mushy may day 7: compliments
pairing: swiss/ifrit
rating: mature
wc: 612
It’s sort of common knowledge that Ifrit is the clergy’s golden boy; he can do no wrong, according to almost anyone you ask. Everyone loves him, even the Siblings who obviously fear the other ghouls, and he knows he should feel loved— he clearly is, especially by his pack— but sometimes that stupid, nagging voice in the back of his head tells him they’re lying.
That’s when he retreats to Swiss’ room.
He’ll come knocking in the late hours of the night and the multi ghoul welcomes him with open arms, lighting up like a bulb at his mere presence.
Ifrit tucks his face in the space between Swiss’ shoulder and neck, purring and chuffing into it as he inhales the sweet, musky scent of everyone’s favorite multi ghoul.
They land together on the bed with a soft thud and Swiss manages to straddle his waist, grinning down at him with a shimmer in those color-shifting eyes that Ifrit just can’t escape. “What’s goin’ on, Frit?” Swiss rests his head on the fire ghoul’s chest and he keeps it to himself how fast Ifrit’s heart rate is.
“I don’t know,” he rasps, giving Swiss a wide-eyed stare, “feelin’ bad about myself.” Ifrit watches the smile on the multi ghoul’s face fall into a worried frown.
“Iffie, everyone loves you,” he sits up again, running his hands up and down Ifrit’s body.
He sighs. Warm hands land on the multi ghoul’s waist as he continues, “I know, but…”
Swiss smiles sympathetically, “I love you quite a bit, you know?”
That stops his train of thought in its tracks and Ifrit smiles a bit stupidly, the purr in his chest increasing in volume. “You do?” He mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of Swiss’ sweatpants— not because he really wants anything, though he wouldn’t exactly decline if Swiss asked.
“‘Course I do. You’re strong, kind,” he pauses, biting his lip, “hot, but I think you know that.”
They both collapse into a fit of giggles, purring noisily at each other. But Swiss isn’t quite done yet.
“You’re always so selfless,” he coos reverently, “remember back in the winter, when Dew was sick and we were all freezing our asses off without him? You cycled through the rooms until we were all nice and warm.”
Ifrit scoffs, rolling those baby blue eyes everyone so loves to fawn over, “It was an excuse to cuddle with all of you. How do you know I didn’t have ulterior motives?” He cocks an eyebrow.
It’s Swiss’ turn for an eye roll. “Because,” he draws out the word as his hands roam up to Ifrit’s face, holding it gently— he feels it warm under his touch— “you never complained once. When it was time to go warm up someone else, they were always begging you to stay, not the other way around. And I know what it looks like when you beg.”
The heat under his palms spikes and Swiss barks out a soft laugh, Ifrit visibly flushing. Still, “What else?”
“Hm,” Swiss’ hands move back down from his face, lightly squeezing his pecs with a wink before he moves on, just to keep the fire ghoul guessing, “you’re charismatic. I saw videos of you on stage, you know? You belonged up there, they loved you.”
Ifrit isn’t usually the kind of person to get flustered; he absorbs compliments like a sponge, taking them well with a wide smile. But now, deep in the night and laying himself bare for the multi ghoul, he struggles. He makes a small sound and hides his face, “Shut up, man.”
“Oh, no, Iffie. I’m gonna tell you everything.”
He’s so incredibly screwed.
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The Archivist’s Aide. Ancient ghouls that tend to the forgotten libraries.
Summoned alongside the Archivist, they were all forgotten by the world. Forbidden from reading the texts, the Aides forgot about humanity much quicker. With only each other and spiders for company, they barely resemble the ghouls they once were.
[My Socials] | [Prints]
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