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#as a twist on the expected phrase
081314 · 1 year
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Sebek Zigvolt (Voice Lines) – Dorm Uniform
Here is my translation of Sebek Zigvolt’s voice lines for his Dorm Uniform card.
Spoilers below the cut!
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Summon Lines
⚡: Take heed! This is the power of Diasomnia!
⚡: Ah, how long I have been training for this day. I shall be sure to demonstrate my power to the fullest extent!
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Home Lines
⚡: I shan't disappoint.
⚡: Don’t get ahead of yourself simply because the young Lord has taken a liking to Ramshackle Dorm... No, I am not jealous of you!!!
⚡:  Diasomnia is a fun and friendly dorm! ….Sir Lilia told me to go ‘round and “hype up” our dorm by saying that…
⚡:  I'm truly elated to be in the same dorm as our Lord! Well, even if that weren't the case, I’d planned to go live in Diasomnia's courtyard...
⚡:   'Tis only appropriate for Diasomnia to be the top dorm at this school, for we are governed by none other than the great Lord Malleus himself! All should prostrate themselves before us!
⚡:   Arrgh... I eat and I eat, and yet my hunger is never satiated… Even you and Grim are starting to look appetizing.
⚡:   How to know what clothing suits you? I'm not really sure... I simply wear whatever has been provisioned to me.
⚡:   Oh, how noble is the sight of the young Lord adorned in his dorm uniform! I can hardly fix my gaze upon him, how brilliantly he shines!
⚡:   From what I’ve heard, the horns on our dorm hats resemble those of the Thorn Fairy. Our Lord, who already naturally possesses a most splendid set of horns, has his own special hat that slightly differs from ours.
⚡:   Our Lord and Sir Lilia share an incredibly deep bond between them. Oh, if only I’d been born earlier...! …Ah, never mind. There’s no use even trying to imagine that, I suppose.
⚡:   I loathe whining. Hardship is the best form of nourishment there is. No pain, no gain!
⚡:   Judging by that look upon your face… you’ve come to beg for some tales of Lord Malleus’s heroics, have you not? Excellent!! Here’s a story I heard when I was but a child…
Groovy
⚡: I wonder, what does it mean to be a reliable servant? Perchance I shall find my answer while here at this school.
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Duo Lines
⚡: You’ve no business here, Silver!
⚔️: Sebek, don’t overdo it!
You can listen to his voice lines here, starting at the 19:26 mark (I couldn't find a vid with just the voice lines):
youtube
And his Duo lines here (the boss fight in this clip contains spoilers for Book 3):
youtube
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yeonban · 4 months
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★ - for Aha & Akivili!
Send me a ★ and I’ll bold what applies to your muse.
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I like you / I hate you / I dislike you/ I love you / You are family / I would take a bullet for you / I would shoot you / I would lie to your face / I would say something cruel to you on purpose / I would say something cruel to you accidentally / I would cheat on you / I would physically hurt you / You annoy me / You amuse me / I’d laugh at you / I’d laugh with you / I’d manipulate you / You scare me / You confuse me / I wish I knew you better / I trust you / I don’t trust you / You inspire me / I consider you an equal / You are beneath me / You’re better than me / I would trust you with my life / I think you’re mean / I think you’re petty / I think you’re childish / I think you’re smart / I think you’re stupid / I think you’re a bad person / I think you’re a good person / I’m not sure what kind of person you are / I wish you would listen to me / I want to make you proud / I wish you would notice me / I want to impress you / I would hurt other people for you / I’m not sure how to make you happy / I’m a bad GREAT! influence on you / You deserve better than me / We make a great team / I’d have a one night stand with you / I’d have a relationship with you / I would marry you / I fantasize about our life together / I would trust you with my most treasured belonging / I would tell you my darkest secrets / You disgust me / You intimidate me / I hope I intimidate you / I’d hug you / I’d let you hug me / I’m scared of losing you The world wouldn't be as fun without you in it / I don’t think you like me / I want to be better for you / I respect you / I don’t respect you / You’re my mentor / You’re my friend / You’re my best friend / I have a crush on you / I could easily watch you die / I’d get drunk drink with you / I’d party with you / I’d comfort you / I’d prank you / I’d spike your drink / I’d act behind your back / I’d abandon you / I’d hurt you to get what I want / I would choose my happiness over yours / I would choose your happiness over mine / I despise how much I care for you / I need you / I’m dependent on you / I don’t know what I’d do without you / I’m scared of you leaving me / I’d give my life for you / You frustrate me / I’d call for you in a time of need / I would protect you / I’d visit you in the hospital if you were weakened / I’d carry you if you were hurt / I’d feel guilty if I hurt you / I’d let you be near me when I am vulnerable / I’d ignore a phone call from you / I’d call you at 3am / I’d break you out of jail / I’d get angry at you / I would shout at you / You’re too loud / You’re too quiet / You’re too sensitive / You can’t take a joke / You embarrass me / I feel nothing for you / You’re reckless / You’re bossy / You bore me / I would ask your advice / I would blame you for something I did / I would cry in your arms / You have the power to hurt affect me more than anyone else /
#muse: aha.#ascendedstar#...They are down more horrendously for Akivili than I previously thought I fear. and it's terminal too.#like some of these I did NOT expect to be bolded but their gay ass proved me wrong... to live is to learn I guess </3#also... 'the world wouldn't be as fun without you in it' absolutely obliterated me. Aha just decided that no phrase from this template#fits what they're feeling well enough so they went ahead and CREATED one that'll fit better. an Akivili special if you will#It's so odd to look at Aha's dynamic w Akivili bc they're SO incredibly fond of Akivili. words can't even begin to describe it#but at the same time being an aeon is such a tragic thing? bc you're forever bound to the concept you ascended with#and in Aha's case that's elation... which limits their emotions to happiness & theatrics. which is TERRIBLE for bonding w others#I think on this front Aha is one of the more limited aeons... bc others /are/ free to feel whatever emotions they want to if they so wish#(I think the only one that's also limited in this sense might be Yaoshi? bc they wouldn't exactly be allowed to feel or act on hatred)#BUT YEAH Aha is very attached to Akivili but in such a fucked up twisted sense of the word. and it really Shows in their interactions#They're glued to Akivili's side and talking w hearts and saying they want to hug Akivili and giving them their entire attention for a year#...only for them to next blow up the thing Akivili treasures most (the Express and its Nameless) not long after to grab Akivili's attention#The INSANE duality drives me wild... Aha can be so sweet to them one moment and then so ??? the very next#and I feel bad for Akivili for having somehow piqued Aha's... affections; but it's SOOO interesting to watch them unfold#bc as confusing as their actions might be; Aha's fondness for Akivili really IS the genuine thing. They miss Akivili soso badly
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gender-euphowrya · 1 year
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saying that as someone who once stood for it but the way the phrase "not all men" has been demonized has done irreparable damage to feminism
#actually Yes not all men.#you're never gonne live a healthy life and get society anywhere if you automatically distrust people for what gender they are#you can point out tendencies amongst groups and expected norms within these groups without acting like every person in that group is evil#besides you KNOW the pipeline goes men are bad -> males are bad -> all AMABs are bad#that's just a sentiment that leads to transphobia no matter how you twist it or insist that you're only targeting cis ppl with it#not all fucking men. nobody's part of a monolith. there is no community where all members are identical.#the problem was never the phrase 'not all men' the problem was the intent with which it was being said#as in often by antifeminists to try and dismiss feminist rhetoric or attempt to make it sound unreasonable#the phrase itself is fucking fine#don't give me the ol' ''some people say yes all men to cope'' 'scuse#i don't believe any therapist would encourage hating and being weary of an entire subset of people as a coping mechanism#hate patriarchy. fuck patriarchy. give everything you've got to dismantle it#but acting like every single man is inherently some kind of irredeemable demon one should stay away from is just#how the fuck do you live your daily life even.#it's so counterproductive. it gives shitty men a pass to be cunts because hey. ain't that just how all men are ?#don't 'all men are bad' do 'all men are capable of good which is why those who do bad should be scrutinized or punished'#'yes all men' is basically rephrased 'boys will be boys'. it's giving excuses to shitty men by framing shittiness as inherent to manhood.#stop it lmao idk what to tell you
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lovebugism · 2 months
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shy! reader request: eddie & reader having their first sleepover? reader bein all cautious about her actions and if it’s ok and eddie seeing this just lifts up the blankets to the bed to welcome her in to snuggle :)
love love love this request! hope you enjoy :D — eddie tries to make his shy!gf feel at home in his trailer (fluff, new relationship hijinks, 2k)
bug's one year celebration ♡
Despite what people say, Eddie Munson does not drive like a maniac.
Correction— Eddie Munson doesn’t drive like a maniac when there’s a pretty girl in his van.
Even though you’re pretty much the first girl to be in his van period (and even though you wouldn’t consider yourself all that pretty), you’re glad to be an exception to the rule. Your panoply of anxieties couldn’t have handled anything more than the passably steady car ride from Benny’s Burgers to Forest Hills.
You don’t mean to let out a sigh of relief when he parks in his driveway.
Eddie grins and unlatches his seatbelt with a soft click at the same time you do. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asks with eyes just as wild as his hair.
You shake your head with your lips pursed to the side, then peer at him from beneath your lashes. “After everything Steve said, I was expecting a lot worse,” you confess. And even though you duck away from him, Eddie can still see the small smile on your petaled mouth. Just as quiet as you are.
“Well, one, don’t listen to anything Steve says, okay? Like, ever,” Eddie cajoles lightheartedly. “And two, I don’t drive crazy when I have precious cargo sitting next to me, alright? Stevie’s just jealous ‘cause I think you’re prettier than he is.”
Your nose scrunches as you try to worm your way out of his compliment. “So you think Steve’s pretty?” you tease, already knowing the answer.
He scoffs. “Totally! Just not pretty like you. And don’t tell him I said that either— It’ll just go to his hair.”
The incorrect turn of phrase makes you giggle.
He turns his knees towards the door and curls his fingers around the latch. “Wait for me a second, will ya?” you hear him mumble before he hops to the ground. He slams the door shut behind him and rounds the hood on his way to you — sneakers crunching against the gravel, momentarily aglow with yellow headlights.
He’d done this before at the diner. You wait patiently for his arrival like you did then, even though you feel a bit silly doing so. You’re more than capable of getting out yourself, but Eddie always insists. 
He opens the passenger side door for you with a tightlipped, lopsided grin and holds his free hand out towards you. His fingers are larger and much warmer than yours as they wrap around your palm to guide you out. 
The van isn’t that high up off the ground, really. He just likes to hold your hand.
You don’t mind it, though. You’ll take any opportunity to hold him back.
He leads you up the driveway and inside the trailer with his hand entwined with yours. “Wayne’s not here?” you murmur when you’re finally inside, noticing how quiet and empty the place is. 
Though maybe empty’s not the right word. The place is filled with stuff — old furniture, a collection of mugs, and various other necessities. Not a mess, just an organized chaos of miscellaneous clutter. It feels like a home. Like a place that’s been lived in.
“No. He’s at work. Graveyard shift,” Eddie answers, tossing his keys onto the coffee table with a high-pitched clack. 
He starts to shrug off his leather jacket and notices how squirrelly you seem, all skittish with your face twisted with a distant worry. Your neck twitches softly, head tilting once to the side and back up again. Your quiet concern becomes his own.
His brows raise, hidden beneath his curly bangs, as he slides the fabric down his tattooed arms. “Is that okay?” he wonders, eyes wide and twinkling with apprehension.
“Yeah!” you answer, louder and quicker than you mean to. You’re obviously overcompensating, but you shrug it off anyway. You smile sweetly at him, even though it wavers at the edges, and tilt your cheek to your shoulder. “I was just— It was just a question.”
“Are you sure?”
“Mm-hmm.”
“‘Cause it’s okay if you don’t wanna stay the night,” Eddie assures you, giving you an out so you don’t have to make one yourself. “It’s whatever, you know? Give me the word, and I’ll take you back home. I’ll just spend the night all alone… In an empty trailer… In bed all by myself…”
His quiet smirk widens to a broader beam when he nears you. His pale hands curl around your arms, the faded bats below his thumb sitting neatly outside your elbow. 
He’s joking, of course. Well, not about the taking you home part, but about all the rest of it. 
He thinks he’d die if he ever made you feel anything less than totally safe. Dying would feel easier, at least. He’d never make you feel bad about being anxious, or coerce you into hiding your feelings for his sake. He cares about you far too much for any of that.
So his tense heart rests a bit when you smile.
“I’m okay,” you tell him, quiet but still sincere. 
The boy brightens all at once. Excited in such an innocent, boyish way. “So I get to kiss you all night long?” he wonders in a disbelieving murmur.
“Only if you want,” you answer with burning cheeks and clammy hands.
“Well, I do want… I want very much…”
He kisses you then, until your lungs run out of air. Standing together in the middle of his living room, lit by so many yellow lamps, with the croaking of frogs and the chittering of crickets sounding in the navy blue night.
He pulls away sometime after. Maybe a second. Maybe an eon or more. He recovers from being so ardently kissed much quicker than you do and guides you down the short hallway to the single bedroom. You still feel the imprint of his mouth against yours, like he’s still there. 
Your lips tingle with longing, grieving the lack of him.
You still make him turn around before you change, though.
“It’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he teases from the very center of his mattress, right before turning onto his stomach and shoving his face into the pillow.
“It’s different,” you murmur, mostly to yourself, as you slide the sleeves of your dress down your shoulders. The fabric falls to the carpeted floor in a puddle at your feet. You make quick work of redressing, as though there were some kinda time limit to what you had asked of him.
“I know,” he replies, muffled into the cushion his cheek is smushed against. “You’re still pretty, though.”
“You can’t even see me,” you argue and slide a pair of frilly sleep shorts over your thighs.
“I’d still think you were pretty even if I never saw you again.”
“Jeez,” you laugh, shoving your head through the neckline of a band-tee older than you are.
“…That sounded kinda morbid, huh?”
You giggle again. This time because his voice is still smothered into the pillow, stifled and utterly faint. “Just a little,” you answer.
“Well, it was supposed to be a compliment.”
“I know. You can turn around now.”
Eddie lifts his wild head and peeks at you over his shoulder, one eye squinted shut just in case he heard you wrong.
You’re less dressed up than before, but still as pretty as you were ten minutes ago. 
The subtle domesticity of seeing you in pajamas makes his chest ache. It’s like doing laundry or making a shopping list — something so utterly mundane that’s so strikingly tender.
“Pretty,” Eddie mumbles some moments later, when his brain forgets every word but that one.
“Shut up.”
Your hands wring together as you idle at his bedside, like you need some kinda invitation to come closer. Your head tilts again, a gentle swaying of your head that seems almost involuntary.
“Why do you keep doing that?” Eddie wonders with a soft pink, inquisitive grin. 
‘Cause this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. You did it earlier, when you first walked in, and a couple times at the dinner. Like when you catch him staring or after he’s complimented you. It’s almost like you have some genuine aversion to his affection.
“Doing what?” you murmur, all innocent.
Eddie swings his legs off the side of the mattress, socked feet melting into the carpet. His parted thighs are enough of an invitation as you settle intently between them. 
“That thing with your neck,” he answers when he’s fully upright. “The uh…” He replicates it for you, drops his cheek to his shoulder and brings it back up again. He doubts he looks nearly as cute as you do doing it.
You get so self-aware that your stomach starts to ache. “I don’t know,” you answer through the frog in your throat. “I do that sometimes, I guess— When I get nervous. I can’t really help it.”
“Nervous?” Eddie echoes, face twisted with sudden anguish. His hands reach for your wringing ones. He musters a shaking smile up at you. “Babe— Why are you nervous?”
You dig your bare feet into the carpet, shifting your weight and ducking your gaze like a nervous child. “‘Cause I haven’t slept over before. And I don’t really know what to… do. Like, what if I snore really loud? Or drool a lot? What if I accidentally punch you in my sleep or something?”
Eddie doesn’t mean to laugh in the face of your genuine worries, but it spills out before he can stop it. It’s so like you to stress yourself sick over something that’s about as likely to happen as getting struck by lightning.
“I’d probably like you more, honestly,” he answers, giving your clammy hands a gentle squeeze. His nose scrunches until the edges of his eyes crinkle. “You’re too perfect. You need something to humble you.”
“Don’t be nice to me, I’m being serious.”
“If it’ll make you feel better, I can sleep on the couch. Or on the floor or something—”
“It’s your house, Eds.”
“Well, I’m not making you sleep on the couch, and especially not on the floor. Even if I was that big of an asshole, I think Uncle Wayne would kill me.” He grows suddenly serious a second later. Still smiling, but with something more earnest in his eyes. “But… I do think we’d be more comfortable, you know, in a bed. Together.”
He’s right, but it doesn’t mean you’re happy about it. Not because you don’t want to sleep in the same bed as him, but because you’re too anxious to let yourself enjoy a good thing.
“I’m just bad at sleepovers, I think,” you confess in a tiny voice, like that fact isn’t utterly obvious now. “Like, one time, I was at a friend’s house in middle school, and I used a poster as a blanket ‘cause I was too scared to ask for a real one.”
Eddie’s smile widens. The rose petal expression blooms so large it makes his cheeks hurt. 
“Of course, you did,” the boy says with a shake of his head, frizzy curls swaying around the outsides of his jaw. “You’re so damn cute, you know that?”
You make a vague, grumbly noise of disdain right before Eddie wraps you in his arms. He pulls you softly down until you’re sitting on his jean-clad thighs, then buries his face into your shoulder. You smell like the soap you showered with and the burgers you ate and the perfume you put on just for him.
Eddie presses his lips there, to your collarbone, where the neckline of your shirt has dipped slightly down. He lingers there for a moment, then pulls away with a soft smack.
“I promise to make this the best damn sleepover you’ve ever had in your life,” he promises, muffled from where his nose is smushed into your neck.
“Yeah?” you mumble into the curls tickling your chin.
He nods, still pressed against you. “And I promise to tuck you in before bed so you don’t have to go using my posters as blankets, either.”
You push him away with a half-hearted hand. His boyish laughter paints the tiny bedroom golden. He pulls you back a second later, and you melt into him without thinking twice.
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kisses4kaia · 3 months
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on my knees, foaming at the mouth, begging for more sub coryo
u guys are so funny oh my goodness😭 (slight au where sejanus did not die because we love him🥰) i got a bit carried away as you can see!! but that’s ok !!!! also, university!corio .. okok go read now plz enjoy and reblog :)
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being the girlfriend of the winner to the plinth prize whilst simultaneously biting your tongue constantly was no easy feat.
every thoughtless, careless, borderline sexist, comment corio received from older men—and even some of your male peers—along the lines of, “oh, she’s a pretty little thing, isn’t she? bet you keep her on her knees, huh?” (whilst you were right there, mind you!), infuriated you beyond belief and typically made corio tense up and awkwardly brush them off.
because no, corio did not always keep you on your knees. as a matter of fact, it was quite the opposite. you had him on his knees, every night, begging and pleading for a taste of you. and if he was a good boy, he would get one. you were assertive, not cruel.
you so badly wished you could shut them down, tell them exactly how it is, but you still loved and respected corio, and you knew what might happen to his reputation if that kind of secret got out.
so you kept on biting your tongue.
and tonight, corio’s arm is snaked around your torso and his large palm rests on the small of your back.
you’re at a elite party he was invited to, making friendly conversation with clemensia and sejanus while throwing witty comments back and forth with your boyfriend, when all of a sudden, one of crassus snow’s old friends come up to the both of you and it goes how you would expect; however, this time, something’s different.
this time, he laughs boisterously and nods, agreeing with the crude comment the man made. coriolanus shakes his hand and says “oh, absolutely. would you expect any less from my father’s son?”
you are fucking appalled, and the astounded expression on your face doesn’t do much to hide it.
when the old man whose name you didn’t bother to remember finally leaves, corio finally looks down at you to see your narrow eyes shooting daggers into his.
you say no words and storm off, and he’s hot on your trail. “baby? baby, hold up, slow down!”
you heed no mind to his words, and only stop your stampede when you find an unoccupied bedroom and drag him inside.
it was glamorous, which was to be expected, considering the host of the party was volumnia gaul; she always was one for dramatic flare. the ceiling was high and the walls were crowned in gold paint. the layout was simple, there was nothing but a queen-sized bed, an empty dresser, and bare vanity gracing its presence, all but proving that it was not it use, and perfectly fine for you to punish coriolanus in.
“what the fuck was that?” your voice is scornful and with the way your face twists up and contorts into a look of contempt, he knows he’s in for it.
he stumbles over his words, trying to think of a way he can phrase his words to deescalate the situation, lessen the blow for himself. “i-i’m sorry. i don’t know what i was thinking. please, honey. please forgive me. i’m begging you,”
the last phrase causes you to look up at him before smirking wickedly, “are you?”
you can see it dawn on him, the realization that you really are going to make him beg—the proper way, down on his knees.
he sighs ashamedly before letting his knees buckle, right one hitting the ground, the left following suit.
the slicked back hair on his scalp gleams perfectly underneath the warm overhead lighting the small chandelier provides, and his glossy, devastatingly blue, eyes are boring into yours as his bottom lip begins to quiver ever so slightly.
“i’m so, so, so, fucking, sorry. i’m so stupid, i just didn’t want him to think lowly of my fathers kin. i fucked up, i know, just, please, please, forgive me,”
he sounds like he’s on the verge of tears when he speaks and you can’t help but revel in how hot this all is. having one of the most powerful men in the capitol at your feet, pleading for you, you have to work hard in order to conceal the ache between your legs.
“show me, then.” you turn around on him and walk to the bed, sitting, before crossing your legs and leaning back, dangerous, siren eyes inviting corio to crawl to you.
he doesn’t even hesitate before getting on his hands and knees and desperately pawing at the ground, trying to get close to you again. and when he reaches your sat figure, he grabs your ankles, uncrossing them and pulling your high heels off slowly, all before kissing his way up your calf, and up to your mid-thigh, where the slit in your dress begins. he looks up at you pleadingly, expression reading ‘may i?’ and you could praise him for being so polite if he wasn’t enduring punishment.
you nod slightly, raising your hips just enough so corio could hike your dress up, bunching up at your waist.
his eyes stay on yours, watching you intently as he pulls your delicate, lacy, black and pink, panties down your smooth legs, before gently placing them on the floor next to him.
when you part your legs ever so slightly, the eyes boring into yours spark up with excitement and hope. he finally breaks eye contact when he shuts his eyes and lays his tongue flat against your cunt, lapping up the ego-boosting amount of arousal that’s drooling from your achy hole.
he’s so perfect for you, timing his transitions between fucking into you with his tongue and sucking on your clit just the way he’s learned you like just right, never lingering too long on one part of you.
at this point, you have your legs wrapped around his head tight, nearly restricting his facility to breathe, shamelessly moaning and praising his ministrations. “fuck, yes corio! oh fuck, you’re gonna make me cum? yeah? so fucking pathetic,” you spit at him in between borderline moans so pornographic that you’re apprehensive that somebody outside of the four walls you’re in may hear you, but it doesn’t seem to bother you that much, considering the lack of you lowering your own volume.
and the sounds, the sounds are vile, fucking disgusting. his salivated muscle messily dragging all over your labia, his perfectly pouted lips making out with your pussy like he’s in love with it (he is). all of the insanely erotic factors of this moment don’t do anything to hold off your impending release, and with a weak cry of the boy beneath you’s name, sweet syrup leaks out from your tight hole lands onto corio’s anticipating tongue, and you can feel him smile against you at the taste of it.
he drinks it all down in no time and when he continues to lather his tongue all over your clit, not seeming to want to be done, you have to physically pull his head away from you as a result of overstimulation.
he frowns but when he sees the look on your face, your exhausted, satisfied, fucked-out, face, he has to bite his lip to contain his smile.
“i did good?” there’s a special twinkle to his eye, and you find it all-enamoring.
“so good,”
“you forgive me?”
“yes, but next time you pull some shit like that, i’ll jerk you off under the dinner table, you hear me?”
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toournextadventure · 10 months
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oblivious
Summary: You've been Vada's roommate for a while now and she still has yet to notice that you have feelings for her. You hoped accepting a date with someone else would force her hand. In a way, it did
Word Count: 4.2k Warnings: swearing, smut 18+, weed and alcohol mention Pairing: Vada Cavell x Fem!Reader (no pronouns used) A/N: I'm still getting the hang of Vada's personality so y'all bear with me, but I'm workin on it, I'll get there
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“Honey, I’m home,” Vada called out, stopping you in your tracks on the way to the bathroom.
You couldn’t help smiling at Vada’s ridiculous phrase that she had started using whenever she got back to the shared apartment. If you were being honest, you couldn’t remember when she had started it; it hadn’t been too long after you had first agreed to rent an apartment together with her friends Mia and Nick. All you knew was one day she practically crashed into the apartment, said her now-famous tagline, and it stuck.
The best part of it all? She only ever said it to you. Never to Mia, never to Nick, only to you. It made your crush on her grow each time, even though you certainly didn’t need the help. Just the words alone had your stomach twisting into knots in the most delicious way.
And that little dumbass didn’t even know what she was doing.
“Don’t you have another class?” You asked with a tilt of your head. It was a bit too early for her to be home, especially on a Tuesday.
“Skipped it,” she said with her cheesy grin that never failed to make your heart race. “Why take Lit when I can have you teach me?”
“That’s not how it works, V,” you chuckled. “I can’t give you credit.”
“But you can- are you getting in the shower?”
There it was; the attention change. It happened a bit sooner than usual, but you weren’t entirely surprised. At first you had been confused at Vada’s change of topic and attention at such a fast pace, but now it was expected. At least she looked cute.
“Yes I am,” you said with a nod. “Did the towel give it away?”
“It’s Tuesday,” Vada said, completely ignoring your attempt at teasing her. “You don’t shower on Tuesdays.”
Ah. So she did pay attention to a few things.
“I got asked on a date,” you shrugged.
“A date?” She asked incredulously. Rude. “With who?”
You sighed and leaned against the doorframe. “Know that guy from my Fluid Flow class? Jacob?”
“The one with the stupid lip piercing?”
“It’s not stupid,” you said with a huff. “But yes.”
“You agreed to go on a date with him?” Vada asked incredulously. “What happened to your standards?”
“It’s not like I’m getting asked on many dates,” you argued.
“But him?” She continued.
“Well who else should I go with?” You asked. “You?”
Vada froze, her mouth still flopping open at the revelation of your plans for the evening. You wanted her to tell you not to go. To say that yes, you should go on a date with her. Maybe you were being a bit cruel to just not tell her, but you wanted her to say something. Although in hindsight maybe you shouldn’t have expected Vada Cavell to pick up on all the signs you had given her.
Which were numerous.
She shifted her weight and looked down at her feet. You could see her scuffing the toe of her shoe into the floor, a nervous habit of hers. Part of you got hopeful; she was nervous, maybe she would finally say something. Hell, you would be happy if she simply said she didn’t want you to go.
“You should go shower,” she finally said, and you felt your heart drop. “I’ll help you pick out what to wear once you’re out.”
“Right,” you said with a sigh.
The entire time you were in the shower you were seething. No, not quite seething, you were disappointed. You knew it was a bit unrealistic of you to expect Vada to know how you were feeling, especially about her, but you couldn’t help it. How could she not see that you wanted her to ask you on a date? Yes you should just do it yourself, especially at this point, but you weren’t going to risk anything.
Your father would’ve just told you to task her on your own. You were the one with the feelings, you should ask. And he would have been right, you knew that, but you didn’t want to ask. What if Vada didn’t actually like you that way? She acted goofy with Mia and Nick too, so you couldn’t use that as justification for your hopes.
By the time you got out of the shower and finished getting ready, Vada was already waiting in your room. She was hanging her head upside down on the bed while scrolling through her phone. Her brows were scrunched in an adorable frown from whatever she was looking at. The minute she noticed you standing in the doorway, she smiled wide and sat up.
“About time,” she said as she stood up and went to your closet, “I’ve got the perfect thing for tonight.”
“Perfect as in “I’ll look great” or as in “it’ll get me laid?” Because there’s a difference,” you said as you sat down on the bed and waited for Vada to come out of the closet.
Ha. You might be disappointed, but at least you were still funny. See? That was what Vada was missing out on and she didn’t even know it!
“Perfect as in “he’d be stupid not to ask you out again”,” she said with a grin as she turned around to show you what she had picked.
“Vada that’s,” you exhaled slowly, “that’s the most mundane outfit I’ve got.”
“Which is why he’d be stupid not to ask you out again,” she said, tossing everything your way. “I won’t look, promise.”
“Gee, thanks,” you mumbled to yourself as you nonetheless stood up and got dressed.
Part of you was thankful Vada had picked out a regular outfit; at least it was comfortable, and that was always a plus. Did you think Jacob would ask you out again? Absolutely not, he was a frat boy, you knew he wouldn’t ask you out again the moment you decided you weren’t going to put out. At least you would be comfortable when you were rejected.
“How do I look?” You asked, and Vada turned around so quickly she nearly fell.
The moment she actually managed to focus on you, she fell into what looked like a daze. Her jaw dropped and her eyes were looking you up and down. And for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something. Say it, you mentally urged her, tell me to stay. You played with your fingers and watched her with hopeful eyes.
“You’re so getting laid tonight,” she whispered.
“Yippee,” you said with another huff. She was getting a lot of those out of you tonight.
“You’d better get going,” she said as she practically pushed you out of your room toward the front door. “You don’t want to be late.”
“Thought you didn’t like Jacob?” You asked.
“I don’t, but I wanna watch a movie,” she said, now opening the front door. “And you’re not invited.”
“Well that’s just rude,” you said.
“Have fun!” Vada called out as she shut the front door in your face.
You just stood there in complete shock. Had you really just gotten kicked out of your own apartment by the girl you were quite possibly in love with? Simply because she wanted to watch a movie? It was so on par for Vada that you honestly weren’t even surprised.
The door opened again and you looked in, hopeful that Vada had changed her mind. She stood in the doorway and looked at you again. Please ask me to stay, you silently begged her. But then she pushed something into your arms, which you scrambled to hold onto.
“Forgot your phone and wallet,” she said before slamming the door shut again. “Have fun!”
“Oh fuck me,” you grumbled, but nonetheless put your phone and wallet in your back pocket and left the apartment.
—---
Life sucked. It sucked and it was out to get you personally. You could get over the fact that it had started raining on the walk over to the restaurant. Then there was the fact that you had gotten lost at least three times, but that could also be forgiven. And your phone dying? Well, that was also shitty even though you had forgotten to charge it at home, so it happened.
But then you got to the restaurant and sat at the bar, like you were supposed to, and waited. And then you ordered a drink and waited some more. And some more. And wouldn’t you know it, an hour and a half and three drinks later, you were closing your tab and heading back to the apartment. The apartment that you had been kicked out of by someone who was supposed to pick up on your cues.
There was just enough alcohol in your system to have you thoroughly pissed off by the time you got back to the apartment. You could smell the weed from out in the hallway and knew Vada was either high as a kite or well on her way to it. Normally you wouldn’t care; she was respectful with it and was, honestly, pretty adorable under the influence.
Unfortunately for Vada, it just wasn’t your night.
You unintentionally slammed the door shut behind you when you entered, leaning back against it to get yourself back under control. The music was loud and obnoxious and the smell of weed was giving you a headache. Or maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the fact you got stood up. Actually, maybe it was just everything.
“Nick?” Vada’s voice came from her room. At least she wasn’t smoking out in the living room like you had initially thought.
“Just me,” you called back before exhaling slowly and walking further into the apartment. The sloshing sound of your wet shoes on the floor was horrible.
“Y/N?” Something fell to the floor with a hard thud. You looked down the hallway until you saw Vada practically falling out of her room, hitting the opposite wall fairly hard. “You’re back early.”
“Yup,” you said, popping the “p” for emphasis.
“So… did he like your outfit?” She asked as she stood up, her hands instantly going to play with the hem of her shirt. Wait… was that your shirt?
“I don’t know,” you said before finally tossing your soaking wet wallet and hopefully-dry phone onto the couch. “He never showed.”
“What?” Vada asked incredulously, her sleepy eyes suddenly widening.
You huffed. “He stood me up, V.”
“But… but he asked you,” she said in a soft voice.
“It’s whatever,” you said with a sigh as you made your way into your room with Vada hot on your heels. “He wasn’t exactly the one I wanted anyway.”
“He wasn’t?” She asked. You didn’t bother turning around to look at her as you started digging in your closet for something dry to put on. “Then why did you say yes?”
“Because I was hoping a certain someone would get the hint,” you grumbled. Truthfully you didn’t care if she even heard you or not. She was high, it was not the proper time for this revelation to come out.
“If they didn’t get the hint then they’re a complete dumbass,” she said after a moment of silence. You closed your eyes and exhaled slowly once again. “Because they’d be stupid not to ask you out.”
“Yeah they would,” you agreed quickly before grabbing a t-shirt from your closet. “Don’t look.”
You checked over your shoulder to see Vada on your bed, dutifully covering her eyes with both hands. Why did she have to actually listen? You were standing in the middle of your room, soaking wet, about to take your shirt off, and she wasn’t going to look? Dammit, Vada, lose your morals!
“Anyone would be lucky to date you,” she said while you peeled your wet clothes off. “And if they don’t realise that then they’re an idiot.”
“Keep talking, Cavell,” you mumbled to yourself; you knew she couldn’t hear you.
“If I ever had the chance to date you, I certainly wouldn’t screw it up,” she continued talking.
Now that had you slowing your movements, taking your time to finish kicking your pants off. It left you in your shirt and underwear, but that wasn’t on your mind. You slowly turned to look at Vada, who still had her hands over her eyes, as you went over her words.
Did she really think that? Was that the sign you had needed to know that she actually liked you back? Yes you had been playing this game for around three years at that point. And yes, you should have said something ages ago, even your dad had said so. But was she admitting that she liked you?
“Who said you didn’t have a chance?” You asked slowly, your eyes still glued to where Vada was playfully swinging her legs over the side of your bed.
“Who said I did have a chance?” She asked in reply. “I’m not stupid, I’m not your type.” You stepped closer to the bed. “Your type is a bunch of nerds who are way below your league.” You sat down on the bed beside her. “Which you should change, by the way, you can do so much better than all those other-”
-you leaned forward to capture Vada’s lips with yours, silencing her rant. It wasn’t a long kiss, you didn’t want to give off the wrong idea. Or maybe you did, you weren’t sure yet. All you knew was she was going to keep talking until she either fell asleep or you silenced her, and honestly, a kiss was the best way. It killed two birds with one stone.
When you pulled away, you watched as her hands pulled down her face and she looked up at you. Her eyes were still bloodshot and you could still smell the weed on her clothes, but she was looking at you clearly. There was a slight flush to her freckled cheeks, and you would have kissed her again if it meant she would stay looking just like that.
“You kissed me,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” you said with a nod and a poor attempt at hiding your smile. “I did.”
“I thought you liked someone though?”
“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Are you serious?”
“What?” She asked as she sat up. “Are you serious? What about that person you like-”
“-I like you, Vada,” you practically shouted. She fell silent, something she didn’t do often. “You’re the other person that I like.”
“You- you like me?” She asked with wide eyes. “Me?”
“For fuck’s sake,” you groaned, “yes you.”
Vada nodded slowly as her eyes fell to a spot on the bed, close to where your hand was resting. You could practically see the gears turning in her head, going over this new revelation. Part of you was upset at yourself for telling her such a thing now, when you were grumpy and a little tipsy and she was high and unexpecting. Terrible timing, really.
“I thought I was the only one with those feelings,” she finally said, slowly so as to get her thoughts out properly. Something you adored about her. “That you weren’t interested.”
“Vada, I’ve been dropping hints for the past year,” you said with a soft sight. Not a frustrated one, simply to break the tension. “Even Nick and Mia knew.”
“I didn’t want to assume,” she said without looking at you. “I didn’t want to risk not having you around just because I caught feelings.”
“You don’t just catch feelings, you know,” you said as you leaned forward a little more so you could force her to look at you.
“And you really do like me?” She asked, looking up into your eyes; suddenly, she seemed a hell of a lot more sober. “Like, for real?”
“What is this, high school?” You asked with a snort. “Yes, Vada, I like you for real.”
“So does that mean I can kiss you again?” She asked, perking up at the mere thought. “Because your lips are really soft and I think I could kiss them forever if you would let me-”
-you leaned forward and kissed her again, immediately cutting her off. But this time you didn’t pull back; you leaned even further into her, your hand moving to rest on the back of her neck. She grabbed you by the front of your shirt and pulled until she was laying down and you were leaning over her.
“Wait,” she mumbled against your lips, “you like me enough to have sex with me, right?”
“Just shut up, V,” you groaned as you kissed her again.
She didn’t argue.
You weren’t sure if you should blame it on the alcohol, or the weed, or the revelation of it all, but you weren’t in the mood to be patient. Night after night you had dreamed of having Vada in your bed, teasing her until she was a mess underneath you. But now that you had her, you just wanted to hear her fall apart.
Clearly she was in the same mood as you because her hands quickly found their way under your shirt until they brushed against your ribs. It tickled and sent a shiver down your spine, which you felt her smile about. You knew it wasn’t a competition. That didn’t stop you from placing your knee between her thighs and pressing up against her.
“Oh shit,” she groaned against your lips as her nails scratched against your skin.
You kept your knee stationary as she grinding against it hesitantly. Even through her boxers you could feel how wet she was; it wouldn’t take long before she left your thigh wet too. You started kissing your way across her jaw, leaving small kisses below her ear before moving down her neck.
Her hands left a fire in their wake as she moved them up, quickly sliding them up to your breasts that were no longer confined by the wet bra you had been wearing earlier. You both inhaled sharply when she brushed her knuckles against your nipples; her hips stuttered for only a moment before resuming.
“Hang on,” Vada whispered into your ear, and you stiffened before sitting up.
Had you done something wrong? There hadn’t been much, but what if she had decided she wasn’t okay with it anymore? It was fine, you would respect it and wouldn’t do anything else, but fuck. Fuck, maybe you had just pushed it a little too fast. You knew you should have kept your cool.
“Take it off,” she said as she pulled on your shirt lightly before struggling to get her own shirt off.
Oh. Oh right.
“Never hesitate to free the titties,” she said with a cheesy smile.
“Never say that again,” you groaned, only smiling when your shirt was hiding your face.
“I just know how to appreciate a- holy shit.”
You watched Vada’s jaw drop - again - once your shirt was finally off. Her eyes were zeroed in on one thing. Well, two things, and even though you felt a little self-conscious, you knew it was just Vada. No, not just Vada, it was your Vada. Who was still halfway in her shirt and clearly too distracted to continue.
“You’re such a horndog,” you mumbled as you leaned forward to help her pull her shirt the rest of the way over her head.
“I hit the jackpot,” she whispered.
“Just lay back down,” you said as you pushed her shoulder lightly and watched her fall back onto the bed, her eyes still glued to your breasts.
“I can still touch?” She asked.
“Yes, V,” you chuckled, “you can still touch.”
“Oh fuck yes,” she whispered before pulling you back in for a kiss.
Just as you figured, her hands instantly found your breasts again. Each touch sent a tingling sensation down to your core. Maybe you shouldn’t have mentally teased Vada earlier for being so wet. Even though you had no proof yet, you just knew you were going to be soaked if this went on much longer.
While Vada continued focusing on her newest obsession, you just let yourself feel her. Her skin was so incredibly soft and warm. It was exactly what you had expected from her. The muscles in her stomach tensed underneath your fingers before relaxing again. When you brushed your knuckles against her hip, she giggled into your mouth.
“I’m ticklish,” she said.
“I can tell,” you answered with your own smile and another kiss.
“You’re just being too soft,” she continued. Oh Vada. You kept moving your hand. “Soft touches tickle.” Your hand effortlessly slipped past the waistband of her boxers that were far too big. “Especially on my hips-”
-she stopped herself with a moan when you finally managed to rub your fingers over her clit. Oh god she was wet, you almost struggled to stay in the right spot. But when you heard her moan again, her head thrown back against your mattress, well it was worth the struggle.
“Fuck you’re good at this,” Vada managed to gasp out when you circled her clit again.
“Baby?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up,” you mumbled before leaving kisses on Vada’s neck. Her hands tangled in your hair as she pulled you up into a real kiss.
“Did you have a martini tonight?” Vada asked.
“Seriously?”
“You taste like a martini,” she said, her breath coming out in huffs as you continued to slowly circle her clit. Not enough to get her off, but fast enough to keep building her up.
And then it hit you. Oh. Oh, Vada was nervous. You had both talked of your personal exploits and experiences so you knew she wasn’t a virgin. Yet she had always seemed a bit bashful about the whole thing. It all made sense now; she was simply nervous.
You removed your hand and tried not to smile at Vada’s whine at the loss of sensation. But she quickly shut up when you grabbed one of her hands and slid it under your own underwear, doing your best not to moan at the feel of her fingers on you. And just as you had expected, and much like Vada, you were soaked. Embarrassingly so.
“Holy fuck,” Vada groaned against your lips before leaning up and capturing your lips.
She bit your bottom lip when you replaced your hand and continued circling her clit. Usually you would tease, but with Vada? Right then and there, when you were so humiliatingly sensitive and probably wouldn’t last very long? No, you wanted to make her cum until she was seeing stars.
And as you moved your fingers faster, you knew it wouldn’t take long. It was in the little pants and moans she let out, the squirming of her hips, the spastic movements of her fingers. Not that you could judge, you were losing your rhythm as well, doing your best to keep your composure even as she continued to turn you to putty under her fingers.
“I’m close,” she panted. 
Thank god, you thought as you rubbed your finger in faster, tighter circles. Unlike Vada, you couldn’t bring yourself to talk, knowing the second you opened your mouth you would let out a moan that would haunt you for the rest of your life. It was only a few more seconds before Vada pulled back, her eyes squeezed shut as she stilled beneath you. Her fingers continued moving, and you felt your own orgasm wash over you. You let out a groan as you rutted against her fingers to chase the high, only letting yourself fall beside her when the feeling had dissipated.
“Holy shit,” Vada whispered. “We can do that again, right?”
“Oh my god,” you chuckled as you lifted your hands to cover your eyes. “We just finished.”
“But we can do it again, right?” She asked.
You rolled over onto your side and looked at her. At the sheen of sweat covering her half-naked body and left her practically glowing under the singular ceiling light in your room. The rise and fall of her chest that was slowly but steadily returning back to normal. The absolutely stunning smile on her face that had your chest feeling warm and your stomach swarming with butterflies.
“How about we shower and then sleep,” you suggested. “And maybe we can do it again tomorrow.”
Vada turned her head to look at you, her smile still present although looking a little more mischievous.
“Can we do it in the shower?”
“Never mind, I’m going without you.”
“Wait, hang on!”
You smiled to yourself as you quickly shut the bathroom door behind you, effectively locking Vada out. She stomped her foot - which you could imagine perfectly - before walking off. You half expected her to stay gone until you heard more shuffling on the other side and something slid under the door. With a half-cocked head, you picked up the piece of paper.
No boobs? :(
“Not anymore,” you called out through the door, to which Vada replied with a groan as she finally walked away, presumably to your room.
As you got in the shower, you couldn’t help but smile. Maybe you should thank Jacob for standing you up. He had accidentally made a fantastic wingman.
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dottores · 9 months
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HELIOTROPES
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pairing: dottore x fem!reader & segments
summary: the gods were sick and twisted. for five hundred years, he believed he was fated to be alone. he had long accepted it—embraced it, even. that is, until a midwinter night when that elusive red thread finally appeared on his finger. but as much as he wants to ignore it, the pull of a soulmate simply cannot be ignored.
genre: soulmate au, canon compliant for the most part.
warnings: fem!reader, worldbuilding for snezhnaya & fatui & fontaine.
notes: GUYS THIS IS MY FAV CHAPTER IVE WRITTEN SO FAR HDFISHDFSUAFDSDF
THE TIES THAT BIND
It was him. Distantly, his words resounded through your head but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t understand what he had asked you—his words sounded garbled and clear at the same time, as if he was speaking in an ancient language you couldn’t decipher. 
It was him, your soulmate, the man you had been waiting your whole life to finally meet, the man that the gods had tied you with.
The man that ignored you all of these years no matter how hard you tried. 
The man that attacked you at the inn. 
Any elation you might have felt whittled away the longer you stared at him, anger and anxiety beginning to take hold instead. What had he said? The Second Harbinger? You felt unnerved, you had a feeling that you would somehow run into your soulmate while trying to find the evidence to condemn your stepfather but you had no idea he would be… this. 
This is good, the more logical part of you tried to push through the turmoil of emotions you felt, you can use his position, this is your in. 
But nothing about you was logical right now—part of you wanted to pull away, part of you wanted to slap him, and part of you wanted to throw yourself in his arms and grant yourself the warmth you’d been denied for so long. The divide in what you wanted to do had you frozen in place, unable to do anything. 
Dance with me, he had said—phrased as a question but somehow you knew it wasn’t one. 
Thin fingers wrapped around your other arm, Artem forcing your attention back to him, a worried expression directed toward you. “You don’t have to,” he said, and you swore the temperature in the room dropped at his words—maybe it was just a figment of your imagination due to the eerily cold feeling that swept through you, something that was clearly his and not yours, but from the way Artem and his cousins tensed, you thought it might not be. 
He was angry, you couldn’t see it on his face—you could barely see his face, his mask hiding it from view, but you could feel it in your gut, an emotion that wasn’t yours pushing to the surface and threatening to break through. But it was more than just anger: if you didn’t know any better, you might’ve thought it was jealousy… a part of you wanted to feed into it to test the theory but you had a distinct feeling that would end with Artem being killed and he had been nothing but kind and helpful to you and you didn’t want to risk him like that. 
“It’s okay,” you said tightly, a thin and unkind smile edging at your lips as you pulled your arm from his grasp and let Dottore lead you out to the large, empty floor in the center of the room, all eyes on the two of you. 
Your chest constricted as the Doctor pulled you just a bit closer than the acceptable dancing distance as the two of you found a place on the tiled floor—one hand sliding behind you, fingers dipping low to the small of your back, while the fingers of his other hand intertwined with yours, a more intimate version of the palm-to-palm expected in the Snezhnayan Waltz. 
You thought you should feel different. You thought that your chest should be light and you thought your heart should be skipping beats, adoring and enthralled, lost in the moment of finally meeting him… but all you could muster was a sense of dread. This man had never cared for you before—not to meet you, not to get to know you, not even to give into your childish desire to play the tugging game with him. In his eyes, you had probably forced his hand by coming here, even if it hadn’t been your intention.
“What game are you playing?” he asked, voice cold and unfriendly, but you were barely paying attention to him now, gaze wandering as other pairs began to make their way to the floor at the sight of you and Dottore, the necessary signal they needed to know it was now acceptable to dance. “Dance with me.”
“I am,” you replied, your surroundings blurring again as you focused back on him. “I’m not playing games.”
You were sure that the smile on his lips would not have met his eyes were they visible. “Yet you are here,” Dottore replied, the ensemble getting louder and the chatter across the floor masking your conversation from unwanted ears. “Somehow managing to track me down so you can force me into acknowledging you.”
You couldn’t bite back the scoff that rose to your chest. “How self important,” you said coolly. “Do you really think I have any interest in meeting you after all the years you spent ignoring me?”
You did, you corrected yourself silently, but he didn’t have to know that. It was humiliating enough to admit to yourself that even after all of the blatant neglect and lack of interest, you still had longed for meeting him, no matter how far down you might’ve pushed that desire. 
His lip twitched—the only physical reaction you managed to draw from him thus far but even then, you couldn’t tell if he was irritated or surprised. “Then why are you here?” he asked and for a moment, you regretted your quick tongue. You should have gone along with the lovesick soulmate act so that you would have an excuse as to why you had come to Snezhnaya but you were more focused on your pride than your mission. 
Now, you fumbled—a damning mistake—as you said: “None of your business.”
“Ah, but alas it is my business,” Dottore did not fumble like you did, an empty smile painted on his lips as he watched you from beneath the mask. You felt uncomfortable, you didn’t like not being able to see people’s eyes when you spoke to them. “You see, I was sent to figure out why you are here and if your answer is not to my liking, I am meant to… dispose of you. Now, if you would like me to help you, I suggest you answer my question.”
You took in a sharp breath—one that you couldn’t quite hide from him as you realized that you had been wrong. You had hoped that the eyes you had felt on you earlier were just him, that he had been the one to recognize you, but this confirmed that was not the case. The other Harbingers knew who you were and suddenly, the room felt all the more suffocating. 
Dottore leaned down, lips brushing your ear and breath warm against your skin. “Don’t you feel their eyes on you?” he murmured. “They’re waiting for my decision, I do implore you to start speaking.”
He leaned back just a bit but now you couldn’t keep your eyes trained on his face, too aware of all of the gazes set on you. You could feel Artem’s eyes heavy on you from the other side of the room, they hadn’t left your body once since Dottore had led you to the dancefloor, following the two of you as you spun across the floor in step with the other partners, but he wasn’t the only one. 
Your eyes flickered behind Dottore to where the dark haired girl dressed in white was sitting at the piano, fingers flying across the keys as she played an eerie tune that didn’t quite match the tempo or energy of the Snezhnayan Waltz—the lace over her eyes blocked them from sight but her head was turned in the direction of the two of you. A taller woman with silvery hair leaned on the instrument next to her, blatantly watching the two of you. 
There were too many eyes on you—even who you could assume were newly promoted Fatui captains were glancing your way, the other pairs on the dancefloor kept sparing looks in your direction, giving you a wide berth. You thought you were used to the feeling of being watched, after all in Fontaine, you couldn’t even step outside your quarters without the eyes of justice bearing down on you.
Dottore suddenly cleared his throat, forcing your attention back to him. “Is it not common courtesy to give your dancing partner your full attention?” he drawled. 
“Clearly you’re undeserving of my attention considering you can’t even hold it,” your tongue lashed before you could think. Instead of regretting your words, you doubled down. “It appears you’re not fond of being ignored, how fascinating.” 
How hypocritical, you didn’t have to speak what you meant for him to understand. Dottore let out a huff of amusement but you knew very well that he was not amused if the way his hand tensed on the small of your back had anything to say about it. 
“How ungrateful,” Dottore said quietly, the empty smile on his lips not faltering for even a second, “even when I’m going out of my way to try to make sure you stay alive.”
“We both know that you only want me alive for your own sake,” you countered, taking a small leap in speculation. You knew he didn’t care for you but the consequences of losing a soulmate could range from dire to lethal, if you knew anything about him, you knew that was not something he would want to risk. 
“Clearly I did not ignore you well enough.” 
The smile finally fell—he didn’t like that you could read him the way that you were, although you would argue that you weren’t reading him at all, just placing together the few puzzle pieces he had left for you to complete a small section, the majority of the puzzle was still empty. 
“You-” you began, but you were forced to cut yourself off, eyes darting down as you realized that Dottore had purposefully taken a wrong step in the waltz—subtle enough so that others wouldn’t notice his fault, but just enough so that if you took the correct step, you would twist your ankle over his foot. 
He’s trying to make a fool out of you, fury flooded you at the realization, shifting your foot just to the right so that you could avoid his. The next step of the dance, a half-spin of a turn, was jerky and sharp because of it, veering off track and into the path of a nearby woman and her partner, who were forced to scramble out of your way or risk drawing the Doctor’s ire.
Dottore’s lip twitched up when he realized that you hadn’t fallen for his trick and the waltz continued smoothly, returning to the graceful spins and turns and steps that the two of you had been dancing in tune with before his attempt at making you humiliate yourself. 
“I’ve been patient enough,” he said. “It’s time for you to answer my question.”
Your lip curled in annoyance, searching for an answer to give him before your silence became prolonged and suspicious.
“I’m looking for something,” you said simply. This time, you didn’t have to look down to know he had taken another false step—instead of having to shift at the last second and fall into another jarring turn, you altered the direction of the turn, spinning out just a bit further than was expected of the dance and forcing him to follow. 
“For what?” Dottore didn’t give you a second to recuperate or think and you forced yourself not to bite the inside of your cheek, irritated at the game he was playing no matter how much he might deny playing one should you ask. He was forcing you to focus more on the dance with his purposefully wrong steps so you couldn’t concentrate on coming up with coherent lies. 
For what? That was the question. What should you tell him? The truth? What would he do with it? Could you trust him? You doubted it, but you could trust in his self-preservation at least—you didn’t think he would do anything to damn you because that would mean damning himself. But would he get in your way? Maybe, if only to see you stumble. 
Finally, you spoke, and the words felt weighted on your tongue, mouth dry: “The Fatui killed my father.”
“And you’ve come for evidence. How noble,” Dottore mocked you—if he hated how you could deduce that he didn’t care for your survival beyond for his own sake, you hated even more that he had put together your whole reason for being in Snezhnaya just from the one sentence. “The Hydro Archon is so arrogant that she fails to see foreign threats within her own walls, forcing you to venture into a den of wolves to acquire the proof yourself. What a magnificent god.”
Again, you found sharp words leaving your lips in defense of your nation and Archon: “Perhaps the Hydro Archon is not the only god blind to threats,” you noted off-handedly at the hypocrisy, dancing around another targeted step and forcing another pair of dancers to dodge the two of you—the Hydro Archon might be blind the Snezhnayan spy that was your stepfather, but at least there wasn’t an entire organization working beneath her nose and in her court. 
“What exactly does that mean?” Dottore asked—was that confirmation that the Harbingers were unaware of the masked group that had approached you and the aristocrats? Or was it just Dottore trying to figure out how much you knew? Or maybe it was both. 
“Take it as you will,” you answered, eyes narrowing as instead of continuing the dance, he came to a stop in the middle of the floor.
His hand was still pressed to your lower back, holding your body close to his even as you tried to step away. You hated how you had to turn your head up to look at him and you hated the smirk that spread across his face as he looked down at you. Distantly, you noticed that the music had come to an end as the ensemble prepared for another dance. 
“You’re not what I expected,” he said after a moment of silence, releasing your hand only to bring his to your face when you looked away. He used two fingers beneath your chin to tilt your head up in his direction, forcing you to look at him. “I’ll find you again.”
A promise or a threat? You couldn’t tell, throat thick and swollen as he stood straight again, stepping away from you and looking behind you. You looked over your shoulder, eyes falling upon Artem as he walked up to the two of you. 
“Your second dance?” he asked quietly, holding his hand out toward you. You took the escape gratefully and yet somehow, a part of you felt empty as soon as you stepped away from Dottore, a primal and fundamental part of you knew you were meant to be with him and was unhappy with your decision.
You wondered if he felt it too. 
“Are you okay?” Artem questioned as soon as your hand was in his and you stood in position for the next dance—an acceptable distance, unlike how close Dottore had drawn you in. 
You glanced back to look at him as you murmured out a ‘yes’ to Artem, but he was already gone.
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His hands were tingling. 
This wasn't right, he wanted to spit out in protest of the way his body was reacting to you—itching to walk back over and rip you away from the Snezhnayan aristocrat who had the audacity to lay hands on what was his. 
His. The word echoed through his head, condemning—he was already beginning thinking like them, like a mortal, an irrational beast that cared for naught but personal pleasure, latching onto someone with the barest interaction. But no matter how much he tried to deny the attachment, his body was betraying him, begging him to turn back for another dance so he could feel your skin against his again.
He thought it might be different, he had abandoned his original body for an artificial one. He thought it could lessen the effects of the bond but he should’ve known better—having an artificial body did not change the fact that his mark had appeared on him, it didn’t change the fact that there was a thread connecting him to you. 
He should’ve known this would only make it worse. 
Dottore didn’t dare look back, no matter how much his body ached for one last look, he needed to retain some semblance of control over himself and he knew that if he looked back now, he would not like what he saw. His teeth ground together at the thought, scraping against his tongue. He imagined the aristocrat’s hand inching down your back, his fingers intertwined with yours. He imagined your body pressed close to his—a slower song was playing, a more intimate one, one that he should be dancing with you to.
As soon as the final thought crossed his mind, he nearly rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he made his way toward the other Harbingers.
“You looked like you enjoyed yourself,” one said, voice cold and mocking, Dottore’s eyes lifted to Arlecchino.
“Thoroughly,” Dottore replied, dry and sarcastic to mask the fact that yes, he had enjoyed his dance with you.
You were not what he expected. Your tongue was sharp and violent whereas he had thought you to be a docile noble girl, sheltered in the palace of Fontaine City. He could still see that part of you, thinly veiled behind the anger in your eyes; the part of you that longed for the sanctity of the bond between a fated pair, the part of you that still had hope things could work out. He wondered if that was the part of you that you showed to everyone else, the gentleness and the kindness. He thought so, if the way you looked at Artem Melnyk had anything to say about it. 
Then, he wondered if your violence was reserved only for him—for some reason, the thought left him pleased, smothering the way the corner of his lips twitched up. 
“Well?” Sandrone said sharply, garnering the attention of the Harbingers in the area. To Dottore’s absolute displeasure, he noticed that both the Balladeer and the Friar had come closer to listen in, two wolves drawn in by the scent of blood. 
You could keep up with him too, every attempt he had made to make you stumble, you caught and readjusted. He had never met anyone that could keep up with him the way you were able to—most didn’t even dare to try, backing down at the mere sight of him, and those that did tended to not be able to hold their bravado for long—even if it was just boldness because you knew that as your soulmate, it’d be unlikely he would do anything to put you at risk.
“A fawn,” Dottore told her coolly, “just as I said. You wasted my time, and my patience. You can explain to the Jester why I decided to leave the event early.”
Dottore thought you were closer to a wolf pup than a fawn, bearing your teeth against greater predators instead of fleeing because you thought yourself more dangerous than you really were—he wasn’t going to tell them that though.
Sandrone did not look convinced at his words. “Perhaps I should go talk to her,” she said doubtfully. 
Unamused, Dottore turned his full attention onto her. “You doubt me?” he asked, an edge to his tone that he dared her to push further. Sandrone looked at him but didn’t respond, he continued: “All she cared for was her first dance with her fiancé being interrupted. Air-headed and dimwitted—whatever you think that girl is, she is not.”
Dottore studied Sandrone from beneath his mask, wondering if she would push even further, but she only shook her head and walked away in the direction of the Captain, clearly unhappy but dropping it, for now at least. 
Perhaps the Hydro Archon is not the only god blind to threats, your words ran through his head again as Sandrone pushed past him. What did you mean? It was a dig at the Tsaritsa, that much was certain but what threat was the Fatui missing that was within their own walls? Could it be the aristocrats? If so, you were a fool to think that they weren’t addressing the more hostile families already… but somehow, Dottore knew that you were talking about something else, something far more worrisome. 
… and that begged the question of how you even knew of it when they, clearly, did not.  
Finally, Dottore’s gaze drew back to the dance floor where you were dancing slowly with the dark-haired aristocrat, arms draped around his shoulders as you swayed to the slow music. You were talking quietly to him, hushed, heads leaned into each other so no one could overhear the two of you. You looked far more at ease with him than you had been with Dottore, your shoulders lax instead of tense, your body loose instead of stiff. That feeling from before—ugly and green—resurfaced. 
“Sandrone,” Dottore finally said, stopping the lower-ranked Harbinger in her tracks, “if you’re so suspicious of her, then why don’t we keep her in the palace for a few days under observation? That way, we can figure out whether or not Fontaine is declaring war or not and handle it duly.”
A risk, Dottore noted, they’re going to wonder why he cares so much, but he thought it was a worthy one. He could knock two birds with one stone: separate his soulmate from her apparent fiancé and try to figure out what the cryptic comment meant. He couldn’t help but notice the long look exchanged by Arlecchino and Brighella, as if they knew something that he did not.
Sandrone hesitated, eyes narrowing for a moment before she nodded, “I think that’s a good idea.”
“And who, exactly, is going to care for this girl?” Brighella, voice high and reedy, interjected himself into the conversation. “Heh… if you’d like-”
“I’ll do it,” another voice interrupted as fury knotted Dottore’s insides so intensely that he thought he might lash out at the vulture. Pantalone was the one to step forward, eyes turned upward and a thin smile pulled tight across his lips, “I’d like to pick at her brains for her thoughts on the aristocrats anyway. I’m sure she’ll have some sort of insight.”
Dottore watched Pantalone carefully, trying to figure out what sort of game he was playing. He made sure that she wasn’t killed on the spot before—not that Dottore would have let that happen, but he would’ve been forced to reveal who exactly you were to him and he didn’t want to open up that weakness. He wanted something and from the way his smile fell and his violet eyes went cold, looking at Dottore as the Harbingers began talking amongst each other, he knew it was nothing good. 
Irritated, Dottore cast a cold look in your direction—one way or another, he was constantly being backed into a corner because of you. But looking at you was a mistake, evidently, because the annoyance swelled as he watched the aristocrat smile at you as you swooped under his arm in a dramatic spin.
Dottore shook his head as he looked away, rolling his eyes beneath his mask as he stifled the vile emotions rearing their head at the sight. As he turned his attention back to the discussion at hand, listening to them talk about the approaching missions, Dottore wondered if he should try to make his exit now, leave Pantalone to deal with her now that he had kindly offered to—the less interaction with her, the better, he thought, even though his body shrieked in protest—and he wanted to get back to the lab anyway. The Theta segment was down there alone and quite frankly, he didn’t trust him around his stuff. 
Alas, he did not get the chance to slip away. As he moved to turn, he noticed that Pantalone was nodding for him to follow.
Dottore bit back a sigh—you, Pantalone, the other Harbingers—this was all going to cut into his research, he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to get anything done for quite a bit. 
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“What was that all about?” Artem asked you quietly as the music began to pick up again, masking your voices—it was a slower dance, one that was far less demanding than the waltz with the Doctor, who had you struggling to keep up mentally and physically. 
You were lucky that Miss Elyna had been so strict with your dancing lessons, not only did she prepare you by teaching you all of the popular dances amongst aristocrats across the seven nations but she also forced you to know how to dance with an incompetent partner so that the you were not made to look like a fool in public. 
Dottore was not an incompetent partner by any means, but he surely was a malicious one. 
“They’re suspicious of me,” you said softly, watching his expression twist into one that bordered between shocked and horrified, confirming what you already knew—you were not in a good place. 
But he didn’t know that you weren’t in the worst place, you couldn’t tell him about your relationship to Dottore. You didn’t know how he would react and you needed him on your side for the duration of this event. You figured that Dottore wouldn’t let them kill you, at least for his own sake, but there were fates worse than death and the thought of that made your skin crawl.
“After this song, we’ll head over to my father, I’ll ask him what to do,” Artem said, nodding to himself. “They can’t do anything, not without risking our support and our support is the only support they have amongst all of the Snezhnayan nobles. So unless they want every single aristocratic family against them…”
Your eyes drew across the room briefly, at the captains and the elite members of the Fatui lingering around the floor and dancing with their partners, at the Harbingers still lurking on the outskirts of the room, some still looking in your direction. There were so many of them and you didn’t have to face them in combat to know that they were all strong, the Harbingers alone reeked of power.
“... if you tell your father, he’ll be upset,” you finally said, voice low—you hadn’t phrased it as a question but you supposed it was one.
“He’ll be livid,” Artem confirmed, jaw tightening. “They… they all think that I’m going to propose to you soon—they were upset that I hadn’t introduced you sooner but they’ve been waiting for me to get married for three years now. If the Fatui try to do something to you…”
Maybe you shouldn’t say anything then, you wanted to say, but the words were stuck in your mouth. The Fatui were strong, you thought again. Artem had claimed that they host these events as a show of power, to force the aristocrats to understand just who they were dealing with, and even from this glimpse you knew that the threat the Fatui posed was beyond anything that the elites of the Fontaine court and the Hydro Archon imagined. 
You wondered, then, why did they not take control of Snezhnaya through sheer force alone? They could do it, surely, the Harbingers themselves could probably handle it on their own. You figured that the aristocrats held a lot of sway amongst the common people—if it was anything like the structure of the Fontaine countryside where each town was centered around one of the aristocrats' estates—and from there, you could assume that the Fatui did not want to rule their own people through fear. 
But you feared that if push came to shove, the Fatui would have no issue slamming their iron fist down upon the people of Snezhnaya and if that was the case, you didn’t want that blood on your hands because Artem had rushed to the defense of a girl he barely knows… especially because you thought if he knew who exactly your soulmate was, he wouldn’t be so quick to help you. 
“Don’t tell them,” you finally said, mouth dry, glancing away as you continued, “whatever happens, I’ll deal with it. Don’t risk pissing the Fatui off even more.”
Artem’s brows knit together. “What?” he asked, voice hushed. “You have no idea what they’re capable of, what they’ll do to you and if the Doctor of all Harbingers is interested in you then-”
“I’m not a helpless girl, Artem,” you said sharply, careful to keep your voice low. “I will do what I must to survive, you need to focus on…”
Your family, the other nobles, this organization that’s pulling all of the strings. Let me deal with this, it’s my mission.
Artem didn’t look happy, shaking his head again. “I didn’t say you were helpless,” he said, lowering his voice even more as he leaned his head down to you. To all others, you thought it probably looked romantic, but you could feel his arms tense around you, “but you can’t do this alone. They’ll find you out and-and you don’t want to know what they’ll do when they do.”
There was a haunted expression on his face, as if he had personal experience with the Fatui and what they would do to the people that actively worked against them. There was a pit in your stomach as you looked away—guilt, anxiety, maybe something else or a combination of both, knowing who your soulmate was and how even though Artem was terrified of him, he still was trying to defend you against him. 
“I need to use the restroom to freshen up,” you said, changing the subject abruptly—you didn’t want to talk about this anymore, if the Fatui were already onto you, you were running out of time to do what you needed to do. 
You didn’t want to rely on Dottore, not if you didn’t have to. 
Artem stared at you for a long moment before sighing, arm slipping around your waist as he guided you back to the front of the room toward the wide double doors that led to the entrance hall, “There’s only two ways in and out of here, the only other way…”
You glanced backward to another door on the opposite side of the room—the only way to get to it would be to walk past several Harbingers and that was simply not going to happen, not when a few of them were clearly suspicious of you already. You could only hope that they missed you slipping out of the hall but somehow, you doubted they would. 
Reaching the doors, you raised your eyebrows when neither of the Fatui subordinates moved out of your way. Artem stepped forward, slightly in front of you.
“Is there an issue?” Artem asked coldly, motioning to the door. “Are the hinges not working properly? They seemed just fine before. My lady needs to freshen up.”
The two men exchanged a long look with one another before shifting out of the way, albeit a bit reluctantly. You looked back at Artem, squeezing his arm, “I’ll be right back.”
And if I’m not, don’t come looking. 
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“They’re a lovely couple, hm?” Pantalone smiled as the two of them walked the length of the ballroom. Dottore’s jaw clenched, irritation skyrocketing when he continued, “They look very happy together, don’t they?”
“Very,” Dottore agreed dryly, not letting the man get a rise out of him like he wanted, but unlike Pantalone, he did not look in your direction. 
Instead, he kept his gaze trained forward, mind-racing as he tried to figure out what Pantalone might want from him. If he had to guess, it was going to be something with the residue research and creating a stronger delusion for him but the man was as unpredictable as the wind—there was no telling what demands would spew from his mouth. 
“Do you think that’s why she was ignoring you?” Pantalone asked, trying to gossip like a pair of old wives as if they weren’t talking about his soulmate. “She finally found someone better and doesn’t want anything to do with you?” 
Dottore didn’t think that was the case. He finally looked back over to where you were dancing with the aristocrat. You looked comfortable with him, but not happy, and you looked safe with him, but not hopeful—not the way you had been with him, at least. You had been tense and stressed but there was no denying that lingering hope that swam behind your eyes, as much as you tried to hide it with your sharp tongue and harsh jabs. 
Dottore had never been able to read people well—he compensated with intimidation—but it came naturally when looking at you, probably because of the bond. He didn’t know whether or not to be appreciative of it or to resent it because you could clearly read him as well as he could read you and the thought of that left him uncomfortable.
“No,” Dottore finally said after a few moments of silence. “I think she was ignoring me to be petty.”
It appears you’re not fond of being ignored. How fascinating. 
He had recognized the underlying message, calling him a hypocrite—he wouldn’t put it past you to have spent the past two weeks ignoring him after he finally reached out to you just to be spiteful.
“Not quite the air-headed and dimwitted fawn you described to the others then,” Pantalone drawled, smile widening as he finally looked at Dottore. “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t say anything… but there’s no way the others will fall for the facade once they realize who she is to you. Anyone fated to you is bound to be closer to monster than man.”
That was unacceptable. His chest tightened at his words, a foul feeling swirling his insides. It was not about the implied insult to him, nor was it about the subtle threat of the other Harbingers finding out who you were to him—it was the insult to you, the mocking comment Pantalone made calling you closer to monster than man. That was not acceptable.
And then he realized what he was doing, getting defensive over you for no reason at all. Careful, he told himself, this was what he hadn’t wanted. 
He pushed it away, again, focusing on the issue at hand. 
“Was she everything you hoped?” Pantalone pressed, a sardonic smile twisting his lips as he watched you.
More, Dottore answered silently. You were beyond anything he had imagined, but he kept his answer to himself, “What do you want, Regrator?”
“Fair exchange,” Pantalone spoke of the policy he had lived by since the day Dottore met him and Dottore knew that he wasn’t going to like this. Pantalone’s eyes gleamed at the prospect of it, that thin thread of control waning as it always did when he got the upperhand on someone. “I am owed. Our previous exchange has been fulfilled—you brought me into the Fatui and helped me obtain my position, I gave you better funding and support in meetings. This is the start of a new exchange. Twice now, I’ve protected her and now, I’ve brought her in so that you weren’t exposed. I am owed.”
“What do you want?” Dottore repeated again, unperturbed by Pantalone’s demeanor, wanting to get this conversation over with. “The residue research? One of my segments to help with your missions?”
“The prototype for the new delusion,” Pantalone said. Dottore raised his eyebrows—it’s a prototype for a reason, on his lips but he decided against it. If the Regrator wanted to use the prototype, all the better for Dottore: he would be able to study how he reacts to it, and how it reacts to him. “And a branch of the Northland Bank in Fontaine City.”
Dottore tilted his head, “How exactly do you expect me to help with that? Just take one of the segments and tell them what to do.”
Pantalone smiled again but this time, it was colder—the same smile he directed at the other Harbingers when they pissed him off. His head turned in the direction of where you were dancing with the aristocrat and then he asked, voice amused: “You didn’t think I was helping her for your sake, did you?”
There it is. 
Dottore stared at Pantalone emptily from beneath his mask. He had expected this from the moment he had initially offered his help in finding you, he knew there would be a catch but he did not think it would have to do with you. 
A branch of the Northland Bank set up in Fontaine City. What would that entail from you? Information on the court that only the upper echelon of aristocrats would know? Weaknesses and holes in their defenses? Either way, it would entail betraying your nation and he had a feeling you wouldn’t do that… which meant he would somehow have to get the information from you to pass it on to Pantalone, which meant he would have to betray you. For some reason, the thought left him feeling uneasy. 
“Very well,” he agreed. “Consider it done.”
Pleased, Pantalone looked back out to the ballroom floor.
“Oh?” he noted. “She’s on the move.”
Dottore’s head snapped to the side, eyes searching the floor until they landed on where the aristocrat was leading you through the hall and to the entrance of the room.
What were you doing? He had a bad feeling, exhaling as he waited. Were you really going to go out and try to find the evidence you wanted now? Right after he had told you that the Harbingers have their eye on you? You couldn’t be that stupid… unless you were trying to rush to do it before he could get involved but that would be ridiculous.
Dottore’s eyes followed you until the doors of the ballroom shut behind you and you were gone from sight. He didn’t bother explaining to Pantalone where he was going, turning on his heel and made his way to the door on the opposite side of the room, closer to where he and Pantalone were standing.
The Fatui subordinates scattered at his approach, allowing an easy exit for him. Pantalone followed, much to his distaste, but he supposed this way it didn’t look as suspicious. As soon as he pushed the door open, a rush of cold air met him—a welcome escape from the stuffiness of the ballroom and the endless chatter of the aristocrats and the music and all of the overwhelming noise.
The hall was dimly lit by candles mounted on the walls, there was no one in the hall besides them—Dottore assumed that you had turned down the hall on the right instead, heading to the washroom. 
Was that what you were doing? Faking going to the washroom so you could slip away and search? Why weren’t their subordinates lining the halls to make sure people couldn’t do that? 
“Are you going after her?” Pantalone asked, amused, slinking up beside him. Dottore gave him a cold look from the corner of his eye. “Relax, I won’t interfere.”
Dottore wasn’t sure how much he believed that but he didn’t have time to call him out for it. He wanted to get to you before you did something stupid. He gave Pantalone one last look before making his way down the hall in the direction of the washroom, turning left down two different halls until he was on the opposite side of the ballroom—just as he came to a stop outside of the door, it opened.
“There you are.”
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REBLOGS APPRECIATED
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cursedcola · 5 months
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Prompt: "Will You Marry Me?" - Proposal Headcannons Characters: Everyone :) Part(s): Heartslabyul, Savanaclaw, Octavinelle, Scarabia, Pomefiore, Ignihyde(here!), Diasomnia(Pt.1)(Pt.2) Fandom: Twisted Wonderland Warning(s): The relationship is kinda toxic because it's Idia and I have to be realistic - but it gets better as you read. Just know that there are themes of miscommunication, self-sabotage, self-neglect, and insecurity in both Idia and the MC. I gave him some character growth at least and some maturation to the character. Note: All Ignihyde has is Idia so I gave his piece some extra love(super long. Like, this isn't even considered a headcannon set anymore. I really went overboard, I'm so sorry). Not proofread for grammar since I'm a bit lazy right now. Also, I haven't finished his chapter in game because I'm too weak (seriously wtf is up with these fights). I know the plot mostly but forgive me if there's an inaccuracy in a reference
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Idia had it made during his youth - and deep down he knows it despite all his complaining. He knows that he won the introvert lottery. For three years he was able to live in a reclusive dorm room with no expectations beyond showing up to class (via a tablet of all things) and doing his work. Sure, he had to return home at some point and deal with that hot mess...but it was a displaced problem. One to be dealt with whenever. As a full-time 'student' he had junk food readily available, his brother down the hall, all the games and tech he needed, and somehow managed to land himself a loving partner despite his quirks.
The Ramshackle prefect - someone he initially wanted nothing to do with. Chaos seemed to follow their every move and Idia wanted no part of it. He never expected to come within a twenty-foot radius of them without force.
For the record, force indeed was used. Unfortunately they had a nasty habit of being nosy. Very 'main character complex' of them, if you ask him.
Yet it worked in his favor. Their stubbornness and intrusive ways wormed a place in his stone-cold heart. It fueled his ego much to everyone's chagrin. Out of everyone - princes, busy bodies, future doctors and the literal fish mafia - you picked him. The noob cursed to lose all his 50/50s and rot in bluelight. Idia seriously questions your tastes, but hey! He beat the normies and that's all he cares about.
Well, at least that's how he phrases it. Underneath that god-tier ego is an inferiority complex that he tries to keep down for your benefit. Something about your mood dipping by 20% when he talks trash? He'd need Ortho to run another test on that. Just to be safe.
Unfortunately, he still can't reign it in all the way. Victories can be temporary and who's he to say that your relationship isn't a one-shot story? Nothing worthwhile is ever that simple. Good games always get sequels...so the question lingers, will he still be a main character in yours?
When Idia graduates, he fully expects for you to walk out of his life. He returns to S.T.Y.X and leaves NRC to fulfill his role back home. You have no reason to care about him when he's no longer nearby. Life isn't like an isekai manga. You won't wait for him - no, you'll get a taste for how life is without him and indulge. Slowly you'll stop texting him, calling him, playing games with him - well, he'll do it first! He refuses to be the second male lead that gets dumped when you finally find your prince. That's for chumps.
He'd rather you just up and leave this world! At least then he wouldn't be in this pitiful situation...but he's seen that crow's shitty work ethic. You're stuck.
Idia's scared to say the least. One could say that his self sabotage was in action before your relationship even began. Old habits die hard, and no one could stop his spiral. Not even Ortho. Idia left his little brother behind as well. The boy sent him off with a smile, promising to take good care of you in his big brother's stead. After all, you both were in the same year.
It's not surprising that he reverts to his old ways. A hard battle is even more difficult to win when you don't have the motivation to fight it in the first place. Idia loses his drive...and in turn his already negative outlook grows worse.
Needless to say, Idia ... neglects you.
Your relationship has always been more of an 80:20 than a 50:50 - with him taking more than he ever gave. You always set aside time and made sure he was comfortable. You respected his anxieties and dealt with his temper on more than one occasion. His jealousy. You indulged his hobbies, always tried to include him in on activities with your friends (even though he rarely ever accepted), wore your heart on your sleeve and always took the lead. You were always too good to be true.
Two years. Two years with him at S.T.Y.X and you at NRC. Not a day passed where you did not text him or call. Not a week passed where you did not video-chat or play a game with him. You made time. You checked in. Told him stories about your life an friends. Ortho often would send him recordings and clips as well. During vacations you'd make plans to see him and always invited him to come to campus for events. Even though he never accepted, you still always offered. Throughout it all he kept you at a distance, yet unable to fully let you go at the same time. He needed you to do it. He needed his inner thoughts to shut up and to have someone else to blame.
You. You. You. When would you stop? Why weren't you tired of him yet? On a good day he can be frustrating, so how were you not mad when he was physically trying to make you hate him? Were you waiting until graduation to drop the bomb on him that you'd leave for good? On another's arm or back to your world?
Imagine his surprise when neither happened. On the dawn after Ortho's graduation ceremony, Idia came out of his cave to greet him at the S.T.Y.X entrance. He would no longer be as lonely, and perhaps without Ortho around, you'd finally put distance between yourself and the Shroud family. All would be as it should.
He did not expect to see you at the gate as well. Ortho flew up to him with a bright grin and twirl in the air - babbling on and on about how he arranged for you to come work as a research assistant in the lab. After all, you had an extensive knowledge of blot as well as field experience. It was a win-win situation for the company and your relationship! You could now be a happy family! Isn't that just amazing?
"It was extremally difficult to keep this a surprise!...Brother?" Ortho halts mid-rant, his receptors going haywire, "Brother, your heartrate has increased and your temperature is dropping below stable levels. You must regulate your breathing pattern!"
White noise rang like television static in Idia's eardrum. He watched you thank one of the guards while handing off your suitcase. His pulse increased and mind went under water. How long had it been since you were together longterm? You looked different. More mature. Meanwhile he was still the same - physically and emotionally. Still the pasty shut-in with dark eyebags and energy drinks running through his veins instead of blood. He wasn't used to seeing you in person. How should he react? Should he hug you? Do you want him to? That's weird. He hasn't held you in a while - yeah, it would be creepy. Does he even deserve to? What made you want to work here anyways?! You could have gone anywhere. ANYWHERE. - Shit. You're looking this way. What should he do?! aHH! You're walking over!
He does what he knows best. Shuts down. You receive a disgraceful greeting. No affection. Not even a smile.
Idia's brow furrows at your approach and he buries his hands deep into the pockets of his lab-coat. When you lean in to kiss his cheek, he catches you by the forearms and holds you in place. "Since when were you going to work here? You do remember what S.T.Y.X is in charge of, right? Once you're in, there's no going back. Are you a masochist or something?" Ah. There goes the heartfelt reunion. Being home did bring out a more harsh and cut-throat side of him after all.
Despite his poor treatment, you don't react upset. Now the relationship has now become something of a 90 : 10. He knows you have no reason to come here other than for Ortho and himself. You really are an Otome protagonist, jeez. Willing to do all that for him? Giving up your future and friends just to be at his side...dammit. Don't give him hopes! Don't undo all the work he's put in to survive without you! Stop welcoming misfortune for his sake! You're stupid. Stupidstupidstupid .... man he loves that stupidity. Gods he missed it.
Shit. Not even an hour in and he's reverting.
You don't realize it but you're heading straight for a bad ending. He does though. He's read the guides and played more visual novels than he can count. As a pro, he needs to steer you off this villainy ending and towards the true route.
After all ... what was that one saying? Heroes will sacrifice you for the world, while Villans will sacrifice the world for you? He heard it from some normie bookworm...but it seems fitting right now.
Idia's no hero. He'll destroy his world if it means you get to be happy. Not that he had much of one to begin with. You...gave him a life beyond fiction while all he's offered is a curse. Literally and figuratively. Its time he returned what he so greedily stole. He'll make you move on through force.
The months are slow and difficult. Despite being nearby, Idia only ever seeks you out for work-related reasons. Even then he is very cold and dismissive . He also does not turn you away when you take the initiative. Just like old times, you linger around his room and prod him for attention. He wants you to leave, but also doesn't want to be cruel. So, he maintains this impassive position and lets you do whatever you please. Yet the situation is scarily similar to how you both were at NRC. Except instead of using his past as an excuse, he now uses your work dynamic to enable his noncommittal ways.
There really is only so much one person can take. After Idia left NRC, you pinned his switch in behavior on the lifestyle change and distance separating you both. You knew Idia would be someone you had to work hard for when you started to date, and so the situation was one you viewed as an obstacle to overcome. The solution was simple - you would go to S.T.Y.X and prove to him that you were willing to make it work. Without the physical distance, you hoped that he would let you in again. That you wouldn't have to hear reassurances from his brother anymore, and instead hear his feelings from his own mouth instead. Then you both could work out the details together in time. Seeing him reject you at first was discouraging, but you did not let it rest there. Perhaps he needed time and to get used to your presence in his home. After all, these were new waters. You would be patient. You would prove yourself capable.
Life becomes a time capsule. As the days went by, a bitter feeling grew in your stomach. Why wouldn't he laugh? Why wouldn't he look in your eyes anymore? Why is he retreating even further? What were you doing wrong? How could you fix it? Is it you? Your performance in the lab is outstanding according to your supervisors, and your work friends seem to find you agreeable enough. Can't he see that you've adjusted well and are happy here? There's nothing to worry about. How else can you prove yourself?
These thoughts plague your mind to an extend that Ortho felt the need to preform psychiatric evaluation. You dismissed his concerns with a long list of things about your new home that make you happy - including him. It pacifies his panic and somehow mitigates your own as well.
Until one fateful day, when you decided to take your lunch early and overheard a conversation between two senior S.T.Y.X employees
"Isn't the boss' partner kind of pitiful?" One technician spoke in a hush whisper, taking a bite from her salad, "He doesn't give them the time of day. I can't believe they've stuck around this long. Screw the job, I would have been out after the first week," "Shhh! Quit gossiping, it's bad. Especially about the one who pays our bills," The other scolds. "I know....but isn't it just sad. They're clearly being taken advantage of. I can't help but feel sorry" "It's not just you...to tell the truth, I had no clue Director Idia had a partner up until recently. If anything, I thought he disliked Assistant MC and kept them around for Director Ortho's sake. Imagine my shock..." They both snicker at the notion. "Yeah. I give them a few more months...maybe a year. Despite being smart in the lab, they clearly can't read the room:
It was the last straw. Like ice water being dunked over your head after a hot shower. The lunch pale in your grasp suddenly felt like it weighed ten times heavier, and a cold sweat dripped down your back. They were right. He didn't want you here. It was time to move on or else you'll just be living out an endless loop. Nothing has changed since your youth aside from the location. No matter how long you wait, no matter how much effort and time you offer ... the relationship is doomed to fail. You gave him everything...and it was time to stop waiting. To stop expecting and hoping. Time to accept reality.
Your lunch goes discarded in a nearby bin and your shift abandoned. You would not work another second for S.T.Y.X despite the facility not being the source of your anguish. Your shoes clack loudly against the tile flooring as you speed-walk to Idia's office, where he was lazily reviewing data on a recent experiment. His phone set off to the side with some automated gatcha daily playing.
You use your 'special' pass (curtesy of ortho) to get in. The metal door swings out as you march inside and turn off his screen without asking.
"H-h'-hey! What are you-" He shrieks and turns in his chair. "We need to talk" "Can't it wait until later? I'm busy working, if you can't tell" "No" Your tone is demanding. Definite. You all but yank the badge from around your neck and drop it in his lap. In that motion, he knew. Your eyes scrunch tight and teeth grind together. He was prepared for this. For you to lash out and yell at him for your suffering. Make him the bad guy in your story and finally beat the game for good. Not for you to deflate. Not for the glassy, disappointed stain on your eyes. Or the shallow breaths as you calm yourself - not letting your emotions frighten him like a spooked cat. "I'm quitting," "S.T.Y.X? You know you can't just quit. There's a process," He refutes, lazily pushing his chair back with an anxious fidget. "Not just S.T.Y.X...I'm quitting us. I can't do this anymore," "Oh. Alright. Let me get the paperwork," "Alright?" You whisper, gaping at him "...just alright? That's all you have to say to me? Not even 'why' ?" He pauses typing on a holographic keyboard, cocking an eyebrow at the question. "What? You want me to beg you to stay or something like that? We're not in an anime," His words die out at the end, and had it not been for your disbelief you would have caught the note of sadness in them, "you want to go? Then go. I warned you about this place" "No...you warned me about the facility. It's not the facility I have a problem with. I actually like it here" "So it's me then, huh? I warned you about that too," He grumbles and continues to type, "I'm not whatever it is that you saw in me. It's your fault for sticking it out this long. I knew this was how it would end from the start" A silence follows aside from the occasional noise from his computer. That's it. The nail in the coffin. You finally realized the truth. He was no good for you. He couldn't be 'fixed'. With an approving chime, he finally has all the departure paperwork pulled up for you to sign. "Alright. Sign these and I'll get you an escort," He holds out a tablet in pen without looking from his computer. You don't take it. "Hello? I said - " he turns to face you, irritated "....here" Silent tears stream down your cheeks and pool at the tip of your chin, dripping to the tile below. Wide eyes lock in his general direction. Your hands tremble slightly at your sides, as if your mind was thousands of miles away. His heart breaks. "You never even gave us a chance, did you?" He says nothing. "It wasn't about 'making it work' for you. It was always a matter of 'how long'. You've been waiting for me to leave you, all this time?" It wasn't a question. "All this time, I've been trying to prove myself. I've been thinking that I did something wrong...that I needed to be better" the word stings your tongue and seems to strike him, " but I was never even close to enough" we were never enough
With languid movements, you take the pen from him and sign the papers. You would not hide your sadness. Your grief. Your pain for a relationship that was never actually one. For a battle that only had one party fighting.
He lets you go, the metal door swinging shut and rattling him to his core. Idia's hands shake as he tries to return to his work. They tremble over the holographic keyboard, making his blue nails look like moving neon streaks in the air.
He had always thought you ere just being kind. That your self-sacrificing nature was natural, and that someone else was more deserving of it. He failed to consider the possibility that all the things you did...you did for him alone. You did out of the same anxieties and fears he felt.
In a way, you both were at fault. He led himself down a self-fulfilling prophecy - letting his anxieties and what-ifs become reality. And you? You thought everything could be fixed with time. With sacrifice. That eventually he would grow. You both were plants, one overwatered and the other left parched in the sun.
He did get one thing right. This was defiantly a bad end. Just not in the way he originally believed...
Somehow, life becomes worse than before you arrived at S.T.Y.X. At least when you were around, people did see him more out of his office or room. Seeing him revert to his previous ways without so much as an inkling of sadness for losing you....yeah, it did not look good. Worse than people not even knowing you were his partner at first. After your departure, rumors began to spread that you had finally snapped. The pity felt for you morphed into judgement towards his character. Others saw him as a heartless recluse, and the pity was extended to Ortho of all things. If Idia could toss out a loyal partner of years, what about the little robot? Perhaps despite all the gossip, the others at S.T.Y.X did not fully believe that he would let you leave so easily. That he wasn't as detached as the Shroud name dictates.
Little do they know that he's become a shadow of his former self. He can't even act self-depreciative. Pleasantries don't hit like they used to. Having you at a distance...well, was still considered as being with you. Now that you're never coming back, it's harder. Everything reminds him of you. Your favorite snacks are still stocked in the cafeteria, and there are blankets in his room that still have your scent. Occasionally a file will pop up with your work in it while he's doing reviews...and then there's Ortho. When you left, he was crushed. He pestered Idia for days - the security cameras giving him full knowledge of what happened. Yet no matter what the robot said about the situation, Idia didn't want to hear it. Eventually he took away Ortho's access data to his personal spaces.
That didn't stop the bot from talking through the door and spamming his brother's inboxes. Despite cutting off contact with his big brother, you still spoke to Ortho regularly. He refused to let his big brother lose all connection to you, and updated him on your well-being. Regardless of what Idia said, hearing about you made a difference. At first it increases his anxiety and drops his mood...but every time, like a scheduled delay, his serotonin levels will spike. Be it from a clip of your voice, a picture, or even just the mention of your name.
"Brother! I just finished a call with MC. Today they decided to adopt a cat! Would you like to see a picture?" His computer beeps with an incoming missive. Idia clicks it, and the screen displays a photo of you with a small white kitten in your arms. "They've decided to name it Grimm Jr. From what I heard, the predecessor was not pleased to be 'replaced,' as he calls it" Ortho laughs from the other side of the door, but Idia is too focused on the image on his screen. The curve in your smile and the way you gently cradle the kitten. You seem...happy. Much better than how he is doing. He fails to hear the door beep, granting access, neither the bot fly up next to him to look at the picture. "Big brother, why don't you apologize to MC? They would listen," Idia startles, clutching his chest as his hair flairs cherry red for a brief moment. He swivels in his chair and closes the image quickly. "I'm not apologizing for nothing. It's not like I miss them or anything. My life's great without having a normie relationship to manage" "Your body language suggests that you are lying" Ortho states, his eyes squinting cheekily. Idia hunches over, glaring at his keyboard and fiddling with his sleeves, "It's not like they'd want to see me anyways. I blew it. Only an idiot would forgive what I did," "That's not true! MC loves you!" Idia glares at him from the corner of his eye, "Yeah? They look pretty happy without me. They were miserable here" "Because you purposefully made them miserable! You are very smart brother, but even I understand emotions better than you and I am an artificial lifeform!" "Then what should I do, Ortho? Go beg them to take me back like some cringe sitcom?!" "Yes!" Idia blanches at the thought, but doesn't entirely dismiss it. Ortho glares holes into his head, causing Idia to shrink into his chair. "You are always afraid, brother. You lost them to your fears once...do you want to regret that? Are you really satisfied with pictures and stories? Why deny yourself wonderful things! We are not trapped anymore!"
Ortho leaves him with one piece of information - an apartment address. He sends it to all of Idia's emails and even somehow makes it the background of his tablet. He can't change it or take it off.
He stares at it long and hard. Searches the place up and even uses virtual reality to scope out the building. While perhaps a bit creepy...he hacks the security cameras and watches feed of you coming and going over the past moths. Some days you look perfectly well, and others you look worse for wear. If he went...would you even want to see him? Would you let him in? Kick him out? Is he willing to even try? What if you already moved on...no, Ortho wouldn't set him up for that if he knew you were happy with someone else.
Idia leaves S.T.Y.X for the first time in months. His request for leave shocks other employees. Yet he's gone the moment it's approved, afraid that he'll lose his edge if he thinks too long on it.
He finds himself at the door of a middle-class apartment in the Kingdom of Roses. Second floor, third door to the left, just like he memorized. He knows its yours from the ribbons tied on the doorknob, themed after one of your favorite animes. One he introduced to you...
In his hands is a small box of candies - a peace offering, just in case you want to kill him on sight.
His boney knuckles wrap around the doorknocker and thwack it three times. Sweat pools in his palms and he jolts away. The seconds like hours as his painted nails dig crescents into his palms. The door opens. "Hi, how can I -" You pause mid-sentence, your mouth going dry. Grimm Jr. snuggled in one of your arms while the other holds the door open, "I-idia?" "T-that's my name," He grimaces, looking anywhere but at you. "What are you doing here?" His tongue feels heavy and the tips of his hair fade to a pale orange. He studders and fumbles with the box of candies, holding them out to you with a grimace. "I wanted to see you...urk. I hope that's not weird! Can ... I come in?" You eye the box in thought, before reaching out to take it and opening the door further. It was a start.
You hear him out - through the stuttering and the self-depreciative comments that he hastily retracts. This isn't just about him. It's about you and everything else in-between. Shockingly enough, you agree to give him a second chance. It wasn't entirely his fault after all ... and you did still love him. Although now there are ground rules. You would not be returning to S.T.Y.X. You've finally created a stable home for yourself and have a life in this new city. You have a career, friends, and a life that doesn't include him. You need the individuality. You would no longer try to morph yourself for him or be placid. If he wanted to spend time with you, he would have to leave S.T.Y.X and come stay at your apartment. You would no longer be the one always reaching out, he would have to start showing initiative and making time for you. You would see how things progress from that point. He was not a child, and you would not beg for basic needs to be met anymore. Words would not be enough, you need actions. It was time for 50 : 50.
Weirdly enough, he agrees to all your rules without a single complaint. Not a normie comment or slang filled statement leaves his lips. He's still that nerdy dork you fell in love with at heart, but these 'normie' things? Well, Idia's accepted that he wants those things. As much as it is difficult for him to admit, they only grossed him out so much before because he always believed they were unattainable
He's true to his word. He calls you every day, first thing when he wakes up (in the late afternoon. He still is a hermit at heart). At first it made him anxious, and he'd hover over the contact for fifteen minutes before dialing. Yet it soon became easy, with his heart only beating fast from happiness. He takes the weekends off and comes to spend them at your apartments. Sometimes he brings Ortho and it becomes a sleepover with games - and at some point you start inviting your other heartslabyul friends from back in the day too. Eventually you do come around the compound again. It's awkward to say the least, considering how you left. Yet at the same time, it's a breath of fresh air. The others are shocked to see him out of his office, and he eats IN THE CAFETERIA. Woah. He calls you by your name and not 'assistant' when in public. Homie scares some people. That's what he does. He gives you a special watch for your anniversary. It's paired with on he has and solar powered, so you can contact him at any time. As a natural born worry-wart, he can't help but worry for your safety. Since watching the appartment CCTV is 'creepy,' he just asks that you wear the watch if you're going out anywhere. It won't die and with the click of a button he'll be alerted. In exchange, you can use it to contact him whenever you want. He'll always get back instantly since it might be an emergency. The watch is also directly linked to Ortho's system, so you can contact him as well. Who needs Cortana when you have Ortho?
For the first time, Idia feels secure in a relationship. He can't count Ortho since the boy is technically his creation. Ortho would always be there...and now? Idia's confident you will too.
Does that mean you should get married? Isn't that the next step in all this?
Well....shit (pleasant connotation)
He never would have tinkered with this idea before considering his 'family'. Who the hell in their right mind would marry a Shroud? A fool. Are you a fool? Maybe.
It's late evening on a Sunday night when you're both walking home together after hitting up a local diner for hearty eats. Wow. Look at him. On a date. So weird...pshh.
Idia walks at your side, forcing his pace to match yours. Not everyone is graced with his long stickman legs. His hands are buried deep in his hoodie and his posture is slightly slouched. Classic scary dog privilege for a nighttime walk - well, if his hair didn't scream valentine's day pink to the world. Although no one else has flaming hair other than the Shroud family, so he doubts anyone would interrupt.
You decide to take the long path home and through a nearby park. The night was still young for nightowls such as yourselves, and fresh air was always crisp at this hour.
Along that path you decide to stop at a cement bench by some vending machines and chill out for a bit. Despite having just ate, Idia gets you each a can of coffee.
He'd be leaving to go back to S.T.Y.X tomorrow. Like he does every Sunday. His gaze drifts to the watch on your wrist and thinks about adding some new features - maybe video chat? So he can see you throughout the day. He wonders what you'll be up to while he's stuck in the lab. Maybe you'll go shopping, or play a new game. Maybe you'll try out a new recipe or take Grimm Jr. out to play. He wishes he could see you during the week.
Ah. You're talking. He should probably tune in or you'll get mad at him. Why's it so hard to focus? He hasn't felt this uneasy in a while...
Why is he having these kinds of thoughts? It's weird.
"You okay? You seem a little spaced," You pull him from his thoughts, a concerned crease wrinkling your temple. "Eh. It's nothing. Just not looking forward to the week," he chuckles weakly. "I know that feeling. It's always a bummer when you dip. Not to sound clingy or anything" His golden hues spark for a moment, a pale pink dusting his cheeks as he whips his head to look at you.
"W-wait - really? I was just thinking the same thing...." "You were?" "Yeah. It's...kind of weird without you. Everything's emptier. Wow. That was pretty cringe. Sorry." He grimaces, internally screaming and knowing that this was going to replay when he tried to sleep later. You tilt your head at him, a slight frown on the cusp of your lip. Something tickles at his fingers and he looks down to see you lace your hand with his. "I miss you too," your words are soft. Genuine. He feels his neck grow hot, the pink glow radiating off him betraying him. Idia looks between your interlaced fingers and the drink in his hand. There...wouldn't ever be a 'right' time for this. Would there? You've waited long enough. He pulls his hand away and pops the soda tab off with deft hands.
"Hey..." he twiddles with the soda tab in his hands, "on a scale of 1-10, how are my odds of getting a yes?" "A 'yes' to what?" "To this, " he sighs through his nose, holding the tab out towards you with a shaking hand, "will you marry me?"
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{A soda tab from canned coffee. Not the most charming offering, and it barely fits around your pinky finger. Yet, Idia's always been impulsive at his core. Had he not acted in the moment, he likely would have ran countless possibilities over and over in his mind. While not your forever ring, the tab will remain a sentimental piece}
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{Idia is not a man with a keen eye fore jewelry - but he knows quality. Combine his eye for perfection with his craftsmanship and behold - a ring made from purified blot. The center gem is a piece of magestone in it's most refined state. The band is titanium and there are small sapphires along the molding. Since he would be wearing a matching band, Idia decided to keep the design simple. He prefers functionality over all. Yet he does want you to feel proud of his handiwork, so he includes vintage molding on your band only. He wears a smooth black band on his ring finger, and never removes it}
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hauntedestheart · 6 months
Text
Borrowing From His Roommate (Male Bodyswap)
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"Oh, sweet, my new shirt came!" Kamil exclaimed. "What do you think?"
Sagar glanced up from his book and looked over at the shirt his roommate was holding- a ridiculous thing made of blue lace that he wouldn't be caught dead in. He winced.
"It's very..." Sagar eyed the blue thing dispassionately- as a rather simple guy, he'd never understand his roommate's fashion sense. "Ostentatious?"
"You're just too straight to see the vision," Kamil rolled his eyes, and Sagar scoffed. "This is gonna look great."
Kamil held the shirt up in front of his body, twisting side to side as he pretended to model the garment, and Sagar's eyebrow raised. The shirt was clearly several sizes too large- his twinky friend was already dwarfed by it and he hadn't even put it on yet.
"Isn't that way too big?" He asked. "You'll be swimming in that."
"Oh yeah," Kamil gave Sagar a wink. "Switcheroo!"
Sagar blinked and found himself staring at his own face. Glancing down, he saw two slender hands clutching a blue shirt, and a second later his own body snatched it away from him.
"I should never have let you talk me into trying that body swapping spell with you," Sagar groaned, twisting to stretch his back as he tried to acclimated to his newer, more slender form.
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Kamil, in Sagar's body, wasted no time stripping off the t-shirt Sagar had put on earlier and slipping on the new top instead. The blue top was perfectly fitted to Sagar's form, though Kamil left several of the top buttons undone so the shirt hung loosely open and to reveal the light dusting of hair on Sagar's chest- which was somewhat pointless as the barely there lace that made of the rest of the shirt was see through put the rest of his borrowed musculature on easy display. Preening, he shook his body in a little dance just so how off how good he looked.
"See? I told you it would fit," Kamil said triumphantly, ignoring the unimpressed look Sagar gave him in response. "Anyways, sorry Sagar, I'm gonna have to borrow the body today."
"Borrow the body today" was, unfortunately, not an uncommon phrase in the Sagar/Kamil household. Weeks ago, a friend had returned from an overseas trip with a souvenir book full of "magic spells" and Sagar had been stupid enough to agree to try one with his roommate Kamil- he'd only done it to shut his friends up, he hadn't considered the possibility that it would actually work!
The spell had exchanged their bodies and Sagar had found the experience incredibly disorienting- Kamil was much shorter and skinnier than him and being so slender reminded him of being a kid again. Kamil, on the other hand, had gotten a lot more enjoyment out of the swap. Sagar was built like a tank, and Kamil was thrilled to be the one behind the wheel of such a powerful vehicle.
"Holy shit Sagar, I can touch the ceiling!" "Holy shit Sagar, I've got chest hair!" "Holy shit Sagar, I can lift the couch by myself!" "Holy shit Sagar, how do you walk with this thing?"
The spell had worn off after a few hours (though Sagar had not been able to prevent Kamil from locking himself in the bathroom for most of it) but it could be reactivated any time one of them said "Switcheroo..." something Kamil took full advantage of.
The twink looked for any excuse to swap with Sagar and enjoy the fruits of being, as he so lovingly put it, "a hunk," and in a weird sort of way Sagar had grown used to it. The two of them had been friends since they were very young so despite everything, Sagar still trusted his friend.
Mostly.
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"So what is it this time?" Sagar sighed and rubbed a hand down his baby smooth face- Kamil had never been able to grow any facial hair. He knew by this point that it was better not to argue with his roommate, so he might as well just figure out what he was in for.
"I'm going out to see this guy and he's expecting this face," Kamil ran a finger over his new lantern jawline, then did a jaunty little dance side to side, rocking Sagar's hips like they'd never been rocked before. "Well, really this body, since that's what most of the pictures have been of."
"Did you catfish someone?" Sagar frowned disapprovingly. Borrowing his body without asking was one thing, but Sagar didn't like the idea of Kamil leading someone on.
"It's not catfishing if I show up looking like the photos!" Kamil protested, placing his hands and heaving his mighty chest for emphasis. "I promised him he'd get to play with these muscle tits and I'm delivering. Besides, the first thing this dude asked for was pictures so he wouldn't be talking to me if he didn't like what he saw."
"If this guy is only interested in my body, is he really worth your time?" Sagar questioned, and Kamil just shrugged and resumed groping Sagar's body. Sagar shook his head and sighed at how shallow his friend could be sometimes. "And delete any photos you have of my body by the way, I don't want those out there."
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"You're right," Kamil agreed, his eyes still fixated on Sagar's body. He poked at his bicep "We're due for some updated shots- hey, have you been working out?"
Kamil grabbed a random object from nearby and began pumping it like a weight, admiring the way that the workout made his toned biceps flex. The sleeves of Kamil's new shirt grew tight as hard muscle strained against them, but Kamil didn't mind. He wanted it that way.
"Yeah, I have." Sagar puffed his (Kamil's?) chest up slightly- despite the circumstances, he was enjoying the opportunity to see the hard work he put into his body from another angle.
"Well it's nice," Kamil grinned, his famously charming smile looking incredible with Sagar's handsome face. "Keep up the good work buddy. Been hitting the squats too?"
Kamil leaned down into a lunge, twisting his hips as he experimented with moving Sagar's colossal ass around. The tight black pants Sagar had thrown on that morning clung to his thighs and really emphasized the round globes of his backside, and Sagar took advantage of the rare chance to observe his body from the outside and examined his own ass for a moment- his routine was hitting right it seemed. He'd have to do something about those pants though, he hadn't realized how tight they were.
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"You know this spell only lasts a few hours," Sagar pointed out, interrupting his friend's stretching routine. "How are you going to cram a whole date into that period?"
Kamil leaned down and tweaked his own nose. "It's so cute that you think we're going to go on a date."
Sagar groaned and covered his eyes. "Kamil, not another hookup!"
"Yes another hookup!" Kamil sang. He spanked his ass a few times, playing the cheeks like bongo drums, and the little thwacks echoed through the garden. "You should be thanking me Sagar, if I wasn't taking this thing out for a spin every now and then it would be covered in cobwebs."
"I don't see why you can't do these dates in your own body," Sagar whined, and he gestured up and down at Kamil's slender form. "You're a handsome guy Kamil! Any guy would be lucky to get a chance with you, you don't have to hide behind my face."
"Aw, Sagar, that's so sweet of you to say," Kamil smiled, but then he shook his head and drew Sagar's body up to its full height and grabbed a handful of his crotch. "But no, this isn't an insecurity thing. This is a 'I feel like demolishing someone's ass tonight and your piledriver dick is more up for the task' kind of thing."
Sagar was about to argue, but then he just sighed and picked his book back up again. He supposed he saw the logic in what Kamil was saying- he could read just as well in any body, but his friend needed a body like Sagar's for his hookup.
"Okay, one date," Sagar agreed, and watched a huge smile break out over his own face. "And you use a condom, and you agree to wash all my dishes for this month."
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"Thank you thank you thank you!" Kamil squealed, blowing Sagar a little kiss. Sagar rolled his eyes, but smiled. "And I'll tell you what, after this, I'll let you borrow this shirt whenever you want."
Sagar glanced up from his book and looked his body up and down- honestly, the shirt looked good on him. He winced, loath to admit that Kamil was wearing his body better than he had been.
"I might take you up on that."
319 notes · View notes
aoioozora · 2 months
Note
THIS IS SO AMAZING OMG (talking about the Simon fanfic btw) YOU JUST EARNED A FOLLOWER ❤️❤️ we'd really appreciate it if you did a part 2? 🥹 Take care
Simon.
Part 2
Part 1 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6
Note: I was never planning on making this a series but here we go, I guess I'm invested too now >:) thank you for requesting and following! While this series is fluff only, I have a small warning for this part: there's swearing, crude jokes. And possibly incorrect usage of Scottish and English slang. Enjoy :)
Photo credit: mus
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“It's pishin’ it doon out here.”
Simon looked at his friend and sighed, “English, MacTavish.” 
MacTavish groaned. “It's raining fuckin’ hard.” 
“Then say so.” 
“I did!” 
Simon and his friend, John MacTavish or ‘Johnny’, as he was affectionately called, found themselves standing under the shade of a book café, helmets in hands, watching Simon's bike get drenched in the heavy rain. Neither of them expected a downpour, and were caught without raincoats. And so the two had no choice but to wait it out. 
“It was yer bloody brilliant idea to go on a road trip when I warned ye that it was gonna rain today,” Johnny griped, crossing his arms as he shook the rain water off his helmet. 
Simon didn't say a word. He copied Johnny in getting the water off his helmet, except that he wiped it off with his hand. As he hung his head down to do so, his messy blond hair fell over his eyes, and he shook his head to get it out of the way. He wiped his hands on a handkerchief to dry them, and then pulled his mask down below his nose to inhale a fresh gulp of the cold, wet air. When he had inhaled enough, he pulled the mask back on, and his eyes wandered to his motorcycle, which was surrounded by a foggy haze in the rain. 
His mind wandered to that night he saved a young lady off the dangerous streets. He remembered how he saw her from afar, and without a second thought, sped up to her assailants, half-intent on actually flattening them into crepes. He remembered how his engine pounded as adrenaline charged his blood, as he twisted the accelerator to full throttle, sending the vehicle flying. 
A pretty lady he thought she was. He didn't know why he called her his girlfriend; his brain decided that being a boyfriend was the second most powerful thing a man could be, the first being a husband. No other men would mess with another man's woman, that was for sure, unless he had a death wish. She acted well too, convincingly even. 
He pulled out his phone and turned it around. Nestled beneath the clear casing was a small, clear candy wrapper, the same one that the pretty lady gave him that day. He didn't know why he felt the need to keep it, but did anyway. He definitely wanted something to remind him of her. 
He had been in anguish ever since he dropped her off and rode away; he had completely forgotten to ask for her name. But who does that? They were strangers. What are the odds that two strangers would meet again? 
“I'm heading inside,” Johnny announced, “I want a coffee.”
“Get me some tea.” 
“Fuckin’ Brit.” 
Simon was about to correct Johnny by telling him that Scotland, where he was from, was also part of the British isles, but he bit back, not wanting to risk hearing a rant in exclusively colorful, and totally family friendly Scottish words and phrases. 
“Fine, I'll do it myself.” Simon rolled his eyes and followed Johnny inside the book cafe. 
The two men sat at a table and while Johnny peered into the menu, Simon sank back into the comfortable chair and looked at the yellow bulbs hanging overhead, casting a soft, golden glow on the smooth wooden tables, the floors, and the cutlery. The smell of coffee, cakes, and books filled the air, along with the soft ruffle of pages, clinks of tableware and cups and saucers, and the distinct murmurs of his friend across him as he figured out what coffee he wanted to have. 
A waiter came by to take their orders, and the two were soon left to their own, sitting in unusual silence as they stared out the glass windows at the relentlessly pouring rain. While Johnny hummed a tune to himself, Simon, tired of looking at the downpour, decided to amuse himself with people watching. 
He saw people working at their laptops, some reading and drinking, others chatting in soft murmurs, and staff doing their job. 
His eyes fell on one particular lady who was seated at a table across the cafe, back facing him, busily working on her laptop. He felt his heart stop for a moment. Her silhouette was familiar, particularly her hair; it looked just like her. His heart pounded beneath his ribs. 
He didn't realise how long he looked until Johnny's voice piped, “Wit ye lookin’ at?” which interrupted the momentary buzz of his thoughts. 
Simon turned to his friend, who was looking at him with mingled curiosity and confusion. “Nothing.” he replied, shaking his head and hanging it down slightly to look away, but his eyes immediately darted to the lady, as if she was a strong magnet. 
Johnny wasn't quite convinced, and he followed Simon's line of vision. “A lass,” he observed, smirking. 
Simon glared at his friend, but it only made him chuckle. The two watched as she stood up for a moment and turned around, intent on walking to the shelves to grab a book. That's when Simon saw her face, and again, his heart seized. 
“It's her.”
His breath lodged tight in his lungs and his body visibly stiffened. And the most unfortunate reaction of them all: his partially exposed cheeks had turned pink. His eyes were glued to her, and he was unaware that Johnny was still keenly observing him. 
“Ye ken her?” asked Johnny, his smirk widening. 
“You remember I saved a girl the other day?” He asked back. 
“That's her?” Johnny whipped his head back again to take another gander at the lady. 
She was furiously flipping through the pages of a hardbound book, as if desperately in search of something. Simon rested his elbow on the armrest of the chair and leaned his cheek on his fist; he watched with interest as she hunched over the book like a medieval scholar, and wondered what her occupation was. She went back to her seat, hunched over again, and the two men looked back at each other. 
“Go talk to her,” Johnny challenged.
“No.”
“Keep bein’ a fuckin’ pussy and ye won't get to fuck that pussy, ye ken?” 
Simon snorted at that, but then immediately and quietly hissed “Wheesht!” at Johnny to make him shut up, glancing back at the pretty lady. “Don't be disrespectful,” he added.
Johnny chuckled, ever amused at the fact that his Scottish vernacular was infecting the Englishman. He leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee, continuing to smirk, “Since when did ye care about respect, huh?” 
Simon inhaled sharply, since he was getting increasingly impatient with Johnny and at the fact that he was running out of arguments. It was also a bit hard to argue in a place where you're supposed to be quiet. 
“Just go already. I cannae see ye looking so stupid like this. The worst she can say is ‘fuck off’.” Johnny shrugged. 
Simon shot his friend and unimpressed look, making Johnny snort. “That is the worst thing she can say, you wanker,” he said, now mechanically rising from his chair. 
“Fuck off and get her number, ye gobshite, or else you'll just be wanking to her and not talking.” Johnny shook his head with a smirk and gave his friend a slap on the back as he passed him. Simon returned the gesture with a slap to the back of Johnny's head, particularly in annoyance at the latter part of his sentence. 
While Johnny whined quietly from how hard a slap he had been dealt with, Simon's attention was drawn when he heard her voice again, sounding a little agitated. His head whipped towards her table, and yet again, she was being hit on by some guy, and clearly looked like she was uncomfortably fighting back his unwanted advances. 
Simon glared at the man as he began his march. “If only she had a boyfriend by her side, a guard dog…” he thought to himself as he speedily, yet calmly stepped over to her table. 
He went around some tables and emerged behind the man, towering over him. Before Simon was noticed by her, his hand came down heavily on the man's shoulder, making him flinch. Leaning down, he whispered as the man turned to face him, “What business do you have with my girlfriend?” 
The man was met with Simon's glaring eyes that meant serious business. He froze up immediately. 
“Babe, he was trying to hit on me even though I told him I wasn't interested,” the lady's voice resounded, and a quick glance at her told Simon that her eyes glimmered with recognition. 
The “babe” made his knees weak for a moment, but he shook off the feeling and continued to glare at the man. No more words were needed. He immediately stood up from his seat and strode away, apologising without sincerity. When he was finally earshot, she sighed. 
“You alright, love?” asked Simon with gentleness unusual to him, glancing around again to make sure the man was nowhere in sight. 
“Yeah, I'm fine,” she sighed, also looking in the direction the man left. She looked back at him and smiled brightly, “But what a coincidence. We meet again, Simon.” 
“And I'm mighty chuffed about it.” he thought to himself as he nodded in response. “Funny coincidence, really. My friend and I were just about to leave on a small road trip and the rain,” he shook his head and clicked his tongue as he looked at the windows, “it rained on our parade, I guess.”
The unintentional pun made her giggle. Simon normally had a grip on his emotions, but that damned giggle threw off his train of thought. But regaining himself, he continued, “So we took shelter here, and I saw you. Thought I'd come talk and then I heard that guy trying to make a pass at you.”
She motioned to the chair for him to sit down, which he instantly did; he cursed himself for seeming so eager. 
“You heard?” she asked with emphasis. 
“Yeah?” he nodded, slightly confused as to why she zeroed in on that word in particular. “I was looking elsewhere, and then I heard you.”
She then glanced at her laptop for a moment and then pulled the screen down slightly so he wouldn't see what was on. As she did, she said, “I see. I'm lucky you came just then because I was having a hard time driving him away.”
“I could tell,” he answered slowly. He then decided to change the subject. “You come here often?” 
“Yeah, every day. This place is calm and quiet and the atmosphere helps me work.”
“What's your job?” 
“I'm an author.” 
“An author?” he blinked in surprise. He didn't expect that. “What do you write about?” 
“Fantasy and adventure… With a hint of romance.” She grabbed her tote that was on the table and pulled out a book from it, which she showed him. “This is my first published book.” 
“No kidding?” He took the book in my hand. It was titled ‘Firefly Trails’, embossed in gold. The cover was matte, showing a dark forest trail dotted with glossy fireflies and their greenish yellow light. Below the title was her name, and he read it in his mind slowly, his eyes spending more time taking it in more than anything else on the cover. 
“New York Times Bestseller.” he recited, smirking as he eyed the epithet on the top of the cover, “Don't they slap this on every book?” 
“They do, but this actually did pretty well in New York.”
“So you're famous then?” 
“Kind of?” 
“Tell me your Instagram handle, I'll need to see for myself.” Simon pulled out his phone and looked at her, waiting for her to tell him. 
She did. He immediately typed it out on the search bar and while he did, he rested his elbow on the table, holding his arm upright. His neck was craned upward slightly, and the lady couldn't help but stare at the way his Adam's apple moved as he gulped, and the way the sternocleidomastoid muscle tightened and popped from under his fair skin as he moved his neck. 
Her analytical, authorly eyes scanned him keenly, soaking in all she could make of his facial features; at his icy blond hair, short and styled in an undercut; his long eyelashes, his shapely eyebrows, his slightly pink cheeks under the black mask, the way his brown eyes reflected against the blue light of the phone screen; it was all a sight to behold. He was saying something, but her mind was so lost in trying to mentally string words together to describe the view in front of her in the most superfluous manner possible, in hopes that this information would be used in her future works. 
“Hey, you really are famous. You got quite a tonne of followers.” Simon, who was highly aware of her shameless staring, somehow managed to interrupt her flow of thought. 
She was successfully brought back to Earth from her daydream, and she nodded, now embarrassed to have been caught red-handed. He thankfully made no comment on it, not wanting to make things awkward.
She answered, “I suppose so. But they're not as many as bigger authors. I'm not complaining, though. I'm really happy to have a lot of people liking my work.”
“You're too modest,” he said, and she could see his cheeks rise to his eyes just a wee bit behind his mask, indicative of a smile. He now showed her her Instagram page on his phone. “There, I followed you,” he said, pointing at the grey ‘Following’ button.
“Are you sure? You don't look like the type of person who reads or is interested in author updates.” A slightly teasing smirk tugged the corner of her lips. 
Simon chuckled and shook his head slightly, making his short hair swish a little; she took notice of it. “I'm a voracious reader,” he bragged, lying through his teeth, even using a fancy word to make it more convincing. 
She smiled, clearly not quite convinced, but decided to humor him anyway. “If you are, then that book is a gift for you.” She glanced at the copy resting on his lap. 
“No kidding?” he blinked as he took the book in his hand to gaze at it. “Well, since you're so famous, I think I should get your autograph.” he said, and she could see one of his cheeks raised; an unmistakable smirk. 
“Oh, come on, you're making me blush,” she giggled, but took the book anyway.
"My intentions exactly," he thought as he watched her grab a pen and start writing on the first page. 
His phone buzzed a message in the meantime, and he took the device to have a look. It was Johnny. He glanced at the other end of the cafe at his friend, and found him staring, finishing the last sips of his coffee. 
Johnny MacTavvy: oi yer tea's getting cauld 
Johnny MacTavvy: Rain's stopped too. Let's go 
Simon now looked out the glass windows and the rain had indeed stopped, and a bit of sunlight was peeking through the cloudy skies. He sighed, not wanting to go just yet, but knowing Johnny wouldn't let him tarry any longer, he quickly typed a reply, which Johnny saw immediately. 
Fuckin’ Brit: ok 
By the time Simon kept his phone in his pocket, the lady finished her autograph and handed the book to him. “Enjoy.” She smiled. 
Simon murmured a “Thanks” as he received the book, and then rose from his seat. 
“Leaving already?” she asked, looking a little disappointed. 
“Yeah, my friend's annoying me to finish my tea so we can be on our way. The rain's stopped now, so…”
“Okay,” she nodded slightly, glancing out the windows to confirm for herself. Looking back at him, she smiled again, “Take care then.” 
“You too,” he inhaled. “Make sure you don't get hit on again,” he said, attempting to be casual and funny, but he felt like his attempt turned out to be so stupid. 
She shook her head, scoffing and smiling. “I'll be fine.” 
He was relieved that the attempt landed safely despite the turbulence, and he sighed. “Right then, I'll see you inna bit, love.” 
“See you, Simon.” 
He nodded once at her and then strode back to Johnny, feeling his knees get weaker by the second. He managed to reach his table and practically fell down in his seat. 
“Well?” asked Johnny with a smirk as he leaned forward and eyed the book in Simon's hand. “She gave ye a gift, I see.” 
“She's an author. Her first book.” Simon answered, handing him the book so he could see it. 
“For real?” Johnny took the book and flipped through the pages. The autograph on the first page caught his attention and he read it. His eyes widened slightly and he closed the book, returning it to his friend, who was drowning the lukewarm tea. “He completely forgot, didnae he, this bastard.” Johnny muttered under his breath, smirking. 
“What was that?” asked Simon, setting down the teacup. 
“Nothing. Let's go.” 
The two paid for their drinks and as they stepped out the door, Simon glanced back at her, and saw that she was also looking at him over her shoulder. This time, he felt a bit fluttery in his stomach. She waved at him with another of those pretty smiles and he waved back, already feeling his knees go weak again. 
The two turned away and exited the book cafe. While Johnny wiped the rainwater off the motorcycle, Simon took a moment to see what she had written as an autograph. 
“Dear Simon, thank you for saving me twice. I hope you enjoy the book,” was written, and along with that was her name and signature.
Below that was written in unmistakably bold and clear letters, “Call me,” along with her number. 
Simon felt like he had been struck by lightning. His face turned alarmingly red and hot to the point that he scrambled to pull his hood over to hide himself. “Fuck me…” he mumbled his exclamation as he processed this very clear green light from her. It was unbelievable. 
In the meantime, the lady herself  couldn't believe this whole thing just happened. He happened to be there, came up to her, saved her, and swooped her off her feet the second time. It was an amazing coincidence, a once in a lifetime incident, something straight out of a novel. And being an author, she couldn't let this go. She just had to shoot her shot by slapping her phone number in the autograph and now hope that he would call her.
But if there was one thing that sold her completely, it was the fact that he heard that she was in trouble, and came to her rescue. 
Feeling a flutter in her chest, she looked back at her laptop screen. A Google search result was displayed in bold:
“The name Simon means ‘to hear’.”
End of Part 2.
Part 3
210 notes · View notes
s4ik0yks · 8 months
Text
NSFW Alfhaped with Simon Riley
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Warnings!: Hard sex, simon! Top and Male Reader! Sub, everyone in this "story" is of legal age, sorry for any spelling mistakes. English is not my first language and heavy language. If you are underage, leave this profile immediately!! This is not for you.
A = Aftercare (How do they look after sex?)
Simon tends to be pretty aggressive when he's having sex with you, so he would carry you into the bathroom to take a warm shower and make out with each other, to make up for the hot, intense sex they had a few hours ago.
B = Body part (your favorite body part and also your partner's)
In himself Ghost likes his hands because he can grab your waist and squeeze however he wants. Simon likes his cock because he knows he's the only one who can give you enough pleasure to make you scream his name.
Already in you, Ghost, loves your waist, your neck. Simon says he loves his neck because it's perfect for leaving marks and hickeys. He loves your waist because while he grips it tight, he can get harder inside you and also manages to dictate the movements while you are riding his cock.
C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)
Ghost doesn't care where he releases his cum, but he loves getting his cum all over you, he could get hard again just by the sight of your whole body smeared with his cum, he loves cumming inside you too, loves even more so when your anus starts leaking his cum.
D = Dirty Secret (a dirty secret of his)
Ghost loves to say explicit things in your ear while getting deep inside you, he gets even more excited when his hole starts to squeeze when he says things like that, expect a lot of naughty phrases from him.
" - You like to hear things like that, don't you? Of course you do, you squeezed me so tight when I said you're nothing but a dirty little whore".
E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they are doing?)
Simon has a lot of experience, he's had sex with several people, none of them were serious, they were just one night stands, but he's always innovating with you, be it positions, places, toys and among others.
F = Favorite Position (This goes without saying)
It's really hard for Simon to pick a favorite position, but I'd say he loves the doggie style because he loves spanking your ass mercilessly, and he also loves pulling your hair so brutally making you turn your head and look at him, have you in that position is delusional for him.
The missionary, on the other hand, is perfect for him because he can grab your waist tightly and push you harder and he can also hang you the way he likes.
G = Goofy (He's goofy in sex)
No, he is serious and rough during your sex, there was never a joke or anything like that between you during sex.
H = Hair (Hair, if he lets it and if he likes it on you)
He doesn't care about his hair, but if it bothers you he will make a point of shaving, he doesn't care about you at all, hair is not a problem for him.
I = Intimacy (Intimacy in the process)
It took a long time for you to gain Ghost's trust, and it took a long time for the two of you to start having an affair, but he always left you a few loopholes. Since he considered you an attractive man.
J = Jack Off (masturbation headcanon)
Simon tends to masturbate quite often when he's separated from you, whenever he remembers your body and your sly moans.
K = Twist (fetish)
Bondage: Sexual practice in which one of the partners is tied. Simon loves being in control of his body, and especially his pleasure.
Size Kink: It is not a sexual practice, it is linked to the size kink, where one partner is "huge" and the other is "tiny", Simon is a big guy, and he likes to use that against you, your body is tiny compared to his.
L = Location (Favorite places to fuck)
He doesn't have a favorite place to have sex, any place is good for him, be it your bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, living room, car, office, anywhere but public. He doesn't want anyone to interrupt you two's sex, or catch you naked.
M = Motivation (What excites them, keeps them going)
Simon loves to see you wearing his shirts, he likes to see your small body with the huge shirts, he doesn't understand why, but whenever he sees you wearing his shirts he has a huge urge to fuck you.
N = NO (Something they wouldn't do)
Threesome. Don't think of any chance wanting to have sex with Simon and another man, he's a very jealous man and will think he's not giving you enough pleasure.
O = Oral (He prefers to give or receive)
Ghost likes to give and take, but he'd rather watch you choke on his cock, see you smeared with your own drool as you try to swallow his cock.
P = Rhythm (Rhythm, Is it fast or slow)
Fast and aggressive, he wouldn't feel sorry for you during sex, Simon goes as deep and brutally as possible inside you.
Q = Quickies
Simon doesn't like quickies, he prefers something long and pleasant between the two of them, but sometimes there are some quickies, since he lives on missions.
R = Risk (Risks, he likes to take)
No, no fuck, he's a very jealous man and would get pissed if anyone saw you having sex, especially if someone saw you naked.
S = Stamina (How many rounds can it last?)
Riley is tough as fuck, he could take four hour rounds in a row, or more, but he knows you can't take that many rounds, so he averages out to two hour rounds in a row.
T = Toy (Do they have toys?)
You and Ghost don't have many sex toys, just a few blindfolds, handcuffs, ropes and vibrators. He's not that big a fan of using toys because he knows he has his fingers, tongue and dick to satisfy you.
U = Unfair (unfair, how much it is)
Depends on your mood, if Simon is patient he might rub his dick in your entrance over and over again until you start raving and begging for more.
V = Volume (groans)
Simon hardly moans, he doesn't like moaning, he likes to hear you moaning and calling his name as he fucks you hard.
W = Wild Card (fictitious situation)
[Name] was drooling around Simon's cock, licking so hard, like a hungry animal.
"-shit, you suck me so well, baby..." -simon speaks with a seductive tone, while forcing [name]'s head to go forward to swallow the rest of his cock.
X = X-Ray (size)
Ghost's dick is about 23 cm well distributed, very thick and with the glans swollen and a little red. Sometimes he struggles to get everything inside you, so he stays still for a few seconds until his anus gets used to his size.
Y = Yearning (desire)
Since he spends most of his time on missions, he doesn't have a high sex drive when he's out, but when he's home with you, I could tell he becomes almost a nymphomaniac and would love to spend the whole day fucking.
Z = ZZZ (Who sleeps first)
Simon would wait for you to fall asleep first so that he could rest later, the older one would grab his body before going to sleep and would be stroking his hair or his back, this gives him a feeling of comfort.
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kateszn · 2 months
Text
loser!kate who is so incredibly shy. she’s doesn’t know what to do when you’re wearing a short little skirt, the material wraps around kissable thighs like a glove, it hugs your ass deliciously to the point kate can’t seem to focus on anything but you. she feels the blush coat her porcelain skin as you bend down to pick up your dropped lipgloss. she tries to keep her eyes away, but it’s nearly impossible.
loser!kate who thinks about it later in the dead of night, slender fingers tucked underneath her boxers, thinking about just how beautiful you are, how much she wants to kiss you, touch you, hold you in her arms, but you’ll never want her in the same way. that much she’s sure of. it was practically a joke, you’re so far out of the nerdy, raven-haired girl’s league. it wasn’t like she even had a chance either, you went for pretty girls and kate is not a pretty girl. with her thick framed glasses, thick grey sweats, and the lack of effort in her daily appearance she wondered how you even have her the time of day at all.
loser!kate who starts to distance herself over the last few weeks. she’s feeling inadequate compared to you, not to mention the ongoing rejecting swarming her soul on a daily basis. it’s not much, and she not getting enough. she needs more of you, the thought impounds on her brain until she’s sick in the head, hopelessly waiting for you to put her out of tortured misery. but you convinced her to come over to your pool today, you have something else entirely in mind. your black bikini, swallowing your ass whole as your sunbathing on the reclined chair. shoving tanning oil in kate’s sweaty hands, demanding her with your siren eyes, and what could she really do? besides obey and grovel at your feet? nothing. not a damn thing.
loser!kate who nearly dies when you tell her to untie the secured knot holding your bikini top together. all of your back, yeah, she needs to get your entire back. that’s all this is. kate tried to ignore how soft your skin feels, how much she loves lathering you in oil, how silky and smooth it makes your skin look, or how you back your ass as you purr a soft thank you, baby. the light praise sends kate’s clit throbbing, she’s sure she’ll pass out.
loser!kate who smooths hers oiled hands over the fat of your delicious butt cheeks, you moan quietly and so does kate. if you hear her, you don’t acknowledge her. you continue to let it happen and kate isn’t going to be the one to stop it.
“can you get my front?” you ask gently, but you’re not really asking.
before kate can respond, you maneuver quickly, laying flatly on gour back, flinging your bikini top on the grass, watching your sweet girls eyes bug out of her head.
“i-i, um…you want me to? are you sure?” she asks gently.
“yes, i do. is there a problem?” you push gently. “do you not want to touch me?”
“no…no! i mean…yes, i do?” the stuttering girl phrases it like a question.
she straddles your thighs, as she musters the courage to rub oil over your beautiful breasts with shaky hands. carefully, kate rubs the pad of her thumb over your sensitive nipples as if she’s testing the waters.
“you can do more than touch them, kate.” you state, watching as her face transform from delight to not so subtle confusion.
“oh, really?” she twist them lightly and she wants to sink her teach into the moan you offer.
“yes, baby. put those pretty lips of yours on them and suck.”
loser!kate who rubs her now bare pussy onto your thigh, wet folds slathering her thigh with with her slick as kate loudly moans your name. everything has escalated so quickly, much more than she expected. one minute she’s sucking on tits listening to you moan, then she’s eating you out like her mouth depending on it, fingering herself as you come deliciously all over her face. it’s salty, yet sweet, and kate knows she’ll be thinking about this for days to come. but you don’t give her much time to process.
loser!kate who yelps when you grab her hips with force, sliding her all the away up the length of your thigh, until yours grinding your pussy against hers. it’s magnificent, holy, and god kate is going to cry. this is all she’s ever wanted with you. she’s riding your pussy, tossing her head back, her sharp jaw on display for you, as her tits bounce for your eyes only. she’s chasing the high, the blinding white vision she so desperately wants to see. you’re continuously praising her, sending kate closer to the edge.
god, i knew you’d be so hot under those stuffy sweaters. fuck, baby. keep going just like that.
my perfect little nerdy baby, such a perfect slut for me.
give me that cum, yeah? you wanna be an artist, right? paint me
want you to cum on my pussy so bad….fuuccckkkkkk
be a good girl baby. c’mon, show me what a dirty fucking girl you are.
loser!kate who picks up her pace, every beat of the bed frame hitting the wall sends her closer and closer to the edge, she’s using you, a new surge of confidence floods though her veins, before she cumming, no, squirting all over you and your silk sheets. her body shakes violently and you don’t give a fuck. kate moans your name as she continues to fuck you and you’re just as gone as she is. your cum sticks together like glue. it’s messy, filthy, and so fucking lovely. kate wants to stay like this forever, marked with your pearly white shots of liquid filling her up endlessly. kate whimpers further as you move around the sticky substance with your fingers before pushing it back into her, sinking easily into her sweet hole as you fuck the mixed cum into her.
now, get on your back bishop so i can clean up your mess and mine, with this pretty mouth.
261 notes · View notes
ivymarquis · 2 months
Text
I saw that post that @ceilidho shared of Barry looking all “tf are you doing out of bed” and then I had to write this down for John. Sidebar the title of this in my google docs is “John decides he’s keeping his ONS”
Get Back Here
Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| T Word Count| 863 Content/Warnings| This is post coital with them having fucked like rabbits but everything is above board. This theoretically would be such a nice jump off spot for a darker twist BUT my heart is still mostly fluffy for the cod boys. I am working on something a lil unhinged with Price tho.
While this piece is rated T, I am an MDNI blog. Minors + ageless blogs will be blocked.
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If she has any sense in her head, she’ll slip out from the sheets while he’s snoring beside her, get dressed and fuck off back home.
Of course, how much sense she has at the moment is debatable at best because he went and fucked her brains right out of her skull.
Forget pipe- The man laid infrastructure earlier and it’s already screwing with her head. Making her really have to try and talk herself out of the urge to see where things go. The only thing she needs to see is where the fuck her drawers went. Getting dickmatized is a real struggle and while she doesn’t often go out, she lets the soldier sweet talk her on the expectation that there would be a fair degree of “get in, get done, get out”.
Post nut clarity is nowhere to be seen on his end, as he’d tucked her into the spot next to him with the promise of breakfast in the morning. A well deserved reward on her end for all her hard work.
Maybe her brain just likes to torture her but she starts to think that she’s just not meant for casual hook ups like this. He is kind and respectful and a phenomenal lay and her brain is already trying to twist this to justify finding a way to wrangle down another night with him. She just needs to rip this bandaid off and go.
Chalk this up as go-to spank bank fodder the next time she’s lonely.
It’s easier this way, she tells herself as she peels back the bedding he’d cocooned her in.
Less humiliating this way, to sneak away in the night as the cold bites at her as she gathers her clothes. All the while he’s snoring up a storm, assuring her that he’s still out of it and unaware of her escape attempt that is delayed by not being able to find her damn bra.
There’s a small part of her that somewhat feels bad for planning to sneak out in the middle of the night, but there’s a larger part of her that doesn’t want to hear whatever is his go to prompt when it’s time to kick his partner out of bed and back to the rest of the world.
She fixates on locating her wayward bra to the point she doesn’t notice the lack of white noise as he -John- stirs at the loss of her. She doesn’t see the way he gropes blindly at the space she was occupying not five minutes ago, nor the way his expression screws down into a scowl as realization sinks in when he fully awakens.
She does hear his huffed “The fuck are you doing?”, lacking any bite to it despite the phrasing. What she’s doing is fairly obvious given how her clothes are gathered in her arms as opposed to rifling through something she shouldn’t.
“I, um,” she blinks stupidly. He’s a gorgeous man, just enough moonlight filtering through the window so she can see him even in the dark. “I’m getting dressed,” finally her brain clicks into place.
His eyes are squinting at her as he blinks back sleep, shuffling partly up to get a better look at her, the blanket pooling at his waist. Christ her knees are already weak just looking at him again. “None of that,” he dismisses firmly, “it’s too cold, love. Come back to bed. Promised you breakfast in the morning anyway.”
She has a decision to make, she realizes- if she’s adamant about leaving it’s not like he’s going to keep her hostage. He has to let her leave.
But, her thoughts trail off, it is fucking cold. And that bed is incredibly warm. And she still doesn’t know where the fuck her bra is.
“Come on then, back you get.” He prompts with a pat to the spot she’d previously occupied, and that’s enough to make her fold (she can’t deny that she’s been lookin for a reason to fold all night, even if a part of her knows this is a bad, bad, bad idea). Setting her clothes back in a neat pile rather than them being strung all over the floor-still sans bra-, she returns to the bed and slides back under the covers he’s lifted for her.
Immediately his arm bands across her torso, pulling her in snug against him. Well, there’s certainly no sneaking away now. After a bit of shuffling as they settle in against each other, John ensuring there will be no more half hearted attempts to flee.
He doesn’t snore-likely keeping an eye on her to ensure she’s not going to run again- until she’s securely in that half-awake-half-asleep limbo. It’s incredibly easy to slip into. The room is cold, he is warm and the bed is so incredibly cozy. The math is very simple and the end result is her dozing in the arms of a man she can very stupidly see herself getting attached to- even if he snores like a bear.
Come morning, John makes good on his promise for breakfast.
She doesn’t end up needing to find her bra until two days later.
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sky-kiss · 3 months
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I came across the Warped Headband of Intellect which gvies the wearer 17 int and cannot stop thinking about 8 int Tav putting it on and shocking poor Raphael out of his socks with their sudden smarts. 😅 And maybe their sudden lack of them once he removes the headband. 😂
A/N: I run screaming into the night because of how schmoopy this is.
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Raphael x 8 INT Tav: Don't Go Changin'
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He pauses to regard the Little Mouse with curiosity and caution. 
She's looking at him. Not in the vacant, slightly dreamy-eyed way he's grown to expect, but with genuine understanding. Tav cocks her head to the side, eyes narrowing, lips pressing to a thin line. An uncustomarily severe look, and not one Raphael can say he likes. 
"You keep coming back," she says, unprompted, and the tone is different too. Raphael searches her face and aura for anything unusual, but there's nothing. Only a new tiara, one dull stone set in its center; it's a tacky piece, certainly not one he'd have gifted. Tav steps towards him, hesitating, before reaching out to touch his wrist. "Tell me why?" 
"You're asking questions? Are you well, my dear?" 
Her lips quirk up; the softness, at least, is correct. Tav chuckles, shrugging. "I've been running our encounters over and over in my head, trying to come up with a reason. Protecting your assets, maybe," and some alarm trills in his head because the turn of phrase is wrong. "Curiosity, perhaps. But I've signed your contract. I've made good on my word at every step. Do you distrust me?"
"Fae," the word still chokes him. "Do not trust easily. And I have lived a long and twisted life. You have the right of it. I am nothing if not protective of my interests." 
"But that isn't right." Her brow furrows, features twisting prettily. The infernal blood in his veins delights in her frustration; the mortal is…compelled to touch her. Raphael's fingers curl around her forearm. "You only rarely visited before. This," Tav gestures to him, "is a recent development. Since our…" she clears her throat, "Liaison in the Devil's Den. I have a theory, of course, but I prefer to hear your take." 
Raphael frowns, "What's happened? Where is this cunning stemming from? You've theories? You're studying me? Has the worm finally squirmed too deeply into your skull?"
"We both know the tadpole has nothing to do with this, Raphael. Now, I'm asking you for honesty. After everything, you cannot claim that is too much." 
He can and will! The devil crosses his arms over his chest, searching her face again. His gaze keeps straying to that damnable headpiece, horrific and garishly out of place on her lovely face. "I am magnanimous, but even my graces have their limits. I do not indulge my clientele's idle accusations." 
"If we examine your behavior…" 
"Hang my behavior! What has come over you?" 
One of her companions, the tiresome little spawn, sidles up to her. Astarion taps the garish piece. "Do excuse the interruption. And far be it from me to stick my nose in a devil's dispute, but…" He hooks his finger under the headband, lifting it free from her hair. 
And his Mouse's demeanor shifts all at once: all notes of pretension and accusation falling away in the face of better instincts. 
"The headband, you see." Astarion taps it. "Quite impressive what it can do from one's intellect. You know, I would have imagined you preferred a…touch of the cerebral in your partners. It seems I was wrong." 
"For her sake, I will allow that breach in etiquette, little vampling. Begone now." Raphael holds himself to the full of his height, imperious, kingly. The spawn holds his hands up for peace before slinking back into the night, leaving them alone. 
"You've come to visit me again, my prince!" Tav clutches his hand, all instinct, light, and love on her face. There is not an ounce of self-preservation in her marrow as she winds her arms around him, hungry for contact. "You must be so busy, and still, you take the time!" 
Raphael frowns, smoothing a hand over her hair. It feels…wrong, somehow. "Your earlier accusations…" 
She shakes her head, "Don't matter. I don't care why you visit. It doesn't matter. I like it. I like you." 
Submerging him in a pool of holy water would have been less jarring. The cambion blinks, staring down at Tav. 
And this once, a touch of honesty. Raphael clears his throat, an air of offended dignity and dismissal hanging around him. "My dear, for tonight, let us say the feeling is mutual." 
"Just tonight?" 
"Don't get greedy." 
She hums, delighted, pressing her face against his chest. 
And gods, it's all such a mess. 
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ruggiezz · 9 months
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— TU TANTA FALTA DE QUERER : twisted wonderland
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[synopsis] them coping with breaking up with you / angst
[characters] dormleaders (except for vil)
[warnings] mentions of depression symptoms, in basically all of them. wishing to die in a phrase in malleus's part, mentions of food (kalim and idia)
[song] tu falta de querer-mon laferte (i highly recommend listening while reading)
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"¿CÓMO FUE, QUE ME DEJASTE DE AMAR?"/"HOW WAS IT, THAT YOU STOPPED LOVING ME?"
Heartslabyul students are worried about RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS now that he broke up with you. You would expect him to be more irritable than usual, taking out his anger in the first years and taking every opportunity he has to collar someone, but he isn't. He looks like an empty shell of who he once was, barely acknowledging other students, only focusing on his schoolwork. He sees how you look at this new guy you surely have something with. Was he better than him? He must make you happier than he ever did, and he wonders what did he do so wrong for you to stop loving him.
He starts overworking himself; it's the only way of coping he knows. He needs to work harder. He can do better. He needs to stop thinking about you and the way you cried after this particular fight you both had before breaking up. But he can't; your choked sobs come back to haunt him every time he's alone, trying to sleep after a hard day of school. Ace and Deuce barely spend time in Heartslabyul now, only going there to sleep and spending all of their time at Ramshackle. Trey is worried about him, seeing his eyebags and the way his eyes no longer sparkle when he eats tarts. Cater tries to make jokes whenever he can to try and earn a laugh from Riddle, but he just walks away, as if no one but him was there. The only thing Riddle can't ignore, no matter how much he works and works, is the way his heart aches.
"díficil olvidarte estando aquí/hard to forget you being here."
LEONA KINGSCHOLAR barely goes out of his room anymore, having Ruggie fetch things for him whenever he needs to. His missed assignments were piling up on his desk, the curtains closed, and his phone on silent. He just lays all day and night on his bed, not even bothering to go to class anymore. He becomes snappy at Jack when he tells him that Trein told him he was going to have to repeat another year if he didn't attend classes, and he becomes irritated when Ruggie tells him that Falena called, asking to speak to him. Leona doesn't want to see anyone; he just wants to be wrapped around his covers, where no one can reach him.
The bed no longer smells of you; it feels empty and wrong to lay there without you, but he continues to do it. He overheard a second year talking about you dating someone new, and if looks could kill, that student would be dead. It's now an unwritten rule not to mention you in the dorm.
Whenever Leona's not sleeping, he's alone with his thoughts. His mind replays your last words to him, telling him it was for the best for both of you, and he asks himself again and again,How did you stop loving him? He can come up with a lot of answers that make his head hurt and his eyes watery, but he decides to sleep, so he can no longer feel.
"ahora dormiré my profundamente para olvidar/now i will sleep very profoundly to forget."
Everybody in Diasomnia notices how MALLEUS DRACONIA is in a worse mood every day that passes. There are storms almost every day, with thunder striking aggressively at everything it can manage to touch. If nobody dared to approach him before, they certainly don't dare even more now, making him even more lonely. He can't stop thinking about you; he misses you so much it hurts. Malleus finds himself out of Ramshackle dorm, staring at your room's window, hoping to catch a glance of you, but he never does. He can only hear your laughter and other guy laughing with you, which sours his mood even more. That night, nobody could sleep because of how strong the thunder was.
Lilia tries to assure the others that Malleus will be alright if they just give him time. Silver doesn't dare enter his room when he hears Malleus breaking things after he comes back from Ramshackle, knowing he is probably going to make him feel worse. And Sebek is distraught, even resenting you for making his young master feel so miserable, cursing your name under his breath, something that was immediately stopped by Lilia because Malleus could hear him.
Malleus wonders if you have cried as much as he has and if you feel this unbearable pain in your chest too. He longs for you, for your presence to soothe him and tell him you never stopped loving him and that it was all a very cruel joke humans made. But that never comes.
"quisiera hasta la muerte para no pensar/i would even like to die to not think."
"YO AÚN PODÍA SOPORTAR, TU TANTA FALTA DE QUERER"/"I COULD STILL ENDURE IT, YOUR SO MUCH LACK OF LOVE"
AZUL ASHENGROTTO hasn't changed on the surface. He keeps his suave, businessman persona with clients, but he's noticeably quieter when alone with the twins. He works even more than before, staying until late at night in his office filling paperwork. Jade occasionally brings him tea, telling him not to stay up late. Floyd is in a sour mood now that Azul doesn't react how he would like to his antics, even missing work doesn't bother him as much as it used to.
No matter how much chaos or disaster the twins cause, Azul just looks the other way. Eventually, they just stop and continue helping him with his next business scheme, even if he doesn't seem as excited as he should be.
When alone in his room, Azul sits on his bed with his face hidden in his hands so that no one can hear his sobs. He feels so small and useless, wanting you to hold him and calm him down. But you aren't there. He is alone. He misses the way you would tell him words so sweet they were dripping with honey. He wonders if they were empty words you just told him to make him feel better. Please come back; he could endure knowing you didn't love him on the condition you wouldn't leave him.
"me siento mutilada y tan pequeña/i feel mutilated and so small."
No one notices any change in KALIM AL-ASIM, except Jamil, who hears him crying in his room at night while everyone is asleep. His smile is still bright as he greets the Scarabia students after a long day, but it no longer feels genuine. The parties in the dorm happen less and less, until they no longer happen.
Kalim feels as if he has withered inside, his heart broken in a thousand pieces. He misses you so badly, he just wants to hug you and tell you how sorry he is for not being enough. Please come back; he could even beg on his knees for you to be with him, even if you lacked the love you once felt for him.
Jamil brings him his breakfast, silently noticing the eyebags on Kalim's face. 'He must not have slept again' he thinks to himself. Kalim notices Jamil staring at him, and he wipes his face with his pajama sleeve. Neither of them say anything, and Jamil leaves him alone with his emotions and his food. He takes a bite out of it, ignoring how tired he feels after staring all night at the last text message you sent him. He wishes to write back and ask you for a second chance, saying he will do anything for you to come back, but he can't bring himself to do it.
"aún te amo y, creo, que hasta más que ayer/i still love you, and i think, even more than yesterday."
IDIA SHROUD isolates himself even more than before, hiding in his room and Ortho has to bring him food so he doesn't starve. Food no longer tastes good; it feels bland, videogames don't feel enjoyable; and no matter how many mangas and animes he watches, the feeling of wanting to cry that's stuck in his throat doesn't go away.
He barely speaks, answering Ortho with monosyllables when asked how he feels today, what he did all day, and where you were. Eventually, Ortho catches up to what happened and tries speaking with you, but Idia stops him. Even if he wants you to tell him why did you left, to yell at him what's wrong with him, to tell him that he was unloveable, to tell him something, something that explained why you didn't love him anymore, he doesn't want to see you. You left him with no explanation of why, only saying it was for the best, and that infuriated him but depressed him at the same time.
Idia wanted you to come back, to sit on his lap while he played a new game that dropped, but you aren't here with him anymore. His room feels colder than usual, with only the light from the screen accompanying him. He cries and cries, begging you in silence to come back, saying that he would cherish you and would be a better boyfriend now. But you won't come back and neither would your love for him, and he finds himself hoping you would stay here with him even if you didn't love him anymore.
"ven y cuéntame la verdad, ten piedad/come and tell me the truth, have mercy."
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writingsbychlo · 1 year
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MIDNIGHT | azriel
summary; azriel is happy, you are happy. you're both very drunk and enjoying starfall, and the two of you are indulging in a midnight tradition.
word count; 4204
notes; first day of starfall week! I hope you guys love it, and I hope we have a wonderful week ahead. I personally absolutely love this piece, I think it might be one of my favourites, so I hope you all love it too!
‘midnight’ moodboard
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You were staring up at the stars, still tumbling in bright sparkles across the sky, the rush from an hour ago beginning to simmer down as the initial burst slowed. They’d go all night, long into the early hours with showers of pretty colours raining from the sky. The air was colder than usual, your breath clouding with every heavy exhale, and yet not a single goosebump rose along your exposed flesh. How could it, with the burning heat of your Illyrian mate pressed up behind you, wrapping you in every inch of him as his wings created a protective barrier around your body? 
“What’y’ thinkin’ about?” Az mumbled, lips tracing over your shoulder, continuing to press kisses along the column of your throat as your head remained lazily tipped onto one of his shoulders, making space for his tipsy kisses. 
With the soft shake of his words rumbling against your back as you leaned a little further into his chest, you gave a sigh. You were happy, so very happy, and that newly-formed bond between your hearts thrummed with joy upon feeling your emotions. “You. Us. This night.” You shrugged a little, his arms tightening further around your waist.
“Oh?” A teasing nip was placed to the juncture just above your collar, and you squealed slightly, feeling him place a soft kiss through his smile to the same location. 
“Isn’t it funny how much things have changed in a single year?” His hand splayed further across your hip while he only hummed, obviously distracted as he nuzzled into your neck, and the phrase ‘Illyrian baby’ that Feyre so often muttered flashed across your mind. You’d never have expected a year ago to find out that Azriel, the terrifying shadow of death incarnate, would be so affectionate. And when he was drunk? He became positively clingy. “To think, just one year ago, I was just another of Nesta’s wayward friends that you were training.”
That drew a laugh from him, your choice of wording attracting the attention of Cassian as well as he stepped out onto the long-since cleared balcony to join you both, eyeing the many empty glasses you and Azriel had managed to consume, lining the stone wall. “You were never just ‘another of Nesta’s friends’.” 
Twisting in his hold, you wobbled only slightly on your heels, proud of yourself for being able to implement all Cassian’s lectures on balance even when you were this intoxicated. As you took in your mate’s face, you weren’t sure whether perhaps he was even drunker than you were. Flushed cheeks, half-lidded eyes as he peered down at you, messy hair and a pretty smile he rarely ever showed outside of the walls of your own bedroom. Your brows rose at him, despite the blur at the edges of your vision and the lazy pace of your heart in your chest, the sight of him still made it skip a beat.
Cassian scoffed at his brother, swilling his own drink around his glass and downing what was left of it, scoffing at Azriel’s claim.
Azriel sighed, giving in. “Alright, so you were, but I get a free pass, I was in a weird headspace.”
Your grin grew, his eyes widening to normal as he took in your playful expression, mouth opening to correct himself, but it was too late. “Weird headspace, is that what we’re calling it? Y’know, that makes our first hook-up sound like a pity fuck.”
The red on his cheeks deepened, crawling all the way up to his temples, and his lips pressed together as the general to your left all but howled with laughter. You couldn't hold back your own giggles, swaying slightly as you looped your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up and him down, until your noses were brushing.
“S’okay, loverboy, it was one hell of a pity fuck.”
He bit down a little on that lower lip, nudging his nose over your own a little more firmly, the tightening of his hands on your exposed lower back was a warning of his own attitude getting ready to shine through, uninhibited. “How about, we call the first around a pity fuck, and all the other rounds that night were just mindblowing sex that resulted in our wonderful mate bond?”
He dipped down, taunting you as he pressed a kiss to the edge of your mouth, your cheek, wet lips kissing everywhere except your mouth, and you panted a little, wobbling on your raised toes, even in the heels. “Oh, baby, we can do better. I’m thinkin’ we call it a pity kiss, and the rest was, what did you call it? Mindblowing.”
He smirked, finally catching your lips in a searing kiss that had you moaning: hot and sweet and a little messy, his tongue dipping into your mouth long enough to make you gasp. He tasted of the spicy whiskey he’d been drinking all night, working like he was seeking out the flavours of the fruity cocktails Nesta had been pushing into your hands since the moment you’d arrived.
“Ahem!” Cassian made a loud cough, tapping the edge of his glass in sharp rings that made you wince, ruining the soft haziness you’d fallen into, and Azriel gave a delicious growl into your mouth before pulling back, but barely. His eyes fluttered open, snapping to look at his brother as you slumped down against his chest, cheek resting over his heart. 
“Beat it, Cass. You fucked Nesta on the dining room table last week, I’ll kiss my mate on the balcony if I want to.”
You chuckled, twisting to bury your face in his chest to hide the sound, and Cassian spluttered indignantly. “Hey! At least I didn’t make you two a third-wheel when I did that!”
“You made us retch when we had to smell at dinner that evening.” He sniped back, and Cassian smirked, head tipping back to laugh in a silent ‘touchè’, before wandering away and giving you your privacy. Your head was spinning, too many thoughts and none at all, everything going silent as rough, calloused hands slid up to cup your face, tipping your head back to catch his gaze. “Now, where were we?”
He left a kiss on your cheekbone, your eyes fluttering at the hot feeling of his lips as you all but melted into him, your already weak body feeling like you were utterly boneless as he showered you with such affection. His kisses moved, trailing along your cheek slowly, making his way toward your mouth, and you were ready to spend the whole rest of the night right here, doing exactly this, until a flash of a thought across the front of your mind had your eyes snapping wide open.
As you pulled back, Azriel let out a very un-warrior-like whine, pouting in a way that made him look ridiculously cute as he pulled back too. “What is it, baby?”
“What time is it?”
“Time for you to kiss me.” He muttered, stealing a peck from your lips, and another, and another, until you were giggling, and he was tugging on that bond happily, the feeling like a string wrapping around his finger. 
“Az! I’m serious, what time is it?” A dramatic sigh left him, as though you’d just assigned the most awful and laborious task in the world to him. Sweeping you backwards and over his arm, he gave you one last heavy kiss on your lips, spinning the two of you as he did until he was able to peer into the room inside. His neck craned up to see, blinking several times as he tried to focus, and you took the chance to leave several of your own kisses along his jaw.
“No fair.” He groaned, but tipped his head back anyway, your lips dragging softly over the apple of his throat, bobbing as he swallowed thickly, before pulling you back upright. So close you were sharing breath as you stared up at him, a dazed look on his face as he smiled down at you, both of you swaying a little, struggling to stay upright and utterly happy about it.
“S’like, eleven-thirty.” He tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear, the delicate up-do of twists and braids Nesta had done for you coming loose after hours of dancing and drinking and mingling. Mostly from Azriel’s fingers threading into it. “Can we go back to kissing now? I like kissing. Kissing is good.” 
His voice trailed off with each dip of his voice, until he was whispering, so low you could barely hear him over the raucous band Rhys had hired, heavy gaze fixated on your mouth once again. “Traditions!”
“What?”
“Traditions, Az! I have traditions.” With that, you pulled away, his wings loosening as soon as your back brushed the leathery appendages. Your fingers found one of his hands, lacing tightly together, and he stumbled a little as you began to pull him along behind you. 
He didn’t ask, he never did when you went on one of your whims, and you could feel his bemused adoration through the bond as he sent wave after wave of it over to you while you weaved between the corridors. Leaving the music behind until it became nothing but a dull throb through the marble pillars and stone walls, glass doors of the beautiful kitchen pinned open and blissfully empty. 
Letting go of his hand, you spun, faltering a little on your heel as your arms flung out to the sides in demonstration, and you both laughed when you tripped, catching yourself on the island in the centre of the room. 
“We’re in the kitchen!” He cheered, arms pumping enthusiastically above his head, and you giggled, watching him whoop loudly in support. Then, his arms slumped down, brows furrowing a little, eyes calculating as he looked around. “We’re… in the kitchen. Why are we in the kitchen?”
“For food.”
“Your Starfall tradition is a midnight snack?” He stepped a little closer, lips pulling up at the edges, and you wobbled once again in your heels, cursing the items for catching on the rough-hewn stone of the kitchen tiles. 
“My favourite Starfall tradition is a midnight snack.” You corrected, and he nodded fervently, as though it made total sense, despite the confused expression still marring those handsome features. “Help me out of these heels and I’ll explain.”
“My pleasure, my lady.” Large hands settled on your hips, lifting you like you were nothing but a feather onto the counter you’d been leaning on, prompting bursts of shy giggles from your lips at his manhandling. He smirked, knowing how much you loved it, before sinking to one knee before you and propping one foot onto his bent leg. Lifting the long skirt of your dress out of the way, he pressed a lingering kiss to your knee, fingers struggling a little with the clasps as he tried to keep them steady, to focus through the whiskey blur, eventually managing it and slipping on shoe off. He took your foot in his hand, thumbs pressing into the sole in a way that made your head roll back in bliss. “Tell me about your traditions!”
“Oh, yeah!” Excitement flooded through you once again, stomach rumbling just in time for your plans, and you patted at it lightly as he moved onto the second shoe, a matching kiss to your other knee, too. “I never really celebrated Starfall with anyone special, but I’ve always loved it, and wanted to make it special for myself. I’d watch the stars and get a bottle of really good wine, and I’d sit in the window or outside. The first time I did it, I was just sad, so I made myself all my favourite snacks to cheer myself up when it turned midnight. The year after that, I did the same thing, just to make myself happy. It kind of just… snowballed from there. Eating junk food and watching all the spirits fly by on their journey. It makes me happy, and I want to share that with you.”
“And I would love to share it with you, my love,” Azriel mumbled, dropping the heels to the floor, and kissing each leg once more, before rising to his feet. “But we only have a half-hour ‘til midnight, what are we going to make?”
“Why don’t we both come up with an idea, and say it on three?” 
His eyes lit up at the suggestion, a look stitching onto his face that suggested extreme concentration, and your eyes scanned the room, gaze a little vacant as you tries to work out what you were actually feeling. A champagne bottle popped loudly somewhere in the distance, and you gasped a little, only one idea coming to mind. 
“Okay, on three.” You held up your fingers, just three, and Azriel leaned forwards, a cheesy grin on his face as he placed a kiss on the tip of each one, a bashful smile on his face at your awed look. You shook your head clear. 
This was not the time to be distracted by his cuteness. Instead, you counted down: three, two, one, 
“Popcorn.”
“Cheese fries.”
Your eyes widened at his suggestion, stomach rumbling happily in agreement at the idea of cheesy carbs to soak up all the bubbling alcohol, and Azriel let out a gruff moan, rubbing his stomach absentmindedly. “I could so go for cheese fries, Az.”
“No, we need popcorn…” He mumbled, eyes glossing over as he stared into the middle distance, lips parted, and you could practically see the images flashing before his eyes. “With melted butter, and we stir in some caramel sauce.”
“Woah…” Your mouth watered, tongue tingling at the mere thought of it all, eyes widening as you pictured the sticky, sweet treat. At that exact moment, brain fuzzy and body feeling heavy, you were absolutely sure it was the best idea you’d ever heard. Except, of course; “What about cheese fries, with little bacon pieces, chives on top, and sour cream?”
Azriel’s eyes only opened even wider, head tipping back, and a drawn-out moan falling from his lips. “We make both?”
“Both is good. Both is perfect.”
“I’ll start on the potatoes.” He was swift, even in his drunk state, and he was quick to retrieve a knife from the stand and several potatoes, beginning to slice them all into thin sticks for fries. “Baby, chop-chop. Get the stuff for the popcorn!”
“Sir, yes, sir.” You saluted, a crooked grin forming on his lips as you searched around in the cupboard for popcorn kernels, before making quick work of finding a pan for both the potatoes and the corn. 
He was done in record time with the fries, despite his general sluggishness and lethargy from the many drinks you’d both had, he was somehow still quick and efficient with a knife. If it wasn’t so unsettlingly hot, you’d be scared. The sounds of the first pops made you jump, and you were staring at the pan in front of yourself as Azriel began to work on the bacon. 
“Az…” You whispered, leaning in close enough to him to be able to prop your chin up on his shoulder. He turned a little to face you, noses bumping together.
“Yeah?” His whisper matched yours.
“We have a major problem.” He frowned, grip on the knife a little tighter, whirling around with one protective arm around you. 
“Where? Who?”
“Me!” He gasped, dropping the knife back onto the chopping board as he turned to you, forehead pressing to your own. 
“What’s wrong? I’ll fix it. I’ll fix the world. No problem is too big, I can do it, what happened?” 
“I forgot how to make the caramel sauce.” Your bottom lip jutted out, a pout to mirror the one he’d once worn, and somewhere in the background, potatoes began to bubble in their pan, bacon sizzling as it heated up. 
“Oh… that is a big problem. But it’s okay, because I remember.” His lips brushed a simple kiss over your own, before he was straightening, sniffling the air and whipping his head back around to bacon bits were nearing too crispy, had he not dove in to save them. “You need butter, and sugar, and cream.”
With a smack on your ass, he sent you on your way to the fridge to retrieve the three items, lining them up neatly beside him as he drained the potatoes, quickly transferring them to the oven to begin crisping up. Peering over his shoulder, you watch him stir the bacon, arms wrapped around his waist, balanced on his tiptoes as your body pressed between his drooping wings. “You know what I just thought of?”
“Raccoons.”
“What?”
He only shrugged, brushing off his hands and finding yet another pan to make the cheese sauce. The dishes were really beginning to pile up. It sounded like a problem for your sober-selves tomorrow morning. “They’re these little fuzzy things from the human realm. They’re weird. They wear little bandit masks and have stripy tails and they have these creepy little human hands. I think they’re funny.”
“You should bring one back.”
“You want one? I’ll get you one, I get you one right now-” His back straightened, like he might really fly out, and your grip on him only tightened, sinking back down onto your feet as he turned in your arms, guiding you away from the heat. “What were you thinking about besides raccoons?”
“I wasn’t- whatever, I was thinking about onions.”
“Are you going to make a weird joke about me being an onion? Layers ‘n’ stuff.” 
“No, but I will save that for later.” You mimed tucking something into a pocket, winking conspiratorially. “I think we should fry some onions, for the cheese fries.”
Azriel’s lips parted a little, staring in shock at you for several seconds, before both of his large hands were cupping your face and he was pressing a passionate kiss to your lips. One so strong and searing it dragged a squeak from you, your body going lax in his arms as you gripped the lapels of his smart blazer just to hold yourself up. “I love you, I love you, I love you…” The words were like a prayer, whispered into your mouth, until you were too breathless to continue. “I love you so much.”
“You love me because of the onions?” Your words were panted a little, and you swore Azriel was glowing as you stared, reverently. His lips were still shining and swollen from all of your night's activities, looking so goddamn delicious you wanted to dive right back in.
“Yes.”
“Understandable.” You hauled yourself up, bodies colliding as your mouths slammed together once again, and he groaned. Licking his way into your mouth, Azriel tasted like heaven and sin and love all rolled into one, sweet cocktails and whiskey mixing to create a balance more heady than any other spirit or drug. 
A clock chimed. 
You broke apart. 
“It’s midnight.” You whispered, fingers brushing through his hair, far too messy to be tamed at all now. “We haven’t finished the snacks.”
“Then we’d better do that. What my girl wants, she gets.”
Like a perfect team, in clumsy harmony, you worked to prepare the meal, skirting around the kitchen in bare feet while Az stripped off his blazer and bowtie, eventually abandoning his own shoes too. Soon, piled up before you in copious and severely overestimated quantities, was a pile of cheese fries, dripping sauce with bacon and onions, matched unusually with hot caramel popcorn. 
Something clinked, and Azriel placed down two elegant wine glasses before you, popping a very expensive-looking bottle of wine, too. “A meal like this deserves suitable wine to pair.”
“What an excellent suggestion.”
Music pounded through the doors of the kitchen as Azriel poured the glasses and prepared cutlery, your body swaying happily to the tunes coming through the large mountain-top house. A scarred hand threaded through yours, spinning you in a sudden movement, before you were crashing into his chest. “Would you give me the honour of this dance, my love?”
“Of course.”
And it was just like that, swaying through the kitchen in fits of giggles and smiles and silly jokes that you were found, interrupted, by your High Lord, making his presence known in an exaggerated sigh. Behind him, all of Azriel’s friends, your new friends, were crowded, peering in varying levels of amusement and shock at the man who was currently swaying with you across the kitchen. 
“We have been looking everywhere for you, brother. To make our midnight wishes.”
“Woah. So many people.” Your statement was somehow so funny that Az burst out in peels of full-bellied laughter, and Cassian chuckled deeply at his friend. 
“They’re so drunk!” Feyre beamed, standing tucked under Rhysand’s arm much the same way Azriel often held you. 
“They’re so cute!” Cassian cooed, and you only gave him your best smile in return, slinking away towards the smell of food as it called out behind you, threatening to go cold and undo all your hard work.
“Are those cheese fries?” Lucien stepped forward a little, your eyes widening at the look on his face as he stared at the bowl of cheesy carbs, and Azriel growled, stepping protectively in front of the food. 
“Our cheese fries.”
You pulled the bowl a little closer to your body as you hopped up onto a stool once again.
“So, no wishes for you, then, Az?” Rhys was barely holding back his laughter as your mate took a seat right by your side, taking a fork, and watching him poke about and create a perfect mouthful with it. You were jealous over that mouthful.
“I wish I was eating these fries, already.” Only as your sentence ended did Azriel push the forkful of fries into your mouth, thumb wiping a stray line of cheese sauce from under your lip. Your eyes watered a little, overcome with emotion that he’d given up the perfect bite for you. He stroked affectionately at the bond connecting you both as he sensed it, and you plucked it back, a pulse of gratitude ripping to his heart. He smiled, finally taking a bite himself. 
“I can’t believe you made cheese and bacon fries, and…” As Rhys stepped closer, snatching up the popcorn bowl to sniff it before you could stop him, you watched Lucien carefully as he continued to edge closer to the fries you were guarding with your life. Sneaky fox, you knew he’d find a way to steal them if you took your eyes off him. “Caramel popcorn? And white wine? You two are so odd.”
“Oh, cut it out.” Feyre elbowed him gently, before wrapping both her arms around his arm and kissing his shoulder through his jacket. “They’re odd but adorable.”
“We’re the cutest.” You agreed, nodding more than was necessary but once you’d started, you couldn't stop. Not until Azriel was holding up another pile of cheese fries before your face on the shared fork, and you gasped, letting him feed it to you by parting your lips wide.
“It’s nice to see him so happy.” Feyre sighed, pulling out a chair opposite you both, and beginning to snack on the popcorn. You wanted to complain, but you weren’t really sure whether that counted as treason or not. She was High Lady, was there some kind of law you didn’t know about regarding popcorn and the crown? It was a terrifying possibility. 
“I’m so happy.” Your lover muttered through a mouthful of food, and Lucien finally made his move, reaching in and snatching some of the fries up on a fork, pulling back with a smug grin at his victory. “So, so, happy.”
Had it not been for Az choosing that exact moment to dot a collection of love-filled kisses along your cheek, you’d have fought for the fries back. Instead, you decided to concede, allowing Lucien this small victory. After seeing the Day heir get food, however, and as Feyre ate the popcorn, Cassian swiped up a fork and joined in, and Nesta looked like she was plotting her next move. 
“Rhys, I want chicken strips.” 
With a snap of his fingers, the table was piled high around you all, the plate of chicken strips Feyre had requested sitting right before her, as bowls and stacks of other food filled the island up. Excited sounds left everyone, chairs being dragged out and more glasses and bottles fetched, until nine people were gathered excitedly around the table, digging in and exchanging food. 
The doors shut, sealing you all in, the party left behind as you found yourselves in a celebration of your own in the kitchen. The laughter flowed, as did the wine as it was passed around, and your heart was practically tripping with joy. Not only did you get to share your tradition with the man you loved, who was all but plastered to your side, clinging on, but you got to share it with your new family. 
“So, since we’re on the topic of traditions, can we circle back to those wishes now?” 
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