Pls god give me stolen for any Arthurian blorbos. I want to see those emotionally depraved people feel something SO BAD
So I was laughing to @bottlingsound about how this time last year when I was trying to figure out @ockissweek prompts, you came hollering about this for our Knight Lite blorbos, but I couldn't figure out how to make it work at the time.
And then this year I was going through unanswered smooch prompts in my ask box and decided to go with it, so here you go, here's Dakota with their ill-advised crush on a not-milf Siobhan!
HAPPY START OF OC KISS WEEK, Day 1: Impulsive (and also last year's Stolen)
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Siobhan reaches back behind her head and bundles up the tangle of dark curls with a paintbrush, her actions smooth and practiced. It also leaves a daub of blue from the still-wet bristles.
Dakota doesn’t point it out. Their favorite version of her is always this one — so deeply invested in what she’s looking at that she doesn’t notice. Last time it was a pen leaking on her cheek, and the time before that she managed to paint a fall landscape of golds and reds across her forehead with each frustrated swipe of her hand to get her hair out of the way.
She’s been painting more, which Dakota realizes she does when she is stressed and needs to think. And there has been a lot to stress out over recently.
It being Logan — being Agravaine — at the heart of it all is eating at her, almost as much as it is eating at Gael. (Temmy, of the three, is more fired up than angry.)
However, the ever-present furrow between her brow has eased as she pours over the artbooks that Dakota brought her. “These are absolutely gorgeous compositions,” she breathes, savoring each page before turning to the next one.
“You should come with me to the next production sale,” they say, using the opportunity to peruse her half-finished canvases scattered about the studio. “I keep saying I want to introduce you to some of the production managers. You could do wonders working as a set designer.”
She laughs and when Dakota looks, she’s idly tucking a loosed curl behind her ear. “Oh I don’t know about that. I prefer it when things don’t move through my compositions.” At this, she shoots a small, knowing smile at where they are currently doing just that.
Dakota holds up their hands innocently. “There’s also storyboarding! Concept art?” They round the cart of art supplies and place their hands on the table across from her, leaning in. “At least let me introduce you to some people.”
Siobhan carefully closes the art book and folds her hands on top of the cover. “I’m plenty busy between work and keeping all you unruly knights in line.”
The line stings more than it should, because it makes them feel like a child. The reminder of the divide between Morgause and Percival.
It also is a reminder of the work that she’s doing to try and locate Excalibur after it was stolen. How much of her self is she dedicating to the search? How much of Morgause is clawing her way back to the surface to make up for the shortcomings of Siobhan?
Without allowing themself to think about it (which is a lie they’ve thought about it a lot before this moment), Dakota reaches out and pulls her in for a kiss.
Siobhan inhales sharply, but doesn’t immediately pull back. She lets the kiss last without properly returning it.
Then she lifts a hand and presses it to Dakota’s cheek. But instead of letting the touch linger, she uses it to gently push them back.
This, too, stings.
Is it because they are Percival, and there is too much Morgause in her? And would that be better or worse than Siobhan’s rejection of Dakota?
“The others have someone to lean on,” Dakota says into the silence between them.
Siobhan, her hand still on their cheek, is content to study their expression — her eyes roving over their face as if searching for something.
Gael has Liam, and Temmy has Mateo.
But Mordred and Galahad make sense, and it has always been Gawain and Lancelot.
There is no Lamorak. There is only Percival.
“You don’t want to be that for me,” Siobhan finally says, though they do or else they wouldn’t have said it. They have never said anything from the heart that they didn’t mean. It sounds more like she’s convincing herself, weaving a spell that will fail because Dakota has already made up their mind.
“Add that to the list of things I have to convince you of, then,” they say, leaning forward just a hair — enough to feel the pressure of her fingers against their cheek, a deliberate move into the touch.
She gives a soft huff of laughter and draws her hand away. “Thank you for the books, Dakota,” she says, a clear indication of a dismissal.
They place a grin on their face, because they used to be an actor and that still comes easy. “I won’t give up on you yet, Siobhan.”
This time, her laugh is louder, filled with more body, and Dakota takes that as an encouraging sign.
okay, okay, he’s gotta be smart— which is a given— but charismatic! doesnt shut down people’s ideas, but might tease them a little. LOVES a debate, especially something controversial, and just thinks it’s fantastic when his whole class goes on a tangent. HOWEVERRR his marking is harsh as FUCK and he reminds everyone almost each lecture as a sign off. Doesn’t give leeway, uses the “you had my email, and the online forum if you were so unsure” and says it with a smile.
BUT he has a bit of a weakness for those who struggle—saviour complex?— especially if they’re pretty and innocent looking.
He sets up a tutorial session for the quiet, less likely to interact in class students, lines up his TA to help for an hour after class. Doesnt tell everyone about it, just emails the students he hasn’t gotten to know yet— the ones he’s a little worried about.
I’m the only one who shows up. It’s awkward at first, the three of us hovering for a while just waiting for more people to show, before realising noone else is coming. He sends his TA away— don’t wanna waste their time— and we sit together with my copy of the prescribed text. He scribbles all over it and eventually gets me talking animatedly about the subject; so much so that we go over the time. I apologise profusely and excuse myself, thanking him and rushing off. He emails me “same time next week?” not really bothering about all of the other students, and it escalates to coffee shop sessions— you’re the only one who shows up, might as well have a coffee!— and late night drinks— are you busy? I found an interesting article I’d like to share?
It gets quite flirty, but I’m still reserved in classes, and he doesn’t push me. Until he does, and I embarrass myself somehow— LMAO TYPICAL— in front of the entire class, get all embarrassed, and ghost him.
I hand in an assignment and he approaches me about my grade, insisting there are some extra curricular activities I could do to push it up and over into the higher grade. His voice is low in my ear, and all the other students file out the room, leaving the two of us there, staring at each other.
The door shuts, and he makes the first move, lips on mine so fast, I can’t even think. Anyone could walk in, anyone could see! I push him away and voice my concerns, but he just smiles, tells me the door locks from the outside automatically, and crowds me against his desk.
okay i need to stop bc im getting flustered and im at WORK but i wrote this thinking about three different people and i wonder who pops up in your insanely wrinkly brain 💖loveeee youuuuu 💖
LEESE I LITERALLY CANT THANK YOU ENOUGH FOR THIS ESSAY I LOVE YOU
class is in session with you and professor kuroo tetsuro, who teaches accounting 201!
thinking about how he likes to push the edge of things with you, flaunting the line of your relationship when he keeps you on his cock in his office during the faculty zoom meetings, camera off, of course, but the microphone on so that you just have to quieten those little whimpers of yours that you so desperately want to let out.
be sure to use protection during office hours ;)!
turn that 68 into a 69 — let me match you up with your dream professor!
