and put you back together in his rhythm. He thrives on the power shift —how you start the night defiant, teasing, maybe even trying to provoke him and end up trembling and pliant under his hands. He likes seeing you lose composure, your dignity slipping with each stroke of his fingers until you’re gasping his name like it’s the only word you know. :)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Basim refuses to share the bed with half-truths or false pretenses. He’ll pull information out of you with the same patience he uses in interrogation but in this space, there’s no disguises, no games that cut too deep. So, no masks between you! He also won’t hurt you in ways that leave real damage —no matter how much you beg for something rougher than he’s willing to give. He has a quiet rule; bruises can fade but he’ll never cross into something that scars. You’ll walk away sore, breathless and maybe marked in ways only you and he can see but never broken. 

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

He savors oral, both giving and taking, with the same precision he uses in lockpicking —slow, deliberate and entirely focused on your reactions. Every touch, every movement, designed to coil you tighter. One hand on your hip, the other teasing your thigh, he holds you exactly where he wants until your body begs. And when he lets go? It’s strategy, not mercy. He leaves you wrecked, clinging to him.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

It's a controlled torture. He doesn’t just decide the pace —he weaponizes it. Every thrust, every grind is calculated to keep you suspended right at the edge. He’ll start slow, deep, making you feel every single inch, pulling out until you think he’ll leave you empty, then driving back in with just enough force to knock the air from your lungs. The pace changes only when he wants it to; sharp, snapping thrusts that drag a moan from you before sliding back into a languid, rolling rhythm that makes your toes curl. It’s maddening. He keeps eye contact the whole time, his mouth tugging into the faintest smile when you break first and beg. That’s when he rewards you —picking up speed so brutally your nails leave crescents in his shoulders. :)

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He doesn’t waste a second. The moment he’s decided, you’re pulled into a shadowed corner, his mouth crushing against yours as his hand finds its way between your thighs with surgical accuracy. Clothes aren’t removed so much as shoved aside —your back hits the wall, his fingers curl into your hip and he’s inside you before you’ve even caught your breath. His pace is urgent but not sloppy —every thrust deliberate, angled to make you gasp, the rough stone biting into your shoulder blades only amplifying the sensation. He doesn’t bother hiding the low growl in his throat when you tighten around him. By the time he’s finished, you’re still trembling, your legs barely holding you and he’s already pulling you away before anyone notices.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

I think danger doesn’t deter him —it sharpens him. In the middle of a mission, he might pull you into a narrow rooftop alcove, the city sprawled below, guards patrolling not far away. He pins you against the wall, one knee between yours, lifting your leg so he can sink into you without wasting a second. Every thrust is deliberate but muffled —his hand clamped over your mouth, his breath hot against your ear as he whispers how quiet you have to be. You can hear the scrape of boots on stone just meters away, the thrill of almost being caught making you grip him tighter. He withdraws just in time to pull you away into the dark, both of you still shaking from it.

(He only gets bolder with time :) You’ll see Valhalla Basim doing this during the raids.)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He’s not just persistent —he’s merciless in how he uses his stamina. Once he has you alone, it’s like the night is his to burn through. He’ll take you slow and controlled at first, making you think he’ll end it there. Then, without warning, he shifts pace, taking you again, changing positions so smoothly you barely have time to catch your breath. He watches every twitch, every gasp, using them as cues to push you right past the edge. Even when you’re trembling and pleading, he’s still hard, still moving, whispering against your lips in Arabic that he’s not done until you’re boneless in his arms.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He’s a master of using what’s at hand. A silk sash from his own robes becomes a blindfold or binds your wrists. He’ll use the corner of a table or the edge of a windowsill as support or leverage, in ways that feel far more pleasant than any toy. Even his own calloused fingers feel far better than any toy. And when you’re tied to the bed with nothing but a strip of his clothing, hearing his clothes being set down beside you, you know he’s about to make you beg.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

When it comes to sex, he uses patience as a weapon. He’s infuriatingly patient. He’ll have you naked, sprawled beneath him and still take the time to drag his fingers just above where you want them, tracing lazy circles on your inner thighs, studying your every twitch. His lips hover near yours but don’t touch. His breath warms your ear as he murmurs in Arabic, voice low and honeyed, promising later. Sometimes he’ll make you beg —not loudly, not desperately but in that quiet way he loves, your voice shaking as you finally say exactly what you want. Only then will he reward you… slowly, deliberately, making sure you feel how much control he’s had all along.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Even when pleasure is clawing at him, he’s almost silent, save for the low, involuntary groans when you do something that really hits him. He speaks more than he moans, his words measured but devastating; sweet nothings in Arabic, whispered endearments. The quiet isn’t detachment, no, it’s concentration, as if he’s memorizing how you react to every move he makes. When he finally does let a sound slip, it’s deep, rough and so rare that it stays in your head for days after.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He loves tying your wrists with the scarf he wore into battle, not because he needs to restrain you but because he wants you to feel the helpless anticipation. His mouth will trace a slow, scorching path down your body, skipping where you want him most until you’re trembling and begging in Arabic for him to touch you (Yes, in Arabic. You might wanna learn a few phrases, haha). He’ll deliberately edge you until you’re half in tears, then finally give in —pressing you down with his full weight, his breath hot against your ear as he mutters just how good you feel wrapped around him. It's measured, almost surgical until a sudden, devastating push leaves you reeling.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Short answer? He’s above average. A perfect 18 cm when fully erect, without foreskin. (Can’t believe I really googled such info about Middle Eastern men living in Medieval Ages. Again, this answer will be the same for all three versions of Basim.)

You’d swear he’s carved from tension and purpose —every muscle lean, defined and honed by years of training. His chest is all taut lines, ribs showing faintly when he stretches, the dark hair across his chest tapering into a narrow trail that vanishes beneath his waistband. His hips are slim, built for agility, his thighs wiry but strong —the kind that lock around you and don’t let go. When you’re so close, you notice the small scars, the quickened rise and fall of his stomach, the way his cock curves just enough to hit exactly where he means it to.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

With him, it’s a constant low burn under the surface —he can keep it in check for days, weeks even but when it breaks? It’s all-consuming. You feel it in the way his gaze lingers too long on your mouth when you speak, the almost imperceptible tightening of his jaw when you lean too close. By the time he touches you, the restraint is gone; his hands are everywhere at once, mapping and memorizing. His cock is already hard against your hip before his mouth finds yours and when he finally slides into you, the pent-up hunger makes his thrusts sharper, almost frantic. He can’t stop until he’s wrung every shiver, every gasp, every pulse of release from you —because he’s starved and you’re the only thing that satisfies.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

After, he’s quiet, not because he’s cold but because the intensity of what you’ve just shared leaves him a little undone. He stays inside you for a few moments, his breathing gradually slowing while his hands keep roaming in small, lazy circles on your skin. The heat between you lingers, a damp sheen where your bodies meet. He only pulls back when you shift first and even then, he keeps an arm around your waist, grounding himself with your scent in your hair and the steady rise and fall of your chest. Sleep doesn’t come immediately; instead, he lies awake for a while, replaying every sound you made in his mind like a private treasure before finally letting himself drift.

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Chapter Text

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A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

This Basim is surprisingly attentive in the aftermath. For someone so guarded and calculating, he shifts into a quiet, grounding presence. He doesn’t say much but his actions speak; steady hands tracing over skin, a murmured reassurance in Arabic, maybe even tucking a blanket around you before you notice the chill. It’s a contrast to his feral intensity during sex. Afterward, he slows down, lets you breathe, lets himself soften just a little —though only when he has finished. This all happens if he trusts you. If he doesn’t, he’s distant, quick to dress, armor sliding back on both literally and emotionally.

B = Body Part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

His own:

His hands have grown rougher —marked by sword, rope and cold. Yet when they touch you, they’re soft. Every single caress carries a message; You’re mine but you’re safe.

His partner’s:

Still, the neck! :) It is where he finds both lust and surrender. He won’t deny the allure of skin bared and pulse exposed. It’s the vulnerability of it that draws him in. He reads people through their tension, their breath, their surrender. When desire strikes hard, one hand snakes tight around your waist while the other locks behind your neck, forcing your head back as his mouth claims your throat in hot, wet kisses. Your sounds echo in his ears and drive him even further.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Oh Valhalla Basim! His control frays in the heat of it. He’s hungrier, rougher, less patient —your body is the battlefield and the victory is claiming it fully. When release hits, it’s with a low, guttural sound in your ear, hips pressing hard —claiming every inch of you as his own. He fills you without hesitation, staying deep so every throb and pulse of him is felt. If he’s pulling out, it’s fast, urgent, his hand wrapping around himself to finish across your stomach or chest, marking you in a way that’s almost possessive. Afterwards, he lingers in that haze, hand stroking idly over your breasts —unwilling to let the moment fade. (Shortly after, he'll make sure the mess is taken care of, thoroughly. He is meticulous by nature.)

D = Dirty Secret (pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

When he’s away on missions, in the cold or the mud, there’s a particular scene he keeps imagining in his head —recalling the last time you were together in perfect punishing detail. He’ll keep himself on edge for hours (sometimes days) just to make the eventual release almost unbearable. His dirtiest secret is how much he enjoys denying himself until the ache is sharp, imagining you beneath him, begging, nails raking over his back. More than once, he’s come back to you already half-hard just from holding that tension, ready to take it out on you the moment the door closes. :)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Seasoned in every sense of the word. His experience isn’t about quantity —it’s about quality. Years of seduction used for manipulation, for intel, for pure pleasure, have honed him into someone who knows exactly what he’s doing and exactly how to make you fall apart. He’s skilled in pacing, dragging moans out until your nails are in his skin, then flipping into brutal precision. He can make you climax without even touching where you think you need him, just by setting your body on a rhythm it can’t break. There’s a dangerous edge to him —he likes showing you how easily he can unravel you and how powerless you are to stop it.

F = Favorite Position

He wants leverage and power. Bent over a table, against a wall or on the bed —it doesn’t matter as long as he can slam into you from behind. But he doesn’t like distance; one arm snakes around to your throat or chest, dragging you back against him so your spine arches and your shoulders press into his chest. That way, he feels every tremor you give, every gasp you make. His free hand roams —gripping your breast or hip hard enough to bruise, before sliding between your legs, fingers finding your clit and rubbing it rough, relentless, until you’re falling apart while he’s still pounding into you. Sometimes he’ll whisper things in your ear in that low, dangerous, TOE CURLING voice; promises or simply your name, drawn out like it’s his favorite word. :)

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Darkly Amused. :) He’s more likely to chuckle mid-act than you’d expect —low, dangerous and always at your expense. If you moan his name too prettily, if you shiver when he whispers something sinful, he’ll let out that quiet laugh like he knew he could pull that reaction from you. Sometimes he teases —not in a lighthearted way but in the kind that makes you feel both embarrassed and hotter for it. He enjoys the push-pull of making you flustered and then rewarding you for it.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Let’s go from top to bottom! In Valhalla, his hair is thicker, slightly longer and less polished —wind-tangled from the cold air and salted from sea spray. It still smells of clean leather, smoke and faint pine resin from campfires. His facial hair is coarser here, scratching your skin in a way that makes kisses feel dangerous. But... below the waist, he’s not overly manicured —he keeps it manageable but there’s a roughness that fits the rest of him.

(Again, here's a random hair hc: He likes grabbing his partner’s hair in the heat of the moment, wrapping it around his hand until you can’t move your head without his permission. The way it tangles between his fingers, the way it tugs at your scalp when he’s pulling you closer —it’s not gentle unless he means it to be!)

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

There's a rough tenderness here. Valhalla Basim carries intimacy like a contradiction —he can take you hard, grip your hips until they bruise and still kiss you like you’re the only soft thing left in his world. He doesn’t stop to talk much during the act but his body says everything; the way his hands span your back, the way he keeps you close, back to chest, even when the pace is feral. After, he’s quiet but unwilling to let you go —an arm hooked around your waist, keeping you pressed against him under furs, his chin resting on your temple. You might think he’s asleep but he’s listening to your heartbeat, grounding himself in the fact that you’re still there.

J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn’t. Why should he?! He’s too disciplined, too controlled. And he has you. When the distance stretches too long, his thoughts wander to the memory of your body beneath his hands, the way you sounded the last time he fucked you. But still, he won’t give in, won’t touch himself. He’ll wait because nothing compares to the real thing, to you.

(Like I said before, this answer will be the same for all three versions of Basim.)

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Rough heat and bite marks! Valhalla Basim’s kinks lean primal —hair pulling, neck biting, leaving bruises like battle trophies. He likes to overpower you physically, pinning you against walls, tables or the ground, taking you hard enough that your body aches in the morning. His voice turns rough, almost growled and he likes the sound of you breaking under it. He enjoys taking risks every now and then —semi-public places, half-open doors, the threat of someone hearing. The danger makes him harder, faster, more relentless. And if you bite him back? He’ll only get more intense! :)

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Absolutely behind locked doors but sometimes he prefers wild, unexpected places —against a tree in the woods after a hunt, in a half-lit longhouse when most of the settlement is asleep or by a campfire where the heat and smoke mix with your scent. The cold doesn’t stop him; in fact, it excites him. :) He’ll have you in the snow, pulling you against him to keep you warm between rough thrusts. He loves the idea that the world is vast and uncaring but here you are, wrapped up in him.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

The chase, the claim. Valhalla Basim is driven by the hunt. In his mind, you’re not just his partner —you’re a prize, hard-won and fiercely kept. His motivation is primal; to claim, to protect, to mark you in ways that last long after the night. He loves the way your nails dig into his back, the way your thighs tighten around his hips like you couldn’t bear to let him go. He wants you real, sweat-soaked and wrecked under him, so that when you limp the next day, everyone will know exactly who you belong to. :)

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Basim has no interest in sharing —ever! The thought of you with someone else makes his jaw tighten and his grip harden. He also refuses anything that puts you in danger, even in play. He has his limits. He’ll never bind a rope so tight it cuts into your skin, never yank your hair so viciously it feels like punishment, never sink his teeth in hard enough to leave more than marks of pleasure. None of that is tolerated. His cruelty has no place here. Pain that lingers, pain meant to break —he refuses that. What he gives you is roughness edged with care. He’ll take you to the edge, yes but he’ll be the one holding you there, not letting you fall. His ‘no’ is tied to possessiveness; if it risks you or risks losing you, it’s off the table.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

I think this Basim prefers receiving. Not out of arrogance but because of how it feels to watch you sink to your knees for him. He savors it, every second; your lips wrapping around him, the heat of your mouth, the obscene wet sounds filling the room. His hand inevitably finds your hair, not to force but to anchor himself —because the sight alone nearly undoes him. When you take him deeper and wrap your hands around his cock, that’s when his composure cracks. A groan slips, his head tips back as his hips twitch forward before he reins himself in. He’ll let you take your time but his praise is low and ragged; “That’s it… look at you, taking me so well.”

With that being said, he’s not opposed to giving. He can be skilled, deliberate, even merciless with his tongue. It’s messy, unrestrained, wet with sounds that would make the air in the longhouse go quiet if anyone heard. He likes to pin your hips down hard enough that the next day, you’ll still feel the shape of his fingers. His beard burns in the best way, rough and insistent, marking your skin as he drags his mouth over you with single-minded hunger. He moans into you —deep, primal sounds that make your knees lock around his head. He’ll keep you there through shivers and gasps until you push at his shoulders from sheer overstimulation…and even then, he’s reluctant to let go.

But if you ask him what drives him wild? It’s the taste of your devotion, the primal worship he sees in your eyes when you’re on your knees for him. That’s where he loses himself.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

He starts like a storm —no warning, no patience. His pace is violent in its hunger, hips slamming into yours with the sound of skin on skin echoing in the room. His rhythm is relentless, almost punishing but never without purpose; he’s chasing both your release and his, wanting to feel you tighten around him over and over. If you try to slow him down, he’ll grab your wrists, pin them above your head and drive into you harder, sweat dripping from his brow onto your skin. When he feels you clench, he’ll somehow get even rougher, grunting against your neck as if daring you to keep up. When he finally does slow (if at all!!!) it’s only to flip you, haul you back against his chest and start all over. :)))

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

There’s no buildup —he catches your wrist mid-sentence, drags you behind the nearest door and bends you over the first flat surface in reach! Your clothes are pushed up, his belt barely undone before he’s driving into you, hard enough to make the table or shelf shake. His hands grip your hips like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, his thrusts brutal and unrelenting, each one punctuated with the slap of skin. He doesn’t care about quiet; the sound of your breathless moans only encourage him more. It’s over fast but it leaves you both panting, your body aching from the force and his palm lingering on your belly just long enough to feel you still clenching before he steps back.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

He’s at his boldest when the stakes are highest. During a raid, when chaos is all around, he might drag you into an enemy’s longhouse, shoving you against a beam still warm from the hearthfire. He doesn’t slow down —his thrusts are hard enough to make the wood creak, the smell of smoke and blood heavy in the air. The noise of battle outside drowns out your muffled cries but the risk of someone bursting in makes every movement feel electric. His hands grip your hair, your hip, controlling your angle, using every bit of strength to wring the sound out of you despite the danger. By the time you’re both finished, the sounds of war are still raging beyond the door... and you both have to walk out like nothing happened. :)

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

His stamina is brutal —battle-trained and unyielding. He’ll take you with the same single minded focus he uses on the battlefield, his thrusts deep and steady until you think you can’t take anymore. Then he changes; pulls you into his lap, your thighs trembling as you sink down on him again. The sweat between you makes every movement slicker, hotter and he doesn’t slow even when your muscles give out. He’ll lay you on your back, one hand touching your breasts, the other pinning your hip, holding you in place as he drives into you with the kind of control that feels endless. He doesn’t stop until he’s taken you through wave after wave, until you’re gasping and hoarse, clinging to him like you’ll fall apart without him.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Toys don't tempt him much but he’s more direct, more physical, so his toys often count as weapons. Leather straps to keep you in place for him, a sash wrapped around your wrists —all to make you shiver and squirm while he takes you from behind. He’s not cruel but he likes the threat of it, the reminder that you’re at his mercy. He doesn't stop until you’re trembling and cursing his name. He loves the contrast of his rough hands holding your soft body and the way you can’t stop shaking afterward.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This Basim is brutal with his teasing, almost cruel in how long he drags it out. He’ll pin you face-down, his weight keeping you trapped and grind against you just enough to make you moan but never enough to let you tip over. His fingers? Inside you just far enough to make your body clench, then gone again, leaving you aching and wet. He’ll whisper things in your ear; how good you’re going to take him, how wrecked you’ll be when he’s done. He will keep you there —desperate, for minutes that feel like hours. Sometimes he makes you come only from his teasing, without ever giving you what you thought you wanted and then takes you hard after, riding out every aftershock until you’re spent and limp in his arms. You hate him for it in the moment. You crave it later. :)

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

He is loud and not just in volume but in presence. He growls, snarls and his voice cracks when he’s too far gone. Every thrust is accompanied by the sound of his breath punching out of him, the wet slap of skin, the low, hungry moans that turn into broken gasps when you clench around him. He’ll call you every affectionate name he can think of, then groan your name softly when he’s close. Sometimes he bites down on your shoulder just to muffle the sound but you still hear the deep, vibrating groan in his chest. And when he comes, it’s not quiet —it’s a ragged, guttural sound that leaves you trembling because you know he’s completely brutally lost in it.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Valhalla Basim is FERAL. :) He doesn’t tie you down —he pins you with his whole body, forearm across your chest, hips driving into you so hard the bedframe rattles. He’ll drag you onto his lap, spread you open and fuck you in the position that gives him the deepest, roughest angle, his hands gripping your hips so hard you’ll be sore later. He doesn’t just move inside you; he claims space, forcing your body to yield to the stretch and burn, every sound you make feeding something feral in him. He bites your throat, your shoulder, the inside of your thigh —just to hear your gasp, then licks over the sting like claiming territory. If you push back, he only gets rougher, rutting into you with relentless force until you’re arching and clawing at him. When he’s close, he’ll hold you in place, grind deep and spill inside you with a low groan, staying there as if he can keep you both caught in that moment forever. There’s no gentleness when his ferality is unleashed —it’s real possession, like he’s taking back something that was always his.

X = X-Ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Here we go again; He’s above average. A perfect 18 cm when fully erect, without foreskin.

Above the waist? He's older now and it shows in the best possible way. Broader shoulders, deeper chest, strength layered over all that speed. His torso is more solid —not bulky but the kind of power you feel when he pushes you down. The hair on his chest is thicker, curling slightly with sweat, running down over a firm stomach to his cock. His thighs are powerful, the muscle shifting under skin when he moves, capable of pinning you without effort. There’s a primal edge here —a readiness to take without asking, to hold you exactly where he wants you and watch you feel the effect he’s having. You can taste the heat rolling off him; you can see the pulse in his neck. Everything about his body in this state says one thing; you’re not going anywhere.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Oh, his drive is feral —less a slow burn and more a wildfire. If he wants you, it’s immediate and there’s no pretending otherwise. He’ll pull you into shadowed corners, shove you against a wall, tear at clothing just to feel skin under his palms. The press of his cock through his trousers leaves no question about how ready he is —hard, heavy, insistent. Once he has you, he doesn’t just fuck to release tension; he fucks like he’s trying to brand you into memory. His thrusts are relentless, each one forcing a sound out of you, each one making your body give a little more until you’re boneless under him. Even after he’s finished, he stays inside, grinding slow and deep until he feels you tremble again —because his hunger doesn’t end with one climax and he’s willing to keep you pinned until the ache in him is completely spent.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He’s still catching his breath, chest pressed to your back or your front —wherever he’s managed to collapse after spending himself with that relentless hunger. The sweat cooling on his skin makes him shiver, so he tucks you closer, one large hand cupping your hip possessively even in his exhaustion. His cock is still semi-hard, pressed warm and damp against you, a reminder of how thorough he was. Sleep takes him quickly, almost violently (a man sated and spent) but he keeps you locked to him in his hold, even as his breathing deepens into a slow steady rhythm. :)

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