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papiliotao · 1 year

Text

・❥・IN CLASSROOM 143

♡ — Reader: GN

♡ — Characters: Aether, Albedo, Kazuha, Scaramouche, Xiao

♡ — Synopsis: what is it like sitting next to them in class?

♡ — Content: fluff, high school AU, modern AU

♡ — A/N: classes were just better when I sat next to silly people. That's probably where I got the inspiration for this from. Have fun reading!

AETHER is the living definition of overcommitment. He's quite popular among your peers, so it's only natural that people are queuing up to ask him to join their clubs. Unfortunately, he's a bit people pleaser, so he can never find the heart to turn them down. From music to volleyball, Aether is involved in almost every extracurricular that the school has to offer, and as his desk partner in history class, you begin to notice the toll it’s taking on him.

It shows in the way he's always late and gasping for air as he sits down beside you. It shows in the way he turns to you and tiredly waves at you each class, offering you a weak smile that makes your heart skip a beat. And it shows in the way his honeyed eyes droop as he fights the temptation of slumber, all while your elderly teacher's droning voice lulls him into a state of tranquility.

He's fighting a losing battle, and he knows it. Each time the boy gives in to his weariness and lays his head on his desk to inevitably drift into the realm of dreams, his expression softens. He looks so content. You can never muster the willpower to wake him up, so instead, you leave him be and diligently take notes to share with him once class ends. After all, even someone as busy as Aether needs to set aside some time to rest in their strenuous schedule. The dark circles under his eyes tell you all you need to know about the amount of sleep he gets.

But there's no way the frigid surface of the table he uses as a makeshift pillow is comfortable, so one day, on an impulsive whim, you offer up your shoulder as a headrest instead. Aether agrees gratefully, and from then on, the sweet boy leans against you as he rests. His warm breath sends tingles down your spine, and his soft hair tickles your skin, and although his proximity makes it harder for you to take notes, you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

ALBEDO, the boy who sits next to you in chemistry, is studious yet eccentric. He’s known for achieving nearly perfect grades by utilizing his unrivalled intellect, and he’s always the first person his peers go to for help with their schoolwork despite the fact that he’s rather introverted. As a result of his reserved demeanour, he almost never offers his aid to others first, but you’re the exception.

Whenever you look as though you’re struggling, Albedo won’t hesitate to assist you. He almost appears a little too excited to talk to you, giving advice anytime he sees an opportunity to. It's gotten to the point where even your classmates have picked up on his eagerness to speak to you, and they have started speculating that the bright boy is infatuated with you. You can't deny the fact that the thought causes your heart to flutter, but you try your best not to get your hopes up, just in case your peers are mistaken. Besides, Albedo is rather difficult to understand anyway, so it wouldn't come as a shock if it turned out that his intentions were simply being misinterpreted.

One example of said contradictory behaviour on Albedo's part has to do with his participation during lessons. Despite his stellar academic performance, he has a habit of zoning out whenever a topic doesn’t interest him. In those instances, you notice that he pulls out a sketchbook and flips to a page half-filled with doodles and begins to meticulously scrawl on the paper. Soon, snowy white is dyed shades of grey and black, undergoing a metamorphosis that transforms it into the finest of portraits. You’re always curious as to what Albedo is drawing, but you’re never able to catch a clear glimpse. Whenever you look his way, he hastily shuts the book, concealing its contents as if he is guilty of a crime.

Unbeknownst to you, the ocean-eyed boy beside you is doodling the one he is infatuated with: you. His feelings ebb into his sketchbook, and his art captures every dip and curve of your face, encapsulating all your radiance with immaculate precision. And yet, he never overlooks your imperfections either — with his pencil acting as a catalyst, he records them in great detail. Albedo is in love with every single aspect of you, even your flaws, which arguably garner more adoration from the boy than any of your other features because they make you distinct — the brightest star in a galaxy full of wonders. Perhaps one day, he will be able to show you his works, but for now, he is more than content with silently admiring you.

Peculiarity is a trait best embodied by KAEDEHARA KAZUHA, the boy who sits next to you in English class. On the surface, he seems normal enough — although one could argue that he is abnormally pretty with his snowy white hair and eyes the colour of autumnal maple leaves. However, he is also strange in other ways. Six months of conversing with Kazuha have led you to the conclusion that he is most definitely odd, but not necessarily in a bad way.

Unlike most of your peers, Kazuha often appears to have his head in the clouds, daydreaming in a world that he has made entirely his own. There are times where he stares out the window, sighing wistfully as he gazes at the vivid azure sky overhead. On other occasions, he writes poems in the worn notebook he always carries around, hardly minding the way you look over his shoulder to get a glimpse of what he's writing. Most puzzling of all, however, is his tendency to absentmindedly stare at you in the middle of class. He doesn’t even have the shame to look away when you glance back at him. He just maintains eye contact and smiles at you, causing you to avert your gaze first.

Despite the fact that Kazuha is rather odd, he is still a polite and compassionate person. Whenever you allow him to proofread your assignments, he compliments your work in embellished words that bloom with praise, and he offers advice in a way that feels warm and genuine. You feel at ease with him — unafraid of being judged. However, sometimes guilt gnaws at you when you ask for Kazuha's help because he's always the one assisting you. He has nothing to gain, but he continues assisting you out of the kindness of his own heart.

That's why when Kazuha asks you to read over some of his poetry for the first time, you agree without hesitation. A quick scan of the page Kazuha directs you to causes you to raise your eyebrows. It's a love poem that is cryptically addressed to ‘the one I adore’. You can feel the affection Kazuha harbors toward the person mentioned in the poem just by reading it. When you ask Kazuha who it's for, he simply chuckles and asks if you like his poetry, effectively dodging your question. You decide to let him off easy and give him a half-hearted answer, pretending that you aren’t jealous of the person he likes.

Over the remainder of the year, Kazuha continues showing you his poetry and requesting input from you. Each time you read his impeccably-crafted works, you feel your heart race. His poems are spun from the stuff of dreams — sweeter than the cotton candy clouds that hang in the sky outside the classroom window.

Sometimes you like to entertain the idea that they could be for you, but you always shut the notion down before it can grow into a fully-developed thought, too insecure to believe someone as handsome and thoughtful as Kazuha could ever hold such feelings for you.

When it comes time for the final English class of the year, you swear that you’ve read almost every form of poem in existence from sonnets to haikus to odes. On that particular day, you notice something different about Kazuha. He seems more fidgety than usual, and he has entirely lost his ability to zone out, instead becoming hyperaware of his surroundings. The smallest movements you make cause him to whip his head around to steal a glance at you.

You discover the reason behind his atypical behaviour at the end of class when he hands you a simple white envelope. When you open it, you find pages upon pages of poetry, causing you to experience a sudden epiphany.

The one he loved was you all along.

Raiden Kunikuzushi — more commonly known as SCARAMOUCHE — is living proof that pretty privilege exists. At least, that’s what you believe.

He’s infuriating. No matter how abhorrent you find the way he treats his friends (who are honestly more akin to acquaintances), they never stand up to him. They simply allow Scaramouche to walk all over them. It's like he's put them in a trance with his breathtaking eyes, which are filled with starlight and tinted an indigo reminiscent of the awe-inspiring night sky.

But despite the fact that he is admired by many, his relationships are purely superficial. To his peers, he is nothing more than a sight for sore eyes, and that is what keeps the bitterness of envious sentiments from swallowing you whole. You’ll never be jealous of Scaramouche because his popularity stems solely from his looks.

His situation evokes a feeling of pity within the depths of your soul. The notion of your contempt for the boy still remains ingrained in your mind, but you also can’t help but pity him.

Perhaps that is what pushes you to sit beside him in your physics class on the first day of school when you notice that he is all alone. You have your reservations, but the way Scaramouche is scowling makes you think he’ll explode out of sheer rage if you don't take action.

Things start off slowly. He doesn't speak to you at first. You simply see him glancing suspiciously at you in your peripheral vision, as if he believes you have ulterior motives. However, the awkward tension becomes too much for you far too quickly, so on a typical day of classes, you decide to take your chances and pass him a note in the middle of a lesson, asking him how his day was.

When Scaramouche first sees your note, he frowns. It almost appears as though he's in disbelief because someone has taken an interest in him rather than his looks. Nonetheless, he decides to entertain you and promptly responds to you, writing a reply underneath your message in impressively neat handwriting. This sparks a conversation. One instance of the two of you passing notes in class turns to two — and two to three until you and Scaramouche are discreetly conversing each class.

Your inconspicuous discussions with Scaramouche lead you to learn more about him as a person. Whereas before you thought he was just a shallow pretty boy, now you know that he’s both cunning and witty. He never fails to make you laugh with his sarcastic comments, and despite the fact that he seems rather mean-spirited at times, you discover that once he opens up, he is more than capable of caring for others. Case in point: on days where you're feeling down, he (attempts) to tell you jokes to make you feel better, and he gives you the candy that his mother packs for him, claiming that he "doesn't like sweets anyway."

If only other people could take the time to get to know the real him. Underneath the veil of entrancing vanity and mystery that surrounds him, Scaramouche is a surprisingly entertaining and contemplative person.

However, for now, it seems that Scaramouche is more than content with the relationship he has with you. He doesn't care for any of his two-faced "friends." The only one he needs is you.

Fate has rather unconventional methods of bringing people together. There are times where you believe it is sentient, cutting, weaving, and pulling on the delicate threads that bind humans together with its steady hands.

Fate must be alive and working its magical because there is no other plausible explanation for how things ended up this way. All that is to say, some otherworldly force must have noticed your desperation to get closer to your longtime crush, XIAO, and finally decided to take pity on you.

It's crazy to think that one minuscule decision can shape the course of your entire relationship with someone, but your own experiences are indicating to you that there is some merit to the claim. After all, your computer science teacher's spontaneous choice to seat you next to Xiao is what kindles the first sparks of your relationship with him.

It all starts with music. At first, Xiao doesn’t attempt to converse with you. He seems adamant on retaining his introverted ways. It's not that he doesn't want to talk to you; he's just inexperienced when it comes to socialization. So instead of making an effort to talk to you, he simply grabs a pair of earbuds and listens to his favourite songs whenever the teacher gives the class time to work.

This all changes when you muster the courage to ask him what he’s listening to. The way his eyes widen that fateful day, gazing at you with surprise evident in his pools of amber, is something you’ll never forget.

After all the silence on his end, you still want to talk to him? He is touched by your resolve, but he is also afraid of being too blunt, so instead of giving you an overly-verbose response, he asks you if you want to listen with him, offering you one of his earbuds. Xiao's heart jumps when you accept with an endearing smile. From then on, the two of you bond over music, and Xiao begins feeling comfortable enough to speak to you.

Gradually, years of distance and rigid formality vanish. Hushed conversations at the back of a sunlit classroom, shy waves from across cramped hallways, and accidental touches of his hands to yours replace the barriers that once separated the two of you. A once hopeless situation gives way to a radiant future as you finally begin getting closer to the boy you've pined over for as long as you can remember.

Sorry if there are mistakes. I feel like I'm making this worse each time I edit it :( Either way, thank you for reading and have a fantastic day/night!

#r.archives *ೃ༄#aether x reader #albedo x reader #xiao x reader #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kazuha x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin fanfic #genshin imagines #genshin fluff #genshin headcanons

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hiraya-rawr · 1 year

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lover from another nation ~ hcs .

characters !! all the genshin men i could think of rn...

note !! it's been a while since i've written hcs for a lot! aaaah just some thoughts i had today (i had a few culture shocks here and there when i met up with new friends hahahah)

~ m o n d s t a d t ~

grabbing zhongli by the hand to dance and sing in the middle of the square because mondstadters live for the festivities! he quickly learns to freestyle dance along with you, moving with the crowd and cheers and wine. (remember that Tangled scene? yes)

kaveh wasn't sure how to react the day you ordered hard liquor on your first date. sure, your freedom and love for a good drink is one of the things which made him fall for you but wow– are you really gonna down that many glasses on a date? what do you mean you're still sober?

ayato finds himself in love with the way you sing. it doesn't follow the rules of inazuman opera at all; it's much more freeing (much like how his house help sings as he does chores) and you'd tell him stories and the history of your homeland in the form of songs. no mondstadter could ever forget the songs they grew up listening to!

heizou being almost appalled by your rather... robust and reckless nature. you don't have any backup plans whenever a situation goes south, you simply hold his hand, smile, and say "we go where the wind blows!"

~ l i y u e ~

diluc having chopsticks as part of your dining utensils because sometimes, you're more comfortable eating with it (let's not forget often having rice on the table! he must learn the joys of garlic rice with his steak <3)

dainsleif stays by your side as you offer incense and fruits to your ancestors. he whispers quiet prayers, bows when you do, and helps you clean their altars. he finds solace in the familial piety of liyuens– it makes him wish he could honor his ancestors with the same kind of peace as you do.

kazuha getting tongue tied over the language being so similar to inazuman but also so different– why are some of the characters the same? why are the meanings different? there's a bit of miscommunication in the start, but you both find your own ways to understand each other when words fail.

we all know gorou has always wanted to climb the mountains of liyue and you made it possible! meeting him by the docks and touring him around your home nation, you made sure to pick hiking routes with the most scenic spots, even managing to tour him around the jade palace and the floating lone island.

~ i n a z u m a ~

kaeya has no idea how you sit on the floor while being comfortable. you've made him sit with you once while reading a book, after that, his bones ached for days! shaking every time he stood back up!

albedo met you in the irodori festival- he painted you for practice and spark between you started. the long distance was difficult at first, but his long letters always had a little drawing of you and you'd send back the scent of cherry blossoms. klee would also send you letters, asking you to come visit soon!

childe loves a new fighting style; like most sword users in inazuma, you followed the raiden shogun's teachings– swift, efficient, and at one with the sword. he loves how you fight and it's often how you end your dates!

cyno was almost confident that you were playing a prank the day you said you'll make him your specialty and you showed him a platter of raw seafood. it's "sashimi and ngiri" you say, and he waited for you to explain the pun of your joke. it wasn't a joke.

~ s u m e r u ~

thoma is quite used to mondstadters and inazumans, two very different cultures, then he meets you and your sumeru upbringing! you show him how to cook foods that can be eaten with hands, and your menu is often so colorful he can't help but admire it!

itto doesn't really understand the study culture of sumeru, but he totally supports whatever it is you're talking about and tries to add in comments (his comments don't exactly make sense though...)

scaramouche, in his "path of redemption and healing", unwillingly gets involved with you as you show him around the beautiful parts of sumeru! you argue that he needs a different, better outfit with a color scheme that matches his vision. he insists that the hat stays. you tell him he looks like an aranara.

~ s n e z h n a y a ~

al haitham was almost concerned the day you got a heatstroke after being in the desert for no more than a few minutes. snezhnaya has prepared you for harsh weather, but never the heat. soon enough your lover is carrying around heatstroke-first aid packs just for you.

bundling up tighnari's fluffy ears before setting foot in snezhnaya because you just know the cold would practically freeze them off. his tail also gets wrapped and bundled warm in the large coats you wear, protection from the harsh snow. he says he looks like a big lummox.

note !! alright, choose your favorite dynamic! i personally think mondstadters with liyue/inazuma would be interesting maybe because i want to force feed them the joys of rice...

// if i misinterpreted a culture then umm... just know it wasn't intentional and let's consider it a real thing in teyvats culture 🫣😎

commissions || general m.list

taglist !! @absolut-wildflower @boundedbyfate @sadlonelybagel @eissaaaa @ladycoleigh @nejibot @milkypompon @bloodreaper08 @irethepotato @x-zho @roriver @mich-cola @mxsomn @ackrylik @nicebonescomrade @starforecasts @stygianoir @yuminako @eccedentesiast-sapphic @nebulaera @nuttytani @klutzkat @stygianoir14 @shizunxie @bluriie @aestellia @abyislan08

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amara-scott · 6 months

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One more step.

pairing: mattheo riddle x slytherin/reader themes: angsttt, fluff summary: Mattheo Riddle was known to be impulsive, doing everything he wanted and not caring about the outcome of his shenanigans. But what if he actually took it a little too far?

𓆙𓆙𓆙

How can it be that I've never, until now, noticed the beauty of a silent autumn evening? I know being a Slytherin comes with loads of bias. Not all Slytherins are ready to party at all times, and not every one of us seeks trouble.

Well, except that one group of boys, maybe. And even more precisely, Mattheo Riddle.

I sigh, shaking my head to myself and re-read the paragraph of my history of magic chapter. My once steaming hot cup of green tea is nearly empty and my fingers get tired of scribbling down notes as I try to remember all that I read. I really don't mind tests and exams- it's just that I would rather go out with Pansy and Cassandra. The only reason I am not is that I actually care about every grade I receive. Maybe a little too ambitious for my own good.

I shut the book with a mark in place and collect my belongings while taking a look around. The library is rather empty. Some gather around the fireplace, having their eyes glued to their books. I know, a fireplace in a library? Doesn't seem too smart. But good god, we're not muggles.

I stop in my tracks, on my way to the exit, as I made out a certain head of brown curls close by a nearing bookshelf. He disappears behind it, his eyes searching intensely for a specific book.

I took that as a sign to quickly make my way past the isles. I hurry, my robe flowing behind me and my hair bouncing with every step.

"(Y/N)?"

I freeze in place, inhaling for the first time since I walked. I carefully turn to the side, Mattheo smirking at me from head to toe.

"Mattheo." I get out and want to keep moving, but he steps outside the isle and right in front of me. My eyes glued to him, not daring to miss what could be a meaningful move.

"You know, it's quite early to be studying for the test on monday." He tilts his head slightly to the side glancing down at the book I am holding onto. He is wearing a smug expression, obviously aware of how intimidating he can be. And that really bothers me. A lot, actually. Maybe also the fact that he's using that to constantly bully my friends, Harry and Hermione. She is the smartest witch in Hogwarts, besides me. If not beyond.

"Move aside, Mattheo, I want to get dinner before it's too late." I got out, harsher than I thought. Good.

I step to the side and want to walk around him, but he blocks my way once more. I glance up at him and frown, pressing my teeth together. "What is it?" I ask rudely.

Mattheo steps forward, making me take a step back to not bump into him. "What's gotten you in such a sour mood, huh? You should be glad you're in Slytherin - otherwise I would -"

"- you would what? Constantly pick on me because I'm only a half-blood? Make me feel uncomfortable or embarrass me any chance given? Well, news flash, Riddle, you do that to many friends of mine and I despise you for that." I spit out and am surprised at my sudden burst. I quickly regain composure and push his frame slightly to the side to get around him.

His eyes were wider than usual and his mouth unusually closed. I don't hear any comebacks, so I don't bother turning around and briefly hurry out, to get to dinner.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

The pumpkin soup filled my nostrils long before turning into the Great Hall. I spot Pansy, Draco and a few others sitting at the Slytherin table. I hurry over, setting my books below the bench before sitting down next to Cassandra. She sends me a smile and I return it.

"Hey."

"- She was so stunned, quite like stone."

"Did she leave you alone then?" Draco asks Pansy and she continues a story I didn‘t bother to get into. Besides, Draco wants her all for himself anyway.

More people join the table now and I feel someone sit right next to me on my right. I glance up and see Theodore taking a seat, winking at me. I roll my eyes and turn back to my bowl, filling it with soup from the cauldron in the middle.

"Would you mind?" Theodore holds up his bowl and I take it, filling his too. "Thanks, love." I nod and begin eating. I stop before I can take a bite of toast when Mattheo joins, sitting opposite of Theodore.

I sigh internally, placing my spoon down in my bowl as our eyes meet briefly. The awkward tension in his eyes made me feel a little bad for my words earlier. But I don't regret them. He looks away and focuses on Pansy and her story, throwing in a few sarcastic remarks here and there. Acting like nothing happened.

"Hey, are you good?" Cassandra asks me, a little hushed. I stop stirring the soup, glancing up and noticing more eyes on me that have caught onto Cassandras question.

"Yeah, you look a little pale?" Pansy adds, her observation sounding more like a question.

Draco chuckles, "Nothing new there" earning a kick to the leg from Pansy, followed by a glare. The rest of the boys looking at me now too, trying to figure out if it's true.

"Uh- nothing? I think I'm just tired, it was a long week." I grab my book from below me and stand up. Not able to hold their stares as I feel judged.

"- where are you going? You haven't even finished the soup?" Theodore tries and I wave him off.

"I'm just exhausted, I'll see you later." I quickly turn around, ignoring Pansy calling my name and only stop walking once I'm outside the big doors and around the corner.

I really couldn't stand sitting there across from him, while he is who he is. I've finally had enough. I tried to ignore him being absolutely rude to countless people. But I can't pretend anymore.

The others weren't innocent either, don't get me wrong. But he was far from that.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking. Actually thinking about nothing. More so just staring.

"Can you tell me what's with you?" I hear Pansy as she sits down on my bed and looks down at me, frowning. I haven't even heard her come into our room. "Is it Riddle? What did he do this time?"

My eyes dart to her and I come up, leaning on my elbow. "No, that's not it-"

"- if it's not Riddle, then why have you bolted as soon as he sat down at dinner?" She raises an eyebrow at me and I fall back onto my pillow, holding back a groan. "I'm not stupid."

"He is ridiculous, truly infuriating." I tell her and she smirks at me.

"What?"

"Well, you sound like you think about him quite a lot."

*It's not like that Pansy, I swear." She sighs, standing up and shrugging her shoulders.

"If you don't trust me enough to tell me, so be it. Just don't come running to me when he breaks your heart." She's out the room before I can reply. I sit up in bed and look at the door.

Breaking my heart? I wouldn't let him get that close to me. Never.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

"(Y/N)!" I look behind me to see Hermione running up to me, falling into my step.

"Hey, how are you?" I ask and she shakes her head, giving me a worried look.

"How bad?" I ask and she stops, I copy her and turn around to look at her.

"He's in the Hospital Wing. They were already done once I saw them." I shake my head in disbelieve, not sure how to respond. I just had that talk with Mattheo and he still goes around, fighting and bullying others.

We both make our way to Harry. He sits on a bed, Madam Pomfrey smiling at us as we enter. "Hello there, you two." I smile at her and leave Hermione to talk to her while I check on Harry.

"Hey you." I say, sitting next to him as he rubs his bandaged arm. As he looks up at me, I see a deep purple bruise forming on his right cheek bone. Dried blood still sticking to the skin below his nose and upper lip.

"Don't look at me like that." I take his arm and look back up at him.

"How, Harry?"

"Like I lost the fight." I raise a brow and he tries to smile but hisses, touching his cheek bone. "He looks worse, I promise."

That oddly doesn't make me happy and I look down, letting go of his arm as Hermione joins us, sitting next to Harry's other side.

"You're an idiot, trying to win against him in a fight!" She taunts and I agree with her, Harry only rolling his eyes.

"What, you want me to run away? Tell him to please stop? Whatever I do or say doesn't matter. Our parents did that for us. We're only fighting their fight now." He mutters the last bit, his eyes fixed on the tiled ground.

"That's enough." I stand up with one goal only. Making this stop. This has to stop.

"(Y/N), don't-"

"- I have to."

𓆙𓆙𓆙

Walking down the cold stone stairs, I spot them around the corner in the open common room area by the fireplace. Talking and laughing. Pansy smiling, Blaise shaking his head with a smirk and Mattheo- grinning. He hasn't even bothered to change his shirt or clean his face, which is still bloody. Wearing it like a trophy.

"Hey!" I shout, all their eyes on me now as I storm up to the group. My eyes boring daggers into his brown ones.

"Who the actual fuck do you think you are!" I stop behind the couch where Pansy, Draco and Blaise sit on. My eyes not once missing him.

"What?"

"You heard me, jerk. How dare you-"

"Whoa, whoa, (Y/N)-" Theodore stands up from the floor with raised hands and Mattheo follows suit, his stare could kill me.

"Theo, don't." I warn him and step around the couch, walking up to Mattheo, not afraid of him. His breathing quick and his eyes dark.

"Answer my fucking question, Riddle. Who do you think you are?" I stab my finger into his chest a couple of times, feeling my cheeks warming up and eyes glossing over.

"I am his worst fucking nightmare. And don't you ever make the mistake of believing you could stop me from being just that." My mouth is agape as I feel a warm tear running down my cheek, stunned at his cold heart.

"But -"

"- No! You don't get to come in here and question me about something that doesn't concern you in any fucking way!" He yells, throwing his arms up and huffing, almost smiling at me with a crazy glint in his eyes.

"Harry is my concern, he is my friend - and so is Hermione! I can't believe that you can't see past that."

"Then why don't you go, leave! Run to your precious Gryffindor friends if you love them so much! No one will fucking miss you here. Not a single minute."

"Guys, maybe we shouldn't talk about that here." Theodore says, coming closer to us both, holding Mattheo's shoulder now.

Mattheo pushes his hand from him, his cold stare now turned onto him, allowing me to take a breath.

"Pathetic half-blood." Riddle mutters, only for me to hear.

Pansy now pulling at my hand quickly from behind me, "come on" and I slowly take a few steps backward, glancing at Theo and Riddle one last time.

"- you think I would hurt her?" I hear before Pansy takes me to our chambers. I don't remember how long I've been sitting here on my bed, tears running down my cheeks. Her hand runs up and down my back.

"What happened?"

I look at her and I feel my head throbbing now. "He went too far with Harry. I can't just sit back and watch."

"You know, if that sorting hat had asked me, I would have placed you in Gryffindor anyway. How bravely you protect your friends." She smiles at me and I huff, chuckling.

"You're forgetting how stubborn I am, I wouldn't survive a day there. Plus, green is more my color." It's her turn to laugh and she nods, agreeing with me. Her smile leaves her lips and I know what's coming next.

"Jokes aside. This can't keep going on. You both have quite a lot to say to each other, despite claiming to hate each other. What happened to two years ago? You both were on such a good way to becoming wonderful friends."

Honestly? I don't know myself. After the winter break, when we came back to Hogwarts two years ago, something had changed. I noticed it right away but didn't want to talk to Mattheo.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

Mattheo POV:

"Really now, what's gotten into you? I know Harry isn't the greatest but why pick a fight with him so often, especially while knowing it will get a rise out of her?"

I shrug, picking at the dried crimson blood on my knuckles. It's turning brown now.

He sighs as he scratches at his forehead, squeezing his eyes shut before looking at me once more. "Matt, please tell me you're not doing anything stupid anytime soon, yeah? Give us all a break."

Theo stands up, walking out and I stay on my bed, biting at my split lip, chewing my skin. She is all I can think about. Good or bad- but those teary eyes were torture. I wanted her attention, yes. But not like this. Not if her heart is already with someone else anyway.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

(Y/N)‘s POV:

I skipped classes for the whole next day and only ate what Pansy brought me. I don't know what I'm more afraid to face. Mattheo's angry gaze or Harry's disappointed one, once he figures out I failed to stop the bullying.

I crumble up the tissue and toss it across the bed, it lands with some others near my feet. With closed eyes, I can't make out who entered the room but I'm guessing it's Pansy by the way she sits on my bed and sighs.

"I'm not hungry -"

"- you haven't eaten all day."

"Yes, I have -"

"- the dry toast I brought you eight hours ago surprisingly doesn't count." I open my eyes and glance at her sideways. She frowns, her brows being pulled together and she seems to wince at my sight.

"Seriously, come with me and get some dinner, you can go right back to bed, okay?" I shake my head and look back up at the ceiling.

"Alright, that was the last time I asked nicely." She stands up and pulls me by the leg.

"Hey!" I try to hold myself on the bed but she janks once, hard enough for me to fall off the bed.

"Get up now and let's go!" She helps me stand up and I hiss, holding my bum.

"That was mean." I mumble and she shrugs, not seeming fazed in the slightest.

"I don't care, now come on." She throws me one of my sweaters and pulls my hand. I sigh, giving up, not ready for another fight.

I decide then I would sit at the Gryffindor table, not daring to sit close to him. I couldn't face him now. Not with what happend and what was said.

"I'll see you later Pans-" I walk right to Harry and Ron as I spot them, leaving Pansy by the entrance. Walking down the isle of benches I take a seat next to Ron, facing Harry.

"Hey." I greet them and they share a worried glance.

"You look worse than Harry- no offence." Ron states and makes a face, pushing his mug of tea over. "Here."

I take it and gulp it down, thanking him.

"What happened?" Harry asks, his broken glasses fixed once more probably by Hermione. Who isn't here yet, I notice.

"Nothing really, just trying to keep him off your back." I try sending a weak smile but it's probably more a grimace.

"(Y/N), don't. That's a thing between me and him- I don't want you to get hurt-"

I tune out his speech and glance toward the Great Hall doors as he enters. An unreadable expression on his face. His eyes go toward the Slytherin table but he frowns, his eyes trailing along until they meet mine.

In the gloomy light the shadows dance across his face. His lips slightly ajar as I try to peel my gaze from him, unsuccessfully.

"(Y/N) -" A waving hand forces me to blink. I glance over to their owner, Harry. Hermione sitting now next to him.

"Have you heard a single thing I just said?" I shake my head, not in the mood to lie. She sighs and glances behind her at the Slytherin table where Mattheo sits down next to Theo. Him patting his back. His eyes finding mine once more. I can't help the tears coming back and quickly stand up, running toward the big doors.

"(Y/N)!" I block out Harry's, Ron's and Hermione's calls, just running out.

I don't stop in the hallway and follow the path to the courtyard. The cold air slowing down my movement and I take a few deep breaths. I sit down on a bench near the tree and pull my knees up. No one's around. Even if- I don't care anymore. I start sobbing, my face hidden.

I fully realize the impact his words have on me now, the strength he has over me. The feelings he hurt. My heart he broke.

𓆙𓆙𓆙

Pansy lies with me now. The covers warming me up from the cold air. She found me outside, not knowing she would find me where she did. But she did. She really is the greatest friend I have.

"You know, he probably feels terrible having hurt you so bad." I wipe away the dry path of my past tears and shake my head.

"He doesn't have feelings. He is a shell of nothingness." I mumble and feel my eyes getting heavier.

The knock on our door pulls me back out of my soon overtaking sleep and I sit up with Pansy, sharing a quick glance. It's nearly midnight.

"Can I come in?" Theo asks and carefully pulls open the door, his right eye blinking through the crack.

"What are you doing here?" Pansy asks, getting out of bed and opening the door. Theodore seems uneasy, stepping left and right, scratching the back of his head. Stumbling along his words.

"Well, I know it might not be a good idea, but we didn't know if -"

"- get to it, Nott." Pansy says, sighing with a hand on her hip.

"It's Mattheo -"

"- no, not a chance." She wants to push the door in his face but he holds it open, placing a foot in the door.

"Wait, listen, please."

She sighs and I stand up now, walking forward and stopping next to Pansy. Theo's eyes on me now. He gulps and stutters.

"He- he's down the hall in the dungeons, picking a fight with Harry -"

I don't need to hear anymore, grabbing my wand and pushing past them, running up the stairs in the common room to get out. I hear them hot on my tail but don't turn around.

"- you shouldn't pick a fight with someone like me, Potter!" I make out Mattheo's voice and pick up my speed even more.

"- And you shouldn't even be alive, Riddle!" I intake a sharp breath of air as those words leave Harry's lips, neither of them noticing me and start casting spells at each other.

"Expelliarmus!"

"Protego!"

"Stupefy!"

I step up and hold my wand out, pointing it at Mattheo. A hand on my shoulder stops me from talking. "(Y/N), don't-"

"Accio!" I yell and a wand flies through the air and straight into my palm. I look up and Mattheo's eyes find mine as he tucks away his own wand before walking over to a wandless Harry.

"No, Mattheo-" I run over as they start throwing fists, pushing each other to the ground. I look back at Theo, who comes to my aid, trying to get ahold of Harry's shoulder who sits atop of Mattheo, throwing a fist in his face. I hold my hands in front of my opened mouth, gasping.

Theo pulls Harry from him as he struggles to get out of his grip.

Mattheo quickly gets to his feet but another arm holds him back. Draco. "It's not worth it, trust me."

"You're just like your father!" Harry yells and I watch as Mattheo's eyes loose all light, his hands hanging by his sides. He stopped struggling against Draco's restrain.

My feet carry me quicker than my brain can register and soon I place my arms around his shoulders, holding him, hugging his frame. His chin laying on my shoulder.

"Get lost, Potter, before we call for Snape." I hear Theo say but don't turn to look. My heart swells with anger and regret. Mattheo's arms soon find their way around me, pulling me even closer, clawing at me shirt. I feel my neck soaking with his - tears.

I glance over his shoulder, the others gone, leaving us two.

"He's wrong, you know?" I whisper, scared of him leaving this position. He doesn't answer at first but his silent crying turns into sniffling.

He pulls away a bit, looking at me. "You don't have to pretend to feel bad for me." He gets out.

"I don't, Matt. I just know the whole truth now." He frowns, his pretty brown eyes sparkling with the remaining tears.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I know why you pick so many fights. And I know why you hated Harry particularly much." His eyes leave mine and glue themselves to the floor between us. He pulls away from the embrace. My hands falling to my sides.

"I don't know what you-"

"-Matt, you don't have to pretend to be a big, bad boy all the time. I'm sorry I made you feel invalid."

"What happened to calling me Riddle, huh?" I sigh, shaking my head to myself. Of course that didn't make it any better.

"I'm so sorry."

"No, I'm the one who's supposed to be sorry. I was the biggest dickhead to you, even when I rather should have just asked you to Hogsmeade."

"Matt, I-" I stop myself once I understood the whole sentence. "-Hogsmeade?"

"Yes, since two years actually."

Two years. Two goddamn years in which I tried to figure out what went wrong between us. Nothing.

"You idiot." I say.

"I know. I know, I am. And I won't blame you if you say no-"

"-You, Mattheo Thomas Riddle, are the absolute worst dickhead to ever have walked these halls." I stab my finger into his chest and look up at him, his lips curling into a small smirk, showing his teeth. One of his hands takes my finger down and holds my hand there.

"Nothing new, love." He states, raising his brows and biting the inside of his cheek.

"First- you terrorize my friends. Then you actually fist fight one of them- until you're both ready for the Hospital Wing. Just for me to end your duell in the dungeons before one gets the other killed. And now you're asking me to Hogsmeade?" I can't help but my stunned expression is probably quite visible on my face.

"Uh- is that a yes?"

"Well, of course I'm going with you! But only if you, for the love of Merlin, stop fighting with Harry. That's not getting you anywhere except maybe Azkaban once you finally killed each other."

He stops for a moment, coming even closer and I freeze in place, not knowing if what's about to happen is really the start of something good. But right now, right here, it feels truly amazing.

„You‘re cute when you’re angry.“

#imagine #imagines #harry potter #mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #harry potter imagine

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loveliestlovelygirl · 2 months

Text

tangle of strings

pianoteacher!anakin x student!reader

synopsis: mr. skywalker has been your piano instructor since you were fourteen years old. from the moment you met, you knew he was the one. he never expressed his feelings for you vocally, despite all the time you spent together. but after you turn eighteen and prepare to leave for college, he changes his tune.

w.c: 6.9k

warnings!! {minors dni}, dark content, grooming heavily featured, sexual content occurs after the reader is 18, p in v, fingering, oral, fem!reader, gentle dom!anakin, sub!reader, "loss" of virginity, jealousy, religious themes

the content you consume is your responsibility ♡

The piano is the only thing Mr. Skywalker told you that he loved.

He was never spotted with a girl or anyone for that matter in a romantic sense. He was always single, which never made sense to anyone in your small town because he is handsome. He’s always been handsome. His yearbook pictures from high school proved it.

When you would go over to his house for piano lessons, he would show you many things from his life, like his award cabinet, filled with every trophy and certificate he’s won from piano competitions or his yearbook photos. Those photos were one of the first things he showed you. It was one of your first memories of just you and him.

Mr. Skywalker takes a big stack of books off the shelf in his library all at once. Using his strength to balance the dusty books on his arms, he brings them to the reading table where you sit. He takes off the top one and opens it up before you.

Eventually, you find his picture. You cover your mouth as you giggle. He had thick glasses making him look like a nerd. But he was cute. So, undeniably cute to you. You wish he could be the same age. You would want to be his friend. You would want to kiss him.

If you were the same age, he could be yours.

“I wasn’t always like this,” he muses, his large body looming behind you as he looks over your head to gaze at the picture. “I used to be the kid everyone picked on. When I’d get home, I would write a song about how I was feeling. Some of those songs inspired the ones I play at my shows.”

When he talks, you gush. His warm voice is safe. He’s the kind of person you could tell all your secrets to.

And you did tell him everything you couldn’t tell your parents. You’d tell him your deepest secrets. Like the boys you crushed on. Or your new feelings of lust towards them that caught you off-guard as a teen. He understood you like no one else in the whole world. He was the first to know about your first kiss when you were sixteen. And he seemed… jealous when you told him.

“I don’t know how it happened,” you say. “One moment, we were talking and laughing. And the next thing I know, Drew is pushing me down on the bed to kiss me!” you squeal. “But don’t tell my parents. They’ll think I’m a whore.”

Mr. Skywalker pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry. I always keep your secrets. Drew is the boy in your history class, correct?”

You nod, amazed that he would remember. The last time you spoke of Drew had been several months ago. But he always pays attention to even the smallest details. That’s how you know he cares.

“I don’t know if he’s good for you,” he mutters, noticeably bitter about something. “Does he really know you? I think… he doesn’t. He’s probably just trying to use you.”

Mr. Skywalker is much older than you. And wiser. So you take his advice to heart. Maybe you shouldn’t see Drew tonight after all.

“How many times have you been kissed?” you ask him, your voice all innocent. Although your motives were anything but pure. While you might have just shared a kiss with Drew, there is one man who is truly the object of your greatest desires. You just haven’t found a way to tell him.

He shakes his head. “You know I’d rather talk about you.” That’s what he says when you pry too deeply into his private life, which only adds to your secret obsession

Anakin has always been the one thing that rivals your obsession with your instrument of choice. And it’s the only secret you kept from him all through high school because you knew he couldn’t possibly feel the same way about you.

Even if the small touches, the secret looks, and long hugs seemed to indicate otherwise. You were too afraid to ask him what it all meant. He never gave that kind of attention to anyone else.

And as an awkward teen, you were furious that you couldn’t express your love to him directly. You kept telling yourself that you would when you’re older. When you turned eighteen, you would confess to him.

Since you couldn’t tell anyone, even him, about this secret, you’d use the piano to share your soul, to put your feelings out into the atmosphere. When you play, no matter where you are, you feel him sitting on the bench beside you, watching over you.

He taught you everything you know now. He’s the reason you chose to major in Piano Performance in college to the great horror of your parents. But what did they expect? They watched you sacrifice your youth for excellence in your craft. The nights were filled with pools of tears, cries, and screams as you played until you got the part, section, or note just right.

When your fingers rest on the ivory keys, you feel him and nothing else. He’s your muse in every song you write.

The piece that won you a full scholarship to your dream university, you wrote it while thinking of Anakin. Your beloved piano teacher. Your closest friend. Your secret love.

He’d been in your life for so long, giving you lessons when you first showed an interest in music. How could you not love him?

He went to the same church that your family attended every Sunday. He played piano sometimes during worship service if the music minister was out on vacation or fell ill. Church was how your father met him, and they became good friends. He often came to your Sunday lunches.

Your mom always cooked fried catfish or fried chicken because that’s what your dad wanted. Mr. Skywalker, as you called him back in your high school years, would eat two plates of food. He’d say things like “I haven’t had a home cooked meal in years,” even if he was at your house just last week. You would laugh the loudest at his jokes. As you think about them now, you realize they weren’t funny, but you’re in love with him so it doesn’t matter.

After lunch, your parents would take care of the food and dishes, giving alone time with him. Like a young pup, you’d follow him outside on the back porch where you’d sit side by side on the creaky old swing.

“Do you cook or bake?” he asks you.

You haven’t the slightest idea of why he’d ask such a thing. You still lived with your parents. Your mom does most of the cooking. Your dad grills sometimes. “No. I get scared that I’ll burn myself.”

Suddenly, he reaches over for your left hand, the closest one to him, from your lap and holds it between his great palms. “Cold,” he whispers. He massages your fingers to revive them. “I wouldn’t want you to burn your hands. They’re so perfect… for playing.”

Anakin looks down at what he’s doing to you and his expression sours. At the time, you don’t know why. You wonder if you said or did something he doesn’t like because the mood changes instantly. He drops your hand and pats your thigh.

“You have piano hands, remember?” he reminds you. He smiles at you, and you feel secure again.

That’s exactly the thing that you always tell him. His hands spread out further than a whole octave, while you struggle to hit the two octave notes simultaneously without pulling a muscle. His fingers are long, and his palms are wide. You can’t compete with that.

You wonder what other things he’s good at with hands like those.

For the entirety of your high school existence, you pined and pined after him. He was always on your thoughts every minute of every day. You never grew sick of daydreaming about him. And on occasion that was reflected in your grades though you maintained a high GPA regardless. Every week was just your going through the motions of life mindlessly, only waiting for two short hours out of the week on Friday which was when you took lessons with him.

You lived solely for those two hours in which he gave you piano lessons free of charge. He said it was because you had such potential, but still to this day, you like to think he reciprocated some of your feelings even before he actually made a move on you.

For those two hours, you would sit right up against him on the leather cushion of the piano bench and play for him whatever pieces you were working on or things he assigned you from the previous week. He was never harsh with you even when you weren’t getting something.

You throw your hands on the keys, striking a dissonant chord that makes you both wince. Mr. Skywalker instantly pulls your hands away.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” he said with concern. “I promise you’ll get this. It just takes time. I know you practice too much as it is.”

“I want to be good! I want to be a star!” With that, you break down instantly and cry. He never minds when you cry in front of him.

“One day, you will be. I believe in you,” he soothes you, rubbing your back and kissing the top of your head as if you belong to him. He hugs you. “We can try again when you’re ready.”

“Okay,” you say, leaning against him to hear the echo of his heart. His heartbeat is sensual to you, even at sixteen. You can’t explain it. These stupid hormonal feelings you have for him are so wrong. But when you look up into his passionate eyes, you see the man you want to spend the rest of your life with. You have to marry him. You have to.

From the time you were five, you were afraid of thunder and lightning. Terrified by it actually. The fear is still with you today. But it was so much worse in middle school and high school. You started taking lessons from Anakin when you were fourteen years old. And you were still such a child then. You remembered the time it stormed so hard during your lesson that you had to spend the night at his house because it was too dangerous for your mother to come pick you up. But that also meant you couldn’t hide your abnormal fear of a thunderstorm from Anakin.

He had this giant plush rug under the piano. When you asked him about it, he said that it caught the sound. At the tail end of your lesson, the night you had to stay over, lightning struck close to his house and spooked you so much that you shrieked and slipped under the piano, curling up on that soft rug like a scared puppy.

Anakin was such a sweetheart because he followed you there.

“Hey,” he whispers, rubbing your back, “It’s going to be okay. I promise.”

You cry into your arms, hiding your face. “I know! I know it’s stupid of me. I just—”

“It’s not stupid. We all have different fears.” After he says that, he lies on his back beside you. “But I won’t let the storm hurt you, okay. We can stay here all night.”

And that you did. You cowered under the grand piano in his parlor all night long. That was the first time you ever cuddled with a boy, only he was a man almost twice your age. But that didn’t bother you. And it seemed not to bother him. He let you hold onto him through the night and squeeze him a little harder when you heard thunder. It has been one of your most precious memories of your piano teacher.

You had always known Anakin could be a little jealous. Any time you would mention your school friends the air would get tense, as if he didn’t want you to have anyone else in your life but him. He never said that, but he didn’t have to. There was always rage somewhere beneath the still blueness of his eyes, but his rage was never directed towards you until you told him that Drew wanted you to be his girlfriend.

You were seventeen. And you were so excited to have your first boyfriend even if you weren’t in love with him. At least people might not tease you for still being a virgin because it wouldn’t be so obvious. Anakin never did make fun of you for your innocence. He always said that it’s okay to wait until you’re ready or for the right person.

Immediately after you share the news of your official relationship with Drew, he freezes and closes the lid to the piano keys.

His jaw is tight. His voice is tense. “Maybe... we should be done for today.” He doesn’t even acknowledge what you said, as if he’s afraid to.

But you have no one else to celebrate with. Drew is a secret you keep from them because he’s not involved in church. “Did you hear me?” you press.

He grinds his teeth hard, and you hear bone against bone. Anakin nods. “I did.”

You nudge his arm. “Well?”

“Well what?” he snaps bitterly. He turns slightly to glare at you. “You know how I feel ab—about him.”

You roll your eyes. Anakin is a dramatic guy sometimes. “Drew isn’t that bad. He can be sweet. And he’s going to take me to prom!”

Anakin rises off the piano bench and pats down his black slacks. “So, you don’t care what I think then?” He’s staring down upon you with overwhelming disapproval. The muscles of his arms bulge when he crosses them over his chest.

Palms against the leather cushion, you hold yourself up. You notice yourself trembling when you realize that he’s not teasing you. He’s very upset... with you. Why would he be—does this mean—does he feel something after all?

“Of course, I do, Mr. Skywalker.”

“I told you not to get close with him!” he shouts. You’ve never heard him raise his voice at you. “He has bad intentions. He’s just a dumb kid. What does he know about loving you?”

You start to sob. “I’m sorry. I thought you might be... happy for me?”

He scoffs. And it sounds like you disgust him right now. “I don’t want to hear about him ever again. I don’t want to know anything about your little boyfriend. Do. You. Understand?”

Having him speak to you that way made you feel like a little girl. And you hated that feeling more than anything else. You knew that you were innocent, and you hated yourself for it because it made you feel inadequate to love the man you really wanted.

But now you’d do anything to have that innocence again. You didn’t realize at the time how free you once were. Growing up was harder than you thought it would be. It almost broke you.

You were lucky to have someone like Anakin to build you back up again, even if he was the one that tore you down that time.

After he yelled at you, you rushed out of his home as quickly as you could. The silence lasted a day. And then he drove to your house and knocked on your door. He held in his hands a bouquet of white roses and on his lips was the apology you were waiting for.

Nothing changed between you after that. Until your next birthday came around.

Up to your eighteenth birthday, your interactions were mostly harmless. But when you turned eighteen, an official adult, the tension between you had changed. The energies you both entertained shifted and became... dare you say... sexual to a degree. Anakin seemed to treat you a little differently now that you were fair game.

To celebrate your eighteenth birthday, he was there. In fact, he was the only one you insisted that mother invite. Not Drew or any of your school friends. Just Anakin. And he had to be there because he really was your one true friend. You couldn’t imagine celebrating your birthday without him. He was always a guest at your birthday parties, but he gave you a special gift this year, one so unforgettable that sometimes you hear it clear as day.

Anakin wrote you a piano solo. One that was simple, sweet, and addicting. You told him to play it again and again. After cake and presents, you made him teach you how to play it. You were very proficient now, and often could play things just by hearing them once. But the chords he chose for your song were unique and shouldn’t have meshed so well together. But they did. Just like you and him. Unlikely friends. Star-crossed lovers in your head.

The two of you stayed at the piano all evening, messing around with the song. By the end, you both had figured out how to layer the notes and chords in an even more perfect duet. Playing piano with him was almost the best birthday gift in the world to you. But it was not what you wished for.

You wished for a kiss.

But that would mean you’d have to tell him how you felt. And you were terrified. As an adult, now you could. It was more empowering than you thought it could be.

But you never did find a chance to tell me on your birthday. You were too afraid to ruin your night with a love confession. You know he would do the right thing and reject you, but that didn’t stop you from dreaming for the impossible.

When you walked him outside to his car—you insisted—your secret birthday wish came true. Not in the way you expected. But a kiss did happen. Your piano teacher kissed you on the cheek. Your face burned the whole night through. You couldn’t sleep because you wanted to know what it meant. He had never used his lips to touch any part of you before.

Physical contact had always been an important part of your bond with Anakin since the beginning. There were always the hugs that lasted just a little too long. And he seemed to always find an excuse to hold your hand. But he was your piano teacher, and the hand-to-hand contact always felt necessary and never strange.

But following your very special birthday, you found him staring at you a little longer, a little more deeply, and he seemed to always find an excuse to touch you, not in a sexual way but in a way that led you to believe the attraction wasn’t one sided.

He’d tuck your hair behind your ears, brush the side of your arm, and sit impossibly close to you that you swore you could almost hear his heartbeat. Anakin had never been hesitant to touch you before, but if there were any boundaries before, they were forgotten by him. And you enjoyed it. His new attention made you feel special and wanted. And that was all you ever wanted.

You began to touch him too. And seek physical attention from him. You would nuzzle his arm. Slip your fingers between his. Tap your shoes against his. He’d always notice, and he always hugged you or kissed your cheek in response.

You two were getting closer than ever before. Sometimes... you would barely touch the keys, getting lost in conversation. At this point, Drew and any other boy you were interested in before might as well have been dead. There was only room in your heart for Anakin.

And you had discovered a way to tell him without using your fragile words.

You sit on the bench waiting for him to get off the phone with his mother. She called him shortly after he let you in. About ten minutes later, he comes back.

“Sorry. I was worried she was in trouble,” he says, taking his spot beside you. “Now, where were we last week?”

“We... didn’t really go over anything.”

He bites into his full lower lip with a mischievous look in his eyes. “What are you paying me for then?”

You laugh because you’ve never once paid him for his time. You nudge his thigh with yours. “Honestly, I don’t really think there’s much more you could teach me.”

He raises a brow. “Oh really?”

You nod. “Actually, I’ve been writing something for you.”

His jaw lowers, and his mouth hangs open slightly. “How long have you kept this secret?”

“Since my birthday.”

He slips his arm around your back and rests his hand on your hip. “I’m impressed. Show me?”

You gulp heavily. That had been the plan today. It is ready for him. He’d never judge you even if it were bad. But you know that it’s not. You know that he’ll know what this piece means. He knows you too well. He’s too perceptive of everything. You wrote it in his favorite key, C minor.

With your hands a little shaky, your fingers glide softly across the piano and press down powerfully in chords. Through music, you profess your love. Anakin sits beside you and waits for you to finish. When you do, he’s waiting, staring with tears thickening his dark eyelashes. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t say anything, but you know... he knows how you feel.

You tug on his shirt, drawing him closer. A war of heart and mind reflects on his face. He’s doubting what he wants. His resistance is half-hearted. It isn’t long before he scoops you up in his arms and kisses you. This time his mouth is on your lips, wetting them, and tugging them apart to fill you with his tongue.

Drew was never this good. His mouth was sloppy and tight. Anakin kisses like he’s done this a thousand times before. And he kisses like he wants you. Like he’s wanted you for such a long time, despite how wrong you both know that is.

He holds you down in his lap, and you hug him tightly, carding your fingers through his dreamy hair. You start to feel lightheaded because you haven’t been able to breathe, but you don’t want to stop him. If you stop him, he might think and realize that he doesn’t want you anymore.

But you’re dying. Turning blue. You tap his shoulder. And he stops devouring you. His lips sparkle when he smiles. “Too much for you, baby?”

You sharply inhale, finally catching your breath. You shake your head. You want more. You need it. More isn’t even enough.

You spend the whole lesson entangled with one another until your mother comes to pick you up.

For the next month, that’s all you did. Kiss and kiss and kiss. Breathe and breathe and breathe. And kiss some more. You wondered why he was waiting to take you to his bed. You wanted that with him, but he never asked you to go that far. He seemed afraid. Even when his affection was overflowing in passion as you always knew it would be, it was clear that he was holding himself back. Did he need you to tell him what to do?

Your make out sessions extended beyond just your lesson time. Whenever he would come over to your house, he would go upstairs with you to your bedroom, and you’d end up tangled in the sheets. Though with every item of clothing on. Your parents never suspected anything was happening to their young, virtuous daughter. They trusted him completely. And so did you. You would have done anything he asked of you no matter the risks.

Even at church, he’d find a way to get you alone. In the girl’s bathroom. During the preacher’s sermon.

Anakin lifts you onto the sink and spreads your legs out so that he can fit between them and get close to you. Thumb under your chin, he tilts your face up to his. He grins before going in for a kiss.

Your lavender baby doll dress rides up your thighs as he inches closer. He presses up against the crotch of your panties. The dampness is cold against your tender flesh. His erection only grows as the friction between you builds, your bodies rubbing against each other in a clothed attempt to satisfy yourselves sexually.

And now you’re glad you waited and didn’t mess around with Drew like he wanted when you were together. Because that means Anakin could be your very first.

He freezes up when you try to unbuckle his big belt. Anakin looks at you strangely, almost disturbed by your actions.

You lean to his ear and whisper, “I. Want. It.” You had thought your seductive voice would be enough to cast him off the edge of all hesitation, that he’d bend to your will and give you what you want.

But all you did was kill the fire.

Head shaking, he backs away. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

And you didn’t see him for nearly a month after that. But you don’t regret what you said. You were tired of just endless make out sessions. It seemed so immature, and you knew you were ready for something real.

All of those memories, those beautiful capsules of your favorite times with Anakin, are the reason you find yourself on his doorstep, a quarter till midnight in the pouring rain.

Complete desperation.

You took your moms car without permission just to drive over despite the threat of a storm. And you’re still deathly afraid of them. But you came anyway. Because tomorrow, you’re leaving for college. You might not get another chance to fix things. Death would be better than living another moment without him.

“You haven’t been answering my texts or my calls, Anakin.”

The door is barely cracked open, just enough that you can see his pale face. Dark circles surround his rainy eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he mutters, not even making eye contact.

Thunder echoes behind you. The wind blows your hair around. Leaves rustle, filling the silence between you both. It’s going to storm soon. You had been stupid enough to drive to his house just before a storm. But you couldn’t take not knowing what had happened to him and why he was dodging your calls.

The eyes that used to linger a little too long won’t acknowledge you even as you stand in front of him.

“Why are you being like this? This isn’t you!” you nearly scream. You’re so afraid that he’s not only pushing you away but also ejecting you from his life completely, as if the memories you share can be erased. He’s engrained in almost every memory you have.

“It can’t happen. Go away.”

He tries to close the door on you, but you stick the toe of your right shoe in the crack before it shuts.

“Please… please don’t do this.”

Anakin’s eyes are bloodshot as if he’s been crying. “What I want isn’t right. I can’t do it. I don’t know if I could live with myself after.”

Does he really hate me so much? Is that the truth? Perhaps it’s your naivety, but you won’t let him go so easily. You have suffered in silence for nearly a decade, pining after him, waiting for him to reciprocate the depth of your feelings. Your hands shake as you reach out to him. If he would just… hold your hand like he used to, then maybe everything would be alright.

Your fingertips brush against each other. You feel the spark instantly, and it travels down your spine, leaving you wanting to touch him more.

“What about what I want?”

Anakin blinks several times before he speaks. It’s as if he didn’t consider your feelings in this decision. “You’re… not in a position to see things clearly. You’re—”

“Don’t say it!” you exclaim, squeezing your fists. “I’m not a child. I’m all grown up. And you know it. You see it.”

Anakin sighs a long time, his eyes scanning down your body. “Of course, I see it. But that doesn’t make it okay.”

Though you can never overpower him, you still try to force the door open. “Just let me in. We can talk. Just let me talk to you.”

Anakin’s frown is firm, and his stillness enforces that he’s not backing down. “I don’t know. If I let you in… if you cry… I’ll want to hold you. Then things might happen. I don’t know if I can control myself around you.”

Hugging yourself, you gaze upwards, into eyes that finally meet yours. His eyes reveal his mourning, his grief, his lust. It’s the latter that sends shivers through your body. The knowing that he wants you is more than you can take.

“I don’t want you to.”

There.

You said it.

You have told him exactly what you want. And if you hadn’t made it painfully obvious before, he knows now that you’re no longer thinking like a little girl.

Following a sigh of defeat, he backs away from the door, and you move in.

All the lights are off in his home. He must have been sitting in the dark like a vampire. The piano lid is open. He never left it open unless he was actively playing.

Anakin strides across the room to seat himself on the piano bench. He taps the spot next to him. “You’re right.... We should talk. Talk. Nothing more.”

Sitting beside him here feels like the most natural thing in the world. Here, you’re not afraid to speak from the heart. He’d never judge you even if he disagrees. But you’re not so sure he disagrees this time.

He wants you too.

“I couldn’t let you go back. I can’t believe you drove in the rain.”

You shrug. “It’s just rain. The storm hasn’t—”

The windows flash like they would in a horror flick, and thunder comes after. With a whimper, you grab onto his arm.

“I can drive you back home once we talk,” he says emotionlessly, gently pulling you off him.

But you double down and grab his arm, tugging him back again. “Don’t push me away.”

He doesn’t do it again. He stills. And sighs. “That’s the last thing that I want to do.”

With your chin resting on his sleeve, you look up at him, wide-eyed. “Just kiss me like you always do. And don’t think about it.” You stretch your arm out and fiddle with the top button of his dress shirt. “I’m not thinking.”

His chest rises and falls with his breaths. He doesn’t stop you as you unbutton his shirt.

When you rise on your knees, you’re at eye level. He’s so much bigger than you even now. He makes you feel so small. Holding onto his arm, you lean close and peck his clean-shaven cheek. He winces as if you pricked him with a needle.

“Angel, I shouldn’t.”

You kiss him again, closer to his lips, almost tasting him. “It’s me. Don’t you want me?”

Finally, he turns and looks in your eyes. Then at your mouth. “Don’t tell anyone. You... understand how this might look. What they might say about—”

“I’m good at keeping secrets,” you whisper. “What’s one more?”

You finish unbuttoning his shirt for him. Taking care of him feels good. You run your fingertips down his chest and his abdomen. His bare skin. It’s soft and warm. Suddenly, he grabs your wrist.

“Cold hands,” he murmurs. He takes your hands between them. He rubs his hands over your fast to warm them with friction.

“Sorry.”

Still rubbing your hands, he stands and leads you to the back of his grand piano near the flashing window.

Any other time, you would be trembling in fear because of the loud storm, but tonight you’re trembling because of the new feelings bubbling inside you. You’ve never been so aroused before.

“Can I hold you?” he says as pulls you into his embrace.

You can hear his steady heartbeat and feel it pumping right against your sensitive ear. Your piano teacher holds you against him and tangles his talented fingers in your hair. He sniffs your neck before taking a bite. His teeth pinch your flesh, and his tongue soothes you. The pain he leaves in several spots along your neck means that he’s marked you as his.

Your own heart is racing at lightning speed. You can’t think. In his arms, you’re helpless to his whims. You need him to tell you what to do. All you want is to please him.

“I’ll do anything,” you whisper to him so weakly you question if he hears you.

Anakin slowly unzips the back of your dress. “Consider this a teaching moment.” His voice doesn’t sound like it usually does. The undertones are sultry and possessive. “I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to—” He stops to pull down your dress, and his eyes wander over your pretty body. You wore transparent lace underwear and a matching bralette. He can see everything you hide from the rest of the world.

And he tells you, “You’re perfection.”

That makes you want to kiss him so badly. You try to lift yourself to reach his lips, but he’s too tall.

“Be patient,” he chides. “I want you to lay down first.” He guides you under the piano.

You lie down on your back atop the giant rug. Instantly, relaxation takes over as you remember all the times you used to lie here with him, hiding from the storm. Never did you think this would be the place where you’d give yourself to him. This must be meant to be.

He follows you after fully undressing. His body is every inch a man’s. His size makes you feel so small. He runs the risk of crushing you with his weight.

Lying on his side, he looks down at you, watching his own fingers running under the elastic of your lacy panties. “Take these off and spread your legs.” He whispers kisses to your cheek. “You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Nodding, you do as you’re told and wiggle out of your underwear. He snatches them from you and crunches them in his hands before throwing them over his shoulder. You proceed with fanning your legs open. The air is frigid as it touches you.

Anakin is looking where no one else has. “I’m so proud of you for waiting. Saving yourself just for me.”

You gasp as he kisses you between your legs. He kisses you there for a long time. It feels strange and wonderful. The feeling building inside you makes you moan and your toes curl. You feel so good your body aches. You hear your own heartbeat. You breathe but can’t find relief. Nothing soothes the need inside you but his mouth, his lips, his tongue. And before long you hit the breaking point, pleasure storming through your body from your place beneath him. Your cries are dampened by the thunderous sounds outside, but he hears you. He stops to look at your face. Making eye contact with him heightens the vulnerability of the situation. The intense way he looks at you burns. He notices every little change in your expression.

Anakin knows he made you feel good, but he still asks, “Did you like that?” He brushes the wild strands of hair away from your face. You know you’re precious to him. He sweetly kisses your forehead. “I like your taste.”

Your cheeks are seared by that comment. You cover your eyes, not wanting to let him see how he’s affecting you. “I did like it.”

“Do you want to do more?” He kisses your lips this time, and you taste yourself. “I don’t want to push you if you’re not ready.”

“I am ready!” you lift your head up and cup his cheek. “Don’t make me wait longer. I’m leaving tomorrow.” You bite your lip, knowing how dangerous what you’re about to say is because of who you’re saying it to. “Do you really want some college guy to be the one who gets me first?”

As if trying to reject the image you gave his mind, he closes his eyes and tightens his jaw. “No,” is his short answer. From the way his lips are pressed together, you know he wants to say more, but he’s saving you from his own selfish anger.

“Me either.” You rub his cheek with your thumb. “Anakin,” it feels right to call him by his first name instead of Mr. Skywalker, “I’ve waited for you. I always knew this would happen.”

He chuckles lightly. “I never gave you permission to use my name. Don’t forget—” he grunts as he slides two of his fingers between your slick folds and pushes them inside, “your manners, young one.”

These same fingers were the ones that rested atop yours when you were first learning to play piano. They pointed to the right key when you played the wrong note. They pointed to the sheet music to guide you along for all these years. They held your hands when they were cold.

And now he’s using them to teach you something new. But he’s just as skilled at fingering you as he is with music. You’re like his new instrument. He’s plucking all the right strings in just the right way to make you cry out for him. With your body pliant, he controls when you come. He doesn’t make you wait for it. He uses his thumb too and nudges until you come. It’s wetter than the last. And he instructs you to lick his fingers off when he’s done.

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks again. “Don’t hate me for asking.” He hangs his head a little.

What he doesn’t understand is how insatiable he’s caused you to be. There were so many times you thought you might explode from how desperately you wanted him. But now it’s okay if that does happen.

“Keep going. Please,” you beg. You’re not ready to stop. You’ve waited for this moment since you were fourteen years old. If it were up to you, you’d live here forever.

“If that’s what you really want,” Anakin moves from lying at your side to settling himself between your legs.

“It is,” you reassure him. Holding onto his neck, you pull yourself up a bit. “Can you kiss me too?”

He grins before pushing you down, his large hand spread out over your soft stomach, and he chases your lips as you fall. You’re partially distracted by his mouth as his cock slides inside you. You had expected it to be more of a challenge, all things considered. Throughout high school, your friends always complained about how much it hurt their first time. Some girls bled too. And that had scared you, which is one of the reasons you never took Drew up on his many offers of a “good time.” Deep down you knew he wouldn’t treat you right. But Anakin clearly is experienced with having sex. Maybe he wasn’t as alone as you thought he had been all those years.

This being your very first time, it does sting when he fills you completely, his bony hips pressed against yours. You feel the tightness and the stretch. But you enjoy how it feels. You’re so close to passing out just because this is as close as you can get to someone.

Anakin rocks in and out slowly. Maybe he can feel that you’re tired. He’s being gentle with you despite how much he wants to rail your cunt to shreds. You can tell when he’s holding himself back. He has that weary, pained look in his rainy eyes. A part of you wants to tell him that it’s okay. Let go. But you both know that you couldn’t handle the full extent of his lust.

“Can I come inside you?” he asks before sinking his teeth into a bruise along your neck.

Short of breath, you answer, “I said... anything.”

“Okay,” his shaky voice whispers. He buries his face into the curve of your neck and moans your name into your skin. He pulls your hair gently as he finishes, his heat spreading through your core. It’s so much that you feel it leaking out.

After, he holds you there all night long. He doesn’t let you leave. And you wouldn’t want to escape.

The three words he says to you as you leave his house the morning after, you realize that he’s lied to you all the years you’ve known him.

The piano isn’t his only love or his only obsession.

It’s an outlet, and yet a mask for his sin nature which you understand more deeply than any other girl ever will.

He’s kept his real obsession hidden from everyone but you.

add yourself to my taglist!! @hanasnx @princessswifie @doblasftcisco @multifandermissesanakin @jadegmfu @coldkiss @mysteriouslydelightfulcloud @karei009 @anda-the-valkyrie @avoxzy @edclynns @ter-luer @anakinniesluv @purelevna @forets-noyees @anisgirl7 @reine-lalune @ssskywalkerrr @anakinsbbgirl @sweetcheesecakesblog @moonlight-kr @anonymous1996s @luvanaise @ziggystarduzzt @gwdnsqal @lonelywitchv2 @tembud @obsessedrebel @c-losur3 @just-here-to-readd @slut4ani @abaker74 @anakinbbg @ellebunnie @sandymorgan12 @ultraviolenceticket @emotionallybruisedx @ririszn @itsoneofusworld @pheonixfucu @kittycai @mushy-mushroom04 @crack240 @emotionallybruisedx

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devildom-moss · 9 months

Note

I request…diavolo courting headcanons with an exasperated barbatos sprinkled in

Super late, but I hope you enjoy it. I love when Diavolo causes trouble for Barbatos but Barbs just kind of manages because affection duty. I could probably have done a few more, but I think I got a good chunk of stuff. I put a few MC courting Diavolo at the end since I realized the request wasn't specific that only Diavolo did the courting and because Diavolo is babygirl/babyboy and deserves courting too.

Diavolo courting headcanons

(Diavolo x gn!MC) (SFW)

Diavolo has no idea how he’s supposed to court a human. He’s never courted anyone (except for Lucifer, in his own, naïve, convoluted and lovestruck way – and even then, he didn’t acknowledge it as courting). He’s been courted by a few brave witches and demons, but it didn’t go anywhere, so he doesn’t care to replicate someone else’s failed attempt at courting. Other than that, he’s only read whatever made it into his family’s history. His father didn’t speak about Diavolo’s mother – let alone their courtship. In short, this poor man is lost and scrambling the entire time.

He turns to Barbatos, Lucifer, and Solomon for advice. None of them are keen to help him seduce MC if they already like MC, but Solomon is the only one to actively sabotage Diavolo’s plans on occasion. Solomon has suggested that Diavolo pick one day a week to actively avoid you so you’ll want him more or that he fill your entire room up with balloons in your least favorite color so you can enjoy destroying them or that humans enjoy being watched while they sleep and doing so shows that you will protect them when they’re most vulnerable. Barbatos catches on to his weird plots and attempts to stop him if he’s at risk of troubling you. Barbatos just counts this as another reason to be a bitch to Solomon the next time he sees him.

Eventually, Diavolo decides that the best course of action is to do whatever he can to see that precious smile on your face and just be around you. He may not know what he’s doing, but he knows that nothing in any realm could feel better than when he catches your gaze in his and you smile at him affectionately.

As such, he asks you to accompany him in his study while he does paperwork late into the night. No one else has the privilege of bothering him while he works. Literally. Barbatos doesn’t allow anyone to interrupt Diavolo when he has important work to do. Diavolo sneaks you in when he asks you to keep him company. It’s actually a great environment for reading and studying. He feels more productive having you around (most of the time). Sometimes he’s distracted by his desire for you, and he takes a short break “to refocus.” If his paperwork isn’t confidential and you’re lonely, he’ll let you sit in his lap.

Some nights, Diavolo has so much work that you fall asleep to quiet music, scribbling, and pages turning. When Barbatos comes to deliver tea, only to find you asleep on the couch, he sighs and escorts or just straight up carries you to a spare room to rest. He’ll scold Diavolo in the morning, but he doesn’t put any extra effort to prevent Diavolo from sneaking you in – not after he saw how affectionately and longingly Diavolo stared at you when Barbatos sent you off to bed. Barbatos hates that he has such a soft spot for you both sometimes.

Diavolo doesn’t tell anyone, but once he establishes peace between all three realms, he wants to build an entire city in your honor. It’s one of the dreams that sustains him when he feels like a failure. He has to do this for you.

He wants his love for you written in history books. This man is down so bad, that he needs you to be remembered in the history of the Devildom. If your name died with you, he would tear the Devildom to pieces until every denizen memorized your name. You’re such a comfort in his daunting, stressful life, he needs your beauty to stain the world. This is the only way he can cope with the thought of you dying one day.

Diavolo will open entire public parks and gardens dedicated to you. If you’re shy or don’t want recognition, he does it secretly and only tells you that he opened it in your honor. Unfortunately, he always invites you to the opening ceremony, and anyone who sees the way he looks at you will know that this is all for you. He plants your favorite devildom plants or flowers that blossom in your favorite color. Usually, he includes some kind of water feature (pond, lake, elaborate fountains) or interesting sculpture. Sometimes they’re so romantic that he gets a bit jealous that other couples get to spend more time there with each other than he can with you.

With Solomon’s help, Diavolo imports your favorite human world flower and plants it somewhere hidden in the garden at the Demon Lord’s castle. He will not allow Barbatos to tend to the flowers and takes pride in the fact that he’s the only one keeping that gift to you alive. One time, he suddenly got too sick to leave his bed and couldn’t water the flowers, so he allowed Barbatos to water them. However, he sulked for a week afterwards, and Barbatos couldn’t raise his spirits no matter what he did. It was so troublesome that Barbatos decided the next time Diavolo was too sick to tend to the flowers, he would rather carry Diavolo there or transport him in a wheelchair and help Diavolo water the plants than do it himself.

The prince offers MC a lot of gifts – an excessive amount of gifts. He gives you clothes he thinks would look good on you, cute things (like charms, plushies, cups, etc.), delicious and often expensive food and drinks, and anything you seem to take interest in. This man would give you an entire armory if you wanted it. It gets to the point that it’s overwhelming (and would be uncomfortable for most humans. If you love gifts, you start running out of space to put things). Barbatos has to point out that he makes you uncomfortable if you won’t. (Or if you don’t get uncomfortable, Barbatos notes how cramped/cluttered your room is after delivering one of many gifts and informs Diavolo that he must cut back.) “My Lord, you ought to show some restraint. Certainly, MC will still adore you with a few less presents.”

Diavolo offers you his arm whenever you are walking in the same direction as him at RAD. He loves being your escort. Who else gets to say that the future king walked them to class? You have to understand that you’re special, right? He’ll offer to escort you if he has the time when he sees you around town, too. Diavolo will only stop offering if you ask him to. However, if you ask him to stop because others are being cruel to you due to his special attention, he will give you an option: he can be more secretive about his affection or he can deal with anyone who is cruel to you “in an appropriate manner.” Do not ask him to elaborate.

Speaking of being your escort. Diavolo loves to invite you to fancy parties. It’s a good way to make his intentions clear to you and any of your potential suitors (Suck it, Lucifer). Incidentally, it also sends a message to his own potential suitors (Suck it again, Lucifer). Besides, he wishes to keep you by his side in the future, so he’d like you to get more accustomed to royal affairs. But, mostly, he just likes showing off his beloved.

Diavolo is always the first person to ask for your hand at a dance – even if he didn’t invite you to the party. He’s very formal about it - he even bows to you and kisses your hand. Mephistopheles gives you shit about making Diavolo, of all demons, bow to a human. He’s a bit jealous, and he can’t stand the idea of Diavolo lowering himself or potentially harming his reputation by looking like such a lovestruck fool. (One time, Diavolo overheard this and informed Mephisto, “Ah, but I am a lovestruck fool for MC. Why should I not appear exactly as I am? Is there something unbecoming about me, Mephistopheles?” Mephisto let that shit go real quick.)

If Diavolo sees that you are stressed, upset, having a panic attack, etc, he’ll transform into his demon form and wrap his large wings around you as he holds you until you feel better. He knows he can’t protect you from everything all the time, but in that moment, he wants you to know that he will shield you from the entire world until you feel safe. If you get claustrophobic or this makes you more uncomfortable, it will break his heart a little bit, but he’ll work with you to figure out a better solution. He’ll do anything to make you feel safe and comfortable.

Diavolo spends time planning vacations with you instead of doing work around the holidays – which results in a rather annoyed Barbatos. Consequently, Barbatos forbids you from visiting the castle until Diavolo finishes his work. Diavolo ends up exhausted all week between catching up on his work and trying to plan the perfect vacation, which only frustrates Barbatos further. Eventually, he gets his work done. Barbs can’t even get mad at you because he knows you didn’t ask Diavolo to be so reckless with his time, but if you could find a way to get Diavolo to manage his time better or delegate vacation plans, Barbatos would be grateful beyond words.

MC does not need to do anything official to “court” Diavolo on their end, but any time you get him a gift, it means more than he can express – so long as you actually give it some thought. If it’s a couple’s/matching item, he will be over the moon – gushing over it around anyone who will listen. Every once in a while, Barbatos will consider asking you to avoid giving Diavolo matching presents because if he has to hear about a little acrylic charm for two weeks again, he’s going to use a glamour to make little D. no. 2 look like him and stand in his place.

You can melt Diavolo into a blushing mess if you offer him your hand or arm and escort him anywhere – but especially if you do it when getting out of a car or on the way to a party. If you ask him to dance, even if it’s somewhere secluded, he will feel adored. Whether it’s in front of the entire student body at a RAD party or a random balcony in the Demon Lord’s castle under the moonlight or in his study because a particular song started to play while he was working, he’ll be delighted and take your hand with a chuckle.

The best thing you could do to court Diavolo would be to take his hand and ask to visit either the mausoleum or wherever his father is being kept so that you can declare your affection for Diavolo in front of his ancestors/family. If you compliment him and bring an offering of flowers for his family, he might actually cry. He will never feel more desired than at that moment. If you ask for permission to be with him (although he would be equally happy if you just inform his family that you love him and plan to stay by his side), even if his father rose from his rest or his ancestors rose from the dead to deny you, he would go against them.

#anon #ask #requests #diavolo #gn!mc #obey me headcanons #obey me #obey me diavolo #diavolo x mc #diavolo x reader

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koolades-world · 3 months

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Can you do Obey Me headcanons of a Christian MC? MC isn't a toxic one though, they're actually super nice and supportive of everyone and such. They're also generally really trusting and try and see the best in people. They're more or less just extremely concerned and slightly uncomfortable with the entire being kidnapped and brought to hell thing(and also being forced to attend school again)

They also got really excited when they learned angels were gonna be attending RAD too, so there's that lol

Like when they saw Simeon and Luke for the first time they mentally went "THIS IS A MOMENT IN HISTORY!!!! TAKE A PICTURE!!!"

haha hi!!

when I first saw this I was really looking forward to doing it! been thinking about it a lot

one of my best friends is actually a christian who plays obey me, and she was the one to introduce me to the game. I think she would find this funny, so I'll def be thinking of her while I write this haha (if you're reading this, which you very much might be, heyyyy happy late bday girl)

Christian Mc

Lucifer

once you realize who he is, you're freaked out, both in a good and bad way

like, this is the lucifer! you ask to take a picture lol (and he's not amused)

you're a little sad and relieved when he pawns you off to mammon, since you're awed by his presence but also terrified since you knew the part he played in the bible by heart

once you get to know him, the both of you chuckle about human depictions of him and you finally get that picture! be sure to make him sign it and then frame it

Mammon

learns quickly just how many copies of the bible you own once he spends enough time in your room including but not limited to the version on your phone, the mini version in your RAD bag, and the one you keep on your side table

once you get to the stage of basically living together, he learns that you read the bible and say a prayer nightly

at first, he was nervous having to be the one to guide you but he learnt you were probably more scared of him, and you were actually just so sweet

he jokingly picks up all of the jesus merch he finds so now you have an entire shelf

Levi

the most normal out of the brothers besides the fact that he spends all his time in his room, but that kind of reminds you of a brother you only see like once a day

it's almost scary and a little jarring walking into his room, but after that, you guys get along so well

he admits that he thought the exchange program was weird, and it was all history after that

unlikely besties: a devout christan human and their gamer social outcast demon

Satan

highkey fuming about the fact that humans don't know that he and lucifer are different (he for sure smashed up an entire room of the house)

after he calms down from this though, although it takes a while for the two of you to get to know each other, he takes joy in making fun of the slanderous things said about lucifer

you both like to read but the only thing you reread and read nightly is the bible so

luckily he doesn't care about that since it wasn't his dad anyways (don't remind him that it's technically his grandpa's book)

Asmo

the first time you showed him biblical version of him, he was disgusted and refused to speak to you for the next two and half days

after that he feels a little bad since he knows you didn't mean it like that and since you basically tip toe around him

after that he comes on a little strong, but after a while you get along pretty well despite being so different

he’ll reminisce while you listen carefully and hold onto every work he says since he was a real angel and that’s so cool

Beel

while you were initially terrified of him, you quickly learnt how much like he actually was

at the core, you were both just a kind person (or demon) who wanted to help others and uplift them

always there for you to lend a listening ear and to help out out if others are giving you problems

the first in the devildom to make you feel truest welcome and let you know that you could call it home

Belphie

at first he thinks it’s a joke and kinda pokes fun at it

once he realizes you’re being serious, he feels a little bad but also still thinks is very funny how you hide your face behind a bible when you’re scare

has had holy water thrown at him, and has found a bible under his pillow before (gosh who could’ve done that…)

used to jump out at your from around corners in his demon form and it sent your running every time so you can prepared with a rosary blessed by the pope to shove in his face if he dare to try again

#obey me #obey me!#obey me x reader #obey me satan #obey me mammon #obey me asmo #obey me beel #obey me levi #obey me lucifer #obey me belphie #omswd #obey me shall we date #obey me! shall we date

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sillysillygoofygoose · 6 months

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Miguel is so smart... ♡

He's like a walking search engine. With every question you have, he has a set in stone answer. He rolls his eyes at the random questions you ask just to try to stump him, but smirks and answers all the same.

"Mig, what's the capital of Hungary."

"Budapest... why?"

"Jus' wondering."

"Okay, sweetheart."

He's always willing to explain certain concepts to you, but he is NEVER condescending. Miguel will never put on a "baby voice" to talk out a problem with you. He doesn't treat you like a child. Miguel knows he's smart, but he's not an asshole about it. But, he does love it when you point it out.

"You're so good with numbers, Miggy. So smart for me, hm?"

He gently smiles as he's crunching numbers, figuring out what his budget should be for this month so he can save up for the diamond-plagued necklace he saw you ogling. He feels a sense of pride as you massage his shoulders, looking at the paper in front of him, kissing his cheek.

"Mhm... just for you, love."

Miguel is always the one who files your taxes and works out financial issues. He looks so good sitting at the kitchen table, glasses perched at the bridge of his nose, as he's rubbing his temples and bouncing his knee, while he's hunched over his laptop with papers neatly organized around him.

Miguel loves to watch documentaries at the end of a long day. He believes that media should be informational and purposeful. His favorites are history documentaries, though.

I just know this man knows everything about World War II. I just know it.

Once you two have kids, they always go to Miguel for help with homework. I can imagine him sitting in his chair, watching a documentary at 11:00pm. He's partially enjoying the film, eyes opening and closing as the day's work is finally seeping into his tired mind. Suddenly, as he opens his eyes, he sees his daughter standing in front of him with a binder, calculator, two pencils, and a sheepish smile across her face.

"Hola, papa. Can you pleeaassee help me with my homework... I only need help with science and math." She bites at her bottom lip, knowing she's about to get an earful about time management and being responsible. Miguel harshly sighs out, sits up in his chair, and slides his glasses onto his face.

"For the love of God." He rubs his eyes, gesturing for her to hand him the binder.

"Thank you..."

Miguel is always working on reading a huge book. He's a big biography fan. Instead of scrolling on his phone, he'll pick up his book, remembering what page he ended on without a bookmark.

One thing you've taught him, though, is emotional intelligence. How to be gentle and understanding; it was something he was never taught in school. He's so grateful that you were patient as he learned how to let down his strongly built emotional walls.

Book-smart and Life-smart.

My god, I love smart men... nothing more attractive than a man who knows what he's talking about.

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

#miguel headcanons #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #size difference #fem reader #age difference #dilf miguel

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qsycomplainsalot · 7 months

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AI isn't Art it's just Illegal Predatory Randomized CGI

Reposting this because OP blocked me, can't begin to guess why.

Photography, collage, readymade and various of the more abstract styles of painting and drawing are all art, and AI isn't. Why is that ? Simply, there are skills required to make technically interesting artpieces using these media, let alone meaningful ones. A skilled photographer might not be skilled with a pen, but their knowledge of composition and observation will always be transferrable to a new medium, in a way that they'll never start their art journey from scratch again. Because they're already an artist, because they've already done art and are skilled at it. Speaking for myself it took me a decade to get to a level where I was able to get paid for my work drawing traditionally, and once there it took me less than a year to reach a somewhat similar level switching over to digital. The skills are more comparable than with say collage or sculpture but the core principle still stands: I had gone and learned traditional art in art school, and while there I learned a slew of skills that were not at all limited to one tool, and when it came to switching I did not have to learn these skills again. Because by that point I was already a trained artist. I could just switch to sculpting with clay tomorrow and the biggest challenge would be to find a new market more than any skill issue.

Meanwhile fucking about with a computer to generate new pictures randomly has NO transferrable skills whatsoever. So much of the work has been taken out of your hands by a pattern seeking piece of software that it is impossible to learn anything from the experience. It's just plain to see when before you click the doodad to generate a new picture, you have NO IDEA what it will look like, none whatsoever unless you've been iterating on it before. You're not having an idea, formulating it in your mind and applying your skills to getting it out into the world, you just sort of have an idea and then a machine does the actual art work for you.

The only way you could possibly get better as an artist from doing this is if somehow you were deluded enough to think the process of scalping every artists' work in history was ethical, while also being observant and caring about art history enough that you'd learn critical skills from looking at the result of your quotation mark work end quote. Which is something you can do by going on a museum, or the internet. And if being an art historian isn't good enough for you, I invite you to actually join the elite exclusive vip club you're funding the death and automatisation of, by simply picking up a pen and piece of paper and starting to draw. It's that fucking simple.

PS: People trying to compare writing prompts with poetry: poetry does not include a stage in its process where all your artistic intent is surrendered to a machine to churn out a mash up of unethically sourced content. Nobody is going to buy a small book of computer generated picture prompts to keep on their night stand. You guys are delusional.

#rant

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justporo · 5 months

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Bookcases

A comment and a comment reblog inspired a thought (thank you!) - @kruczecycki and @notabot2.

Let me try and paint a picture for you that I feel like might represent Astarion as well as his aesthetic:

Astarion always had had a thing for, well - things. But of course they weren't just things. They were works of art, they were memories, they were opportunities, they were collectibles.

And one of his favourite kinds of things had always been: books. So once he'd had the opportunity, he'd gotten bookcases - up to the ceiling, filling a whole wall. And maybe even a whole room sometime. Because they filled up so quickly.

It wasn't a single genre dominating but rather an eclectic collection of everything that peaked the vanpire's interest. Poetry, history, novels of all kinds (and of course every Drizzt book he could find), journals, collections of letters, even encyclopaedias.

To the untrained eye, it might have been nothing but chaos because it followed no definite order. But it wasn't a mess at all. Astarion always knew where everything was. For every book, he could tell you where and when he'd gotten it and give you at least an outline of what it was about.

Every single volume was always handled with care, no matter if it looked (and probably was) centuries old or was brand new. But still every book was meant to be taken out, to be read and experienced, not only to be looked at in its neat place high up on the shelf.

Between and in front of the books, where the space would allow, there were more things. Little things, pretty things. Things that were aesthetic to look at or things that reminded him of pleasant memories. A small bronze statue, a mechanical clock under a glass cover ticking away, a small portrait painting of no one really, a framed old map of Baldur’s Gate, pressed exotic flowers. In some places you had added little somethings for him as well: a plant maybe and a small painting you had gotten painted of the two of you, a neatly lettered version of his favourite poem in a frame.

Whenever you looked at Astarion's bookcases you were immediately ensnared, very much similar to how it felt with the man himself: you didn't even know where to look first. It felt like you could never posssibly take in all the beauty at once.

There was just so much interesting and beautiful stuff, so many intricate details, so many various titles. You could've easily gotten lost in every single one of them. And that was what added so much to the beauty: on the surface, it was incredible to look at, but it was so much more! There was also so much depth and such a caleidoscope of different aspects, each asking to be explored and admired. Every single one of them worthy of your undivided, loving attention.

You liked watching Astarion add more things to his bookcases, as much as to himself: new treasures, different pages, fresh ideas. And then you also loved to listen to him talk about his latest additions and why they were so interesting to him.

Another thing you enjoyed to do was to just look at the huge collection. Tilting your head to read all the titles and softly letting your fingertips wander over the spines: old and new, cracked and broken, smooth and flat. Then sometimes you would slide one of the huge tomes or several smaller books out of their designated places - you knew you were always welcome to go explore. You liked to snuggle up with them on a nearby seat, getting lost in them for a while with your legs swung over the side of the chair. Maybe find your way into a new world or looking at a new perspective of your own.

But it was even better when you did that together with Astarion. Let him suggest several different possible books to possibly pick. Watch his face light up when he started to talk about them.

And then snuggling up together on the couch, getting cosy and letting Astarion read something to you. Maybe learning something new, find about something you hadn't known before or just enjoying an absolutely made up story - and always learning about and starting to love a new aspect of your vampire.

Tag list: @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #fanfiction #astarion x tav #baldur's gate iii #bg3 spoilers #baldurs gate #astarion x mc #astarion x oc #astarion x reader #drabble #yes this is also a metaphor for how I think your bookshelf reflects personality #its very on the nose I know #poro drabbles

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nightcolorz · 5 months

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Armand surgical malpractice meta (spoilers for TVA)

It’s, at least from what I’ve seen, a pretty popularly agreed upon conception that Armand’s mutation of Claudia b4 her death as described in TVA didn’t actually happen..partly bcus it’s such a drastic and grotesque retcon from her death in interview with the vampire so lots of ppl don’t want to address it as canon, and partly bcus it’s so bizarre and seemingly unprompted in context that it just seems more plausible that Armand would make this up as some sort of twisted shock value rather then actually do it. I used to buy into this theory and never rlly thought about it beyond that, and today for the first time I thought about it deeply and realized. Damn I rlly disagree! I think that Armand 100% canonically chopped Claudia’s head off and sewed it onto an adult body. I believe it happened as told. And I have many reasons !

First and foremost I don’t think that Armand is actually capable of lying so deliberately in this context. Interpreting most tvc narrators as potentially lying to our faces and intentionally twisting events to suit a narrative and a purpose of dictating our perception of them is, I think, accurate and justified, and smth I love about this fandom. Everyone is not to be trusted 100%, especially Louis and Lestat, who are said and implied many times to have completely fabricated some events in the books for the sake of painting a picture. Tvc serve as this over arching plot about multiple conflicting characters manipulating events of their lives to suit a narrative that we as the audience can pick apart and discover the truth within. Very much “this bitch said WHAT about me?? that dumb cunt is always spreading lies smh, it actually happened LIKE THIS” (they r both not telling the full truth). Armand however is very much an outlier here, and it’s part of what makes TVA so unique as a chronicle. It’s a big part of his character throughout the series, in TVA and leading up to TVA, that Armand’s way of thinking is so dysfunctional and his memory is so flawed (bcus of all his trauma) (and neurodivergence) (imo) that he isn’t able to fully conceptualize the events of his life as chronological and meaningful in the way that one would need to do to be able to write a memoir.

He can’t describe events in broad strokes, or wrap his head around a vast emotional impact in a way that is explanatory or intentional. Think of that conversation he has with Daniel in queen of the damned, where he explains that he isn’t capable of telling Daniel what his life in the past “was like” because that’s a concept incomprehensible to him. He only knows what happened, not what it was like, not how it affected him or how it shaped his personhood, what it means etc. It’s a form of dissociation almost. The vampire armand is the first time in Armand’s vampiric life that he self reflects beyond acknowledging events and his emotions in that moment, it’s the first time he attempts to make connections and understand himself in a way that is narrative and structured and not fragmented bits of history and A names. Part of this requires further dissociation. I definitely get the impression that since Armand is being so vulnerable in a way he is so unused to, yet is so significant, he is unable to register while he’s talking that not only David, but millions of people including every vampire in the world, will know what he says. He’s just laying himself completely bare, he’s talking and talking and only once he finishes realizes oh. Oh. everyone’s going to read this huh. It’s so cathartic he doesn’t consider that in the moment. It’s the first time he’s ever been capable of reckoning with his life in a self reflective way, of looking at it and explaining it and reasoning with it, structuring it in order, not fragments, etc, seeing the cause and the impact and touching on an overall conclusion (tho he never entirely gets there). These baby steps are so difficult for him already, and considering this part of his character I really think it’s a stretch to say that Armand would be capable of the thought process in his book of pure venting to go “maybe I should twist the truth here or change this or add this or lie about this so people will think of me this way or so Lestat can see this, etc” TVA is unreliable, more so bcus of how mentally ill armand is and how little he understands his own life and emotions, but not deliberately like iwtv and tvl. Armand even says that the book was for Benji and Sybelle, but it’s so unfiltered and horrific and vent-like that this sounds ridiculous. He doesn’t even have his stated audience in mind while he’s telling his story, let alone his broader audience. The audience was a complete afterthought, a barely registered consequence. So why would he lie about Claudia? How would he be capable?

it’s another common piece of conversation around this part of TVA where we go, Armand discusses how he never would want to tell this to Louis bcus he knows how badly it would hurt him, so why did he describe it so graphically? Well, cause of all I mentioned. It seems pretty clear to me that armand is almost haunted by the affair with Claudia, and he has no way of lying about this, so his descriptions seemed very much to me like a desperate bit of venting. He has never told anyone how horrific it actually was and it’s always been in his mind, so he just lets it all out. Makes sense, but the broader question is, if Armand wasn’t lying…why did he do that at all?? This I think is so interesting.

To understand this I had to think a lot about Armand’s motivations for killing Claudia at all, which is well, simply, revenge against Lestat and claiming of Louis without barriers. If Claudia dies Lestat will be sad and Louis will be mine and mine alone 👍👍 etc. but Claudia’s mutation was not rooted in either of these motivations, which is part of why it’s so shocking. He didn’t do it to hurt Lestat, lestat never found out. It just seems so odd and unprompted. But once I thought more about why Armand hates Lestat, and why he wants to hurt him by killing Claudia, it started to fit into place. Armand’s hatred for Lestat is rooted very much in his twisted resemblance to Marius that he perceives as being very strong and basically mocking. When he first sees Lestat in tvl he’s repulsed by him instantly bcus he sees him as this parody of Marius, this beautiful blonde man in striking red robes who boldly and carelessly defies the laws of vampires established by the children of Satan as if they are meaningless to him, revels in the indulgent world of humans like he belongs there, shamelessly as armand devotes himself to miserable repression. It strikes a nerve for armand, feels very personally offensive to him, like the embodiment of the traits that got Marius’s destroyed r coming back to mock him in his face. And then as he gets to know Lestat more deeply he only hates him more, bcus Lestat is not only bold and careless, but he’s immature and stupid, and he knows nothing. Armand in his horribly traumatized mind set registers Lestat as “like Marius” and takes this to mean “maybe he can save me, maybe he will teach me and free me from this hell, guide me and give me the purpose I need to be given.” But Lestat does not do this, lmfao. He actually destroys any sense of purpose armand had, rips him from his safety net, and when Armand begs for guidance, asks to be allowed to travel alongside Lestat so he can learn to be a person again, Lestat denies him. The only purpose he bothers to give him is the scraps, symbolic of his perverse indulgence that Armand despises, and fucks off. Lestat is grotesquely reminiscent of Marius, in the worst ways. It’s like his presence alone opens Armand’s eyes to how badly Marius has ruined him. He was the sun, the purpose, the guiding light, and then it was ripped away, and there was nothing else without him. Just a void.

So Armand hates Lestat for this very personal mockery of his own plight, and this hatred spirals into unbridled rage when Lestat returns to him and expects Armand to give Lestat the assistance that he denied him. Not only this, but Lestat found Marius, found marius and was granted guidance and love that Marius refused to give Armand after his indoctrination into the children of Satan. And Marius told Lestat to never ever do what he did, never make an Armand, because Armand was a mistake, he was too young to be a vampire, and now he’s a mistake he will never forgive himself for. And with this immense privilege that Armand spent a huge chunk of his life yearning for, guidance from Marius when he was his most lost, Lestat decides to disregard it. He decides that since Marius said it was bad to turn a child as young as Armand, he’d turn a child even younger then Armand, just cuz. He is once again the embodiment of Marius’s sins, the grotesque parody. Marius turned a teenager, Lestat turns a five year old. It’s almost cruel in how mocking it is, almost intentional in how personal. So Claudia is this child, this deliberate mistake made by someone who knew her turning would be harmful to her but was selfish enough not to care, then went on to regret it when he has to reckon with the consequences. Seem familiar? Armand sure thought so. So I imagine that being alone with Claudia, looking this deeply sad reflection of his own agony in the eyes, knowing she is about to die for justice against a warped parody of his Maker, for the sake of punishment for her own existence, I imagine this struck a cord of insanity in Armand’s fucked up mind, caused him to loose his absolute shit for just long enough to go what if I can fix her, what if I can turn this narrative around, give her the remarkable ending I know deep down that she, I , will never be granted. What if I can give her a body that will reflect her mind? What if I can make this abomination into a miracle? No wonder he pulled out the surgical tools 😭 No wonder he was so horrified by his own actions when he came to his senses, no wonder he refused to share this, kept it to himself for so long, until he finally broke and confessed it all in a desperate moment when he was too caught up in the dam breaking to realize he’d be exposing this horrific action to the world.

Armand sees Claudia as a repulsive mistake that should’ve never existed made by Lestat to deliberately mock him up until the surgery, when then for only a moment lost to time ended in blood she is another child who had her life taken from her too soon by an egotistical blonde man who thought he could play god with someone’s life. “They were done for anyway, he was going to starve to death in a brothel, she was going to die as a street orphan, the blood would be a service to them, a chance they never had” But they both know that’s a lie they tell themselves to justify the act of taking a child and molding it into what they please for fun, for pleasure, for companionship, just to see what would happen. Armand sees this for a moment and wants to give her a chance, give them both a chance, wants to see her as an adult, as someone who could have a life. And then of course, we know how that turns out 😭

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drdemonprince · 4 months

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Any recommended reading for a newbie to anarchism?

David Graeber truly is the best entry point into the pipeline i feel. Reading his work doesn't feel like "reading theory", it feels like learning more about a specific aspect of the world from an engaging, open-minded author who makes history and anthropology accessible, and then simply realizing somewhere along the line that you've become a lot more radical than you realized you'd always been.

Bullshit Jobs is his easiest and most approachable read -- start with this if you're not a big reader of dense books, or if my book Laziness Does Not Exist particularly spoke to you. It's about how the majority of reasonably well-paying jobs today are completely meaningless, and why important, fulfilling jobs that are actually necessary to run society are so often thankless and poorly paid.

If you have student loan or credit card debt out the ass or you grew up hearing the myth that the earliest human societies relied on trading and bartering, pick up Debt: The First 5000 Years. This one is a bit of a tougher read than Bullshit Jobs, but still approachable, talking about the history of human commerce, debt forgiveness, enslavement, and where that history has left us today. You'll learn a lot about history but Graeber will also always lead you back to the present.

If you were a follower of the Occupy Wallstreet movement and wonder why it failed (or whether it failed), pick up The Democracy Project. This is a slimmer, faster read! And it focuses a lot more on the practical tactics and bylaws of Occupy organizing. In it, Graeber illustrates how human groups can be run without hierarchy and just how well that can work! It's perhaps the most explicitly anarchist book of his in that sense at least, yet it's also very conversational and easy to follow, with lots of lessons learned and specific examples from real-life organizing meetings.

If you hate rules and bureaucracy, pick up Utopia of Rules. What Debt is for bursting basic, widespread myths about economics, Utopia of Rules is for challenging mainstream knowledge about the role of the state. This one is actually an essay collection, and that makes it a quicker, easier read than many of the others -- in each chapter, Graeber tackles one specific aspect of irritating modern-day bureaucracy, and its full of relatable gripes about going to the DMV or applying for unemployment, but then it zooms out to make a larger point about how societies now function (and fail to function).

If you're interested in Indigenous cultures and how various human societies have approached governance, start with Dawn of Everything, which he co-wrote with David Wengrow. Now this is a MUCH denser book that I recommend taking chapter by chapter, pausing to savor all the new information and paradigm-busting that they've just showered you with. A chapter before bed each night and then some time laying down and simply reflecting about the diversity of human social potential is a great way to slowly work your way through it.

If you read any of these, you'll be left with a lot of ideas as to where to look next -- Graeber was widely read in a great many fields himself, so he'll leave you a trail of breadcrumbs to follow.

The Anarchist Library online is also a great place to find shorter, more explicitly anarchist theory work, once you're ready to delve in. The r/debateanarchism subreddit is also something you should subscribe to and thumb through every once in a while!

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unclewaynemunson · 7 months

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The sequel to Nancy Wheeler's lesbian awakening has arrived :D

While Robin is out on her date with Vickie, Nancy is sitting alone in her room, using the excuse of doing homework to never get out of there again. She has a history book and her notebook on the desk in front of her, but can't even bring herself to read a single letter. The only thing she's able to do is to stare at the pages blindly, while her mind is completely elsewhere. She doesn't see any of the black-and-white pictures in the book in front of her. No, all she sees is color: Robin's magenta painted lips inching closer towards her; the rosy blush on Robin's cheeks; the sapphire blue of Robin's eyes; the bronze of Robin's freckles...

She sighs and drops her head in her hands. At least she finally understands why she got so unreasonably upset every time she thought about Robin and Vickie together. Turns out it had less to do with her failing to be a good ally for Robin and way more with, well, her wanting to be the one going on that date instead of Vickie. It was jealousy. And it's only gotten worse now that she's kissed Robin and has become conscious of her own feelings in this matter.

She never even thought being kissed could feel like that. With Jonathan, and before him with Steve, it had always felt like she was playing a part. It wasn't unpleasant, she could definitely enjoy it every now and then, but she had always been hyper-aware of the steps she needed to follow, the invisible rule book that told her not to be too needy, or too boring, or too predictable, or too unpredictable. With Robin, it hadn't been like that at all – or at least not once they'd gotten past the part of Nancy's rules and properly got lost in their kiss. It had been equal parts comfort and heat, soft and passionate, sweet and hungry... It had been thrilling, and it had stopped Nancy's brain like never happened before. She wasn't playing some part or doing things because she thought she was supposed to do them. She wasn't even thinking at all. She was simply drinking in Robin's taste and enjoying herself.

And now, she can't think of anything but kissing Robin, while Robin is out with another girl, possibly kissing her this very moment.

She's driving herself crazy sitting alone in her room with her thoughts, but it's not like she's got anywhere else to go tonight. Usually, she'd go to Robin whenever she felt like she was losing her mind, but for obvious reasons, that's off the table now. So she resorts to staring at the books in front of her again, failing miserably in yet another half-hearted attempt to focus on her homework.

And then the phone on her nightstand rings, putting her out of her misery with the hopes of literally any kind of distraction.

She picks it up before it can even ring a third time.

'Nance!'

The sound of Robin's husky voice saying her name makes her heart stumble in her chest.

'Thank God you're home. Can I come over?'

***

The doorbell rings four times in rapid succession. Nancy can clearly envision her father downstairs in his armchair, rolling his eyes from behind his newspaper. It makes her chuckle to herself while she rushes down the stairs.

'What's wrong?' Nancy asks as soon as she has swung the door open: Robin is looking... distressed is probably the right word for it. She's pale and has this worrying look in her eyes. 'Did things go wrong with Vickie?'

Robin's eyes flash over Nancy's shoulder and into the hall, where the door to the living room is open.

'Not here,' she says in a low voice. 'Can we talk in your room?'

Nancy leads the way up the stairs, and as soon as her bedroom door is closed behind them, she barely has to ask what happened for Robin to start talking, fast and rushed while pacing back and forth over the floor. Nancy goes to sit cross-legged on her bed while her eyes keep following Robin's movements like a cat, never once letting her gaze wander.

'So I was really looking forward to this date, right? I've liked Vickie for ages, our first date was pretty good, Vickie is awesome and hot and cute and pretty much everything a lesbian like me could wish for... I was really excited about where this was going! But I really, utterly, spectacularly messed this one up, Nance!' She continues before Nancy can even ask what happened, words pouring out of her mouth in rapid succession like she's simply letting her whole stream of consciousness spill over Nancy's carpet.

'She's just like me, alright? She just mirrors all my nervousness and anxiety right back to me, and that makes me even more nervous and anxious, and we kinda get into this cycle where we're both going crazy, and I couldn't help but think I need someone who can stop me and set me at ease with reason and logic and preferably some calmness. But anyway, that's not even the point here. We got through the night, and it was not like it was bad, you know, we still had a good time and it was nice and she looked very pretty so it was fine, you know. And then she walked me home and, um, we kissed.'

Finally, she lets a silence fall. Those last two words were uttered softly, with a blush on her cheeks, like it's something she should feel ashamed of.

Nancy now knows that the nauseous feeling rearing its head in her stomach has nothing to do with the fact that Robin is dating a girl. But this isn't about her, so she plasters on a fake smile.

'That's good news, right, Robbie?' she says.

'No, it's not!' Robin all but screams in frustration. 'Because I was doing it right, just like we practiced, I was following all the rules, but... but... I didn't feel anything! When we practiced, I felt a million things, Nance, I felt like I could implode because of all the things I was feeling – and with Vickie, nothing! There was just her mouth and it was wet and I kept overthinking about where I should put my hands because you didn't tell me the rules about that and I – God, Nance, I basically fled inside and smashed the door in her face! I just left her on my porch without a goodbye, I feel terrible about it! But I also don't want to kiss her again and – and – I don't know what to do!' She takes a deep breath, clearly on the verge of tears. 'I don't know what to do,' she repeats, this time in a softer voice.

Nancy pats on the duvet beside her, silently telling Robin to sit down, and Robin lets herself fall on Nancy's bed without much elegance. The movement makes Nancy bounce up and down on the mattress while she thinks about what to say.

'Can I tell you a secret?' Nancy asks her.

Robin nods, looking at her with an expectant gaze.

'I found out something, after our kissing lesson,' Nancy starts to say. Her heart is beating in her throat. 'I – I thought it was all about rules, about this kind of imaginary playbook that prescribes exactly how you should do those kind of things. But I was wrong. And I only found out about that when I kissed you. I taught you the wrong lesson. It's not about build-up, or strategy, or about who should lean in in which ways. It's about...' She pauses, takes a deep breath to push herself to go on. 'I only understood when I kissed you what it's about, Robin,' she confesses. She can't bear to look Robin in her eyes anymore and adjusts her gaze to the blanket underneath her, to her own hand absentmindedly playing with a loose thread in the crocheted fabric. 'I never understood that before, because I didn't feel it when I'd kiss a boy. That's what it's about: feeling things. Enjoying things. Having your heart speed up and your brain shut off and feeling like you want to keep kissing each other forever.'

'Nance.' The way Robin says her name is barely a whisper.

Nancy slowly lifts up her head to meet Robin's eyes: there's a shocked look in them as she stares at Nancy slightly open-mouthed.

'I think that's exactly the difference between when I kissed Vickie and when I kissed you.'

A warm hand curls around Nancy's, sending sparks all the way through her body – like no touch of a boy has ever done for her before.

Nancy can't possibly suppress the smile that's spreading over her face. A warm, giddy feeling shoots up from her stomach to her chest.

'Wanna try again, just to check?' she asks while squeezing Robin's hand.

Robin frowns. 'Try again? Do you mean kissing Vickie, or kissing you?'

Nancy feels her smile widen until it might just split her face in two. She leans forward, not waiting for Robin to take her own turn leaning, but directly resting her forehead against Robin's.

'You're an idiot, Robin Buckley,' she murmurs, right before she lets her lips find Robin's again.

Robin reacts immediately in a way that's nothing like their kissing lesson. It's not following any of the rules, and it awakens something almost primal in Nancy: it's teeth awkwardly clattering against each other, it's hungrily licking into each other's mouths, it's panting and smiling and everything at once.

It all feels so completely different from what kissing used to be like. No rules, no gameplay, no thinking. The only thing left is pure, unfiltered wanting. Wanting to inhale Robin whole, wanting to swallow her sounds, wanting to have their limbs entangled in every possible way, wanting to feel more of her bare skin against her own... It's so overwhelming it would scare Nancy if the wanting wasn't so strong, simply leaving no room for any other emotion.

When they finally break apart to get some fresh air in their lungs again, they're both panting heavily. Robin's chest is heaving, her lips are swollen and her hair is completely disheveled – and she has never looked more beautiful.

A low giggle escapes Robin's lips. 'Yeah, um, I think we should check some more,' she says, her voice breathy and so goddamn sexy. 'Just – just to make sure, y'know.'

'Good idea,' Nancy says with a nod before she leaps forward to press Robin down on the bed and climb on top of her, leaning down instead of forward to find her way back to those perfect lips.

Taglist: @robins-gay-suspenders @au79burger @agathaharkness-simp @notablog4242 @defnotarobot

#don't mind me rambling about stranger things #(please duffers i am begging you to give nancy a lesbian awakening in s5)#ronance #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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way-of-love · 1 year

Text

Unfulfilled (PART 3)

(NO MINORS)(R-RATED-) (NAMOR X FEMREADER)

You, a mutant siren, made a deal with the god and king of Talokan. That in use of your body, to be a surrogate, to create an heir, you will be paid in what the world truly wants most. Vibranium. . But you set rules, limits to what was allowed and all those months lead to nothing. An empty womb. And a very angry surrogate. Namor has been nothing but patient but now was the time to exploit your ridiculous rules and claim what he's been fighting for.

He was a king.

And the king longed for you.

-Sorry for the wait!-

There was a reason for Namors new wardrobe change, a long sleeved shirt arms rolled to his elbows, bootcut jeans that hugged his legs very nicely and even shoes or rather boots you never knew the king of the sea owned. There was a lack of jewelry on his person as well, everything was gone except for the septum he had on his nose. You wouldn't dare call him normal looking because you knew what hid underneath. He was anything but a normal guy.

But he did hide his mutations very well. If someone from the outside got to see him they wouldn't think he was the infamous Ku'kul'kan that people throughout history feared and what people today thought was a myth. Honestly, what would people think? What would they say when they saw the myth they've told throughout history was in your home and every other night come to impregnate you because of the deal you both agreed upon. A baby for pure vibranium.

Speaking of the baby, he was here for that reason dressed up like this. He and his other two subordinates agreed that it was more than high time you saw a doctor for that baby. You were supposed to see one sooner than this but Attuma and even Namora assured you that if you were to see a normal doctor they'd pick up that it wasn't just an average baby. In short, what they meant to say was,' That baby you carry is nothing but a mutant. Bred between a powerful siren and an even more powerful god. No one will understand.'

While you thought the pregnancy was going to be normal in itself you found yourself being extra careful with what you ate, what you did and even how you sung. For a siren singing and stretching your vocal cords was a must. Even while pregnant, yes your mother did it, but this wasn't just a sirens baby it was a mutants baby. You didn't know how sensitive it was or even how vulnerable it would be to your songs. You weren't going to risk hurting it.

Or risk losing your income.

Namor helped you back into bed after cleaning you up. You felt like absolute shit. The pregnancy books didn't mention this one bit. God, if this was how you died then this was definitely the worst way to go. Before Namor showed up Namora was the one to tell you that this was just your body's way of trying to share its nutrients with the fetus inside you. And since you didn't get hit with this sooner, it hit you now with full force. Lovely.

"I hate this. I hate you," You mumbled burring yourself under the thick blanket Namor pulled up for you. Of course he didn't take your words to heart and simply sat down by your bedside and waited. Listening to you sniffle and watched you as you rubbed your bare tummy under the protection of the blanket. He never once hear nor had reports of you cursing down at the child that made you feel so sickly like this. And he certainly did not hear you swear your hate towards it. Everything that he saw, heard and noticed was that you took care to protect the very being you will never even see at birth because he will make sure you will never see it, as per the clause in your agreement.

This 'hate' you had for him, he knew was just a small burst of your emotions. That it too shall pass. As sickly as you were he didn't engage nor indulged in it. Namora warned him about moments like these, woman in general were emotional beings and even more so when with child. But a siren, a creature who allured men and lured them to their deaths, who protected woman, children, infants...you'd be more exploited to your emotions.

You were with child and already protective of it. He feared that one day you wouldn't walk away as per your agreement, that you'd show him your teeth and claws ready to fight for something you never wanted. Something deep, deep down inside him hoped you did something so then he'd take the both of you back to Talokan and hopefully the two of you or rather the three of you could live in peace. But the agreement weighed heavily in his chest.

You knew nothing of this inner turmoil raging inside him because you tried not to care for it. You had your own inner turmoil to deal with.

"Once you are better, we'll be going to see a friend who is able to help you through your pregnancy," Slowly he stood from the bed and removing the cap from his head and placing it on the small nightstand where you had a bottle of water and some untouched mangos on a plate.

"She is very skilled in her field and if the child is a mutant she will be better equipped for the birth." Whenever he thought about the new queen of Wakanda only bitter memories came along that remembrance. He had what he most desired, just hair length away from his goal but because he wasn't truly careful. Namor had to swallow his pride and wait for the day the queen called for him and his army. He knew it was going to be a very long wait until he was called to arms and destroy the surface. And until that time came he will have built his legacy. A son or daughter it didn't matter to him what came out of your womb as long as his blood was running through its veins then he will forever be immortal. No one will ever question his power or his standing, Namora nor his people will ever doubt him again.

Whatever he wanted, you didn't care if it was a local doctor who knew about his existence you just wanted to feel better.

You peeked over your blanket at the sea king who continued to remove pieces of his clothing one by one. His shirt was the next to go giving you a view of his torso again. Did he tan? There was absolutely no way he managed to get this golden under water hidden away. He must've sunk to the surface once in a wile when he was getting pale and laid in the sand for a few hours. The image of him coming to the surface to tan made you snicker.

He paused when removing his pants staring back at you. Your eyes beaming with amusement, beaming at him. It made something in his chest ache but he pushed it to the back of his mind and continued to undress.

"What's so funny?" He pushed the clothing to the side and stood tall in his green trunks.

"Do you tan?" You dared ask as he slowly came back to sit by your side, making the bed dip a bit.

"Tan? This is my skin color," Raising a hand he brought it closer to her peeking eyes. Why would she think his skin was amusing?

"I just...thought that maybe you came up once in a while to tan. You know? The sun doesn't reach the inner depths of the ocean Namor," In a sing-like tone you pushed the blanket down revealing just how funny it was to you. The smile you had on your face looked bright, big and your cheeks were damn near about to split. And Namor found himself holding back his own smile of amusement.

"So...do you come here to tan?"

"I'm just tan-"

You laughed. "I didn't ask that! I asked, listen, I asked you if you tanned here on the surface to be that golden."

You had to bite your inner cheek because Namor was giving you this dirty look you didn't think he was capable of giving while holding back his smile.

Why did you find this so amusing was beyond him but the expression you wore and the things you were saying was too much even for him.

"Do you just float on your back or do you come onto the sand lay out a beach towel and have Attuma fan you with a palm leaf?" The snicker that left the both of you and Namor was surprising but it was a truly welcoming open door. He hid his smile behind his other hand looking away to compose himself and the other you took and sat straighter upon your pillows.

Once the fit of snickers and giggles and jokes from you stopped you both looked at each other with an unearthed emotion that the both of you wished never surfaced. Longing.

A desire to have and to yearn for something or someone. It was a need for someone and that someone for you was Namor. It was strange because no man made you feel like you were fragile like he did. Even before you got knocked up he was as gentle as he could be when speaking or even embracing you, he treated you like a prized woman. Not some dancing and singing harlot he could pay and pretend to be a man for. Despite the circumstances you both put yourselves in there was evidence that the longing the two of you had for one another was steadily growing in the pit of your womb.

Unknown to him, he too longed for the deadly woman, you, who held his hand so innocently. As if you were unknown to the many lives that hand took or how many times he imagined caressing your body with that hand. It may have been one night but that night was a gateway you both opened and it will never close again.

But perhaps that night can happen again? Not now of course but when you were better, not sick like this. He'll convince you then. Because he now knew your body, truly knew it. And he would use that to have you again and again until the child that was promised was born. Then you would disappear. Before that happens he'll have his fill.

----------

That morning, after that moment you shared, he came into bed with you. Not for sex but to lay and comfort you. The sick mother of his child. A mother. Were you considered a mother? After all you were pregnant. It still counts, right? Your hand traveled down your naked torso and stopped at the tiny hard bump in your lower abdomen. It was barely there but it was making its presence known. It was... a good feeling. Namor was laying on his side already asleep, or so you thought with the way his shoulders were steadily rising and falling. He did say he was just there to watch over you and help you if you felt sick again.

You didn't really need his help but just to have someone other than an unresponsive belly to talk to was comforting enough. Talking to your belly, was that normal? You never really had to carry another being inside you before nor did anyone prepare you for it. Running a hand over that tiny bump again you stilled over it. Was it normal to feel this longing for a small thing to come out? Or to long for its dad?

You dared rest your forehead against the middle of his broad back looking down at your belly beneath the blanket. A small thing like this will soon grow bigger and bigger until one day it'll be out and about crying out and leaving her for good. Like you both agreed to, this child will never see you nor acknowledge you as its mother. It'll never know you.

You'd be lying if you said it left you feelin a bit empty inside. Never to see the product of you and Namor again; never seeing Namor again. He was one of the only men who sought after your very body but for an entirely different reason. And even after he successfully took your body he remained by your side. An interesting man.

An interesting man who you shouldn't be with. He was dangerous.

Your face fell into a frown at the thought. No man has ever shared your bed this way. No man was ever allowed to touch you in the way a woman was meant to be touched, in a deeper, more permanent way that was something other than sexual. You were a siren, free of the rules of men and even the love of men. Unable to settle or nest because you were taught never to do it. Your wants and dreams were what mattered.

You were loved by one person and that was your mother. And even before she passed she made you swear never to get caught up with a baby or a man but here you were with both. She'd be turning in her grave.

Now you didn't know what to do as Namor slept by your side. You felt lost, and without the knowledge on how to get back to the right path. Was this a good idea?

If you were honest with yourself, you knew you didn't want him to ever go. But as always, you had to remain unattached. Or at the very least try.

The smell of him filled your nose as the sight of him filled your eyes, just a his body filled your own. He was taking in soft breaths filling the room with his breathing. Just as his child was inside your body filling and growing more each day. How was he filling up every area of your life? How were you able to rebel against him so much? To be selfish was better.

You reached for his tanned broad back refusing to acknowledge that your naked body was slowly molding against his back. To be selfish meant a life without ties, without a deal you both agreed upon, and it was so much better than what you'd seen others go through in their pursuits for love, affection, and a family life. Even Namor, the deadly sea king, Ku'kul'kan the feathered serpent god, an unstoppable man, had not been safe from the feelings of love and obligation. An obligation to strengthen his people and reassure that he would be forever. His reign even if he perishes will be forever. Yet, how culd a woman like you, remained unavailable to emotions that even a man such as Namor had allowed for himself?

To be selfish had to be better than to love. To stay unattached, had to be less troubling than to be tied down. By anyone. Words from a mother who loathed her daughter. And you stood by them.

When you were close you pressed your face into his back, felt his skin on yours, breathed in his scent and experienced the vibrations deep inside his body from the soft sounds he made as he slept. It was still early in the morning so the both of you were no doubt were tired. You from vomiting and heaving all night and early morning. Him from planning, negotiating and somewhat pleading for his child and its mother.

And for once you didn't rebel against your own thoughts with actions. Even when the soft snoring stopped, you didn't move away.

It was better to be selfish.

Namors eyes slowly opened and his body remained still. Your touch eased him out of sleep, a sleep he'd been a little surprised he'd fallen into after comforting you. Starring at the barely risen sun through the glass sliding doors, he accepted the reality that you were up against his back, almost as if you were a kitten who wanted to be petted. It was such a strange act coming from you, that it was hard to pull away.

"Y/N," he said your name softly still laced with sleep and deep.

You wanted to lift your arm, and pull him close. You wanted to adjust the sheets so your legs were flushed against each other and you wanted to feel his body naked against your own. But you didn't do it, because you...couldn't. You pride yourself with how you lived and how you stuck to your rules like glue. You prided yourself for the trait. But at what cost?

Remaining still and feeling the tiny bump of your belly against his back, Namor asked," What are you doing?"

Right now, you didn't know nor could you give him answer because it your emotions guiding your limbs. You were stuck in a strange place, that place that you dared not step foot in. A place where you questioned, and wondered about other things that were different from what you were taught.

"Do you ever wish that...for one night, even just one hour, that you could be someone else? Someone different?"

His mind raced, trying to decipher what you meant. But your mind had always been somewhat difficult to pinpoint because you were so unique. And now, you were completely different from your day to day self, even with him it was hard to figure out. "What do you mean?"

You bit your lip and thought it over. "I...don't know. Everything is different to what I am. Even when seeing people who aren't the same as me, having a child, a man, a functioning family, I can't understand it...I don't know how to change. I don't think I can alter."

The sea king drew his brows together and wondered if this was the same woman who he choose to impregnate. " Change is not always granted to us because we simply want it. At most, change is thrust upon us when we are not ready for it."

"Change is impossible." You muttered. You were a woman who changed everything constantly. But the one thing you could never change was yourself.

Namor didn't know where to begin with all of this you were spewing at him. He took the necessary steps to be here. Even with the war with Wakanda, taking the previous monarchs life, he will not regret it because it lead him to his siren, his surrogate. But if he could alter a few things he would. If it were ever possible to become a different person even if it was for one messily hour then he would not be a man of vengeance. He would make it go away.

For one hour, one night or da, he would make it all go away.

You pulled away from him the, turning to your other side and giving him your back as he'd done with you. Your hair felt poufy against the pillow, so wavy and uncombed from her time holding it up from vomiting and from tossing all night. But it was the least of your worries. The bigger thing to worry about was that Namor had turned over as well, your positions now reversed.

And you still couldn't shake yourself out of this weird funk that had pulled you in deep.

"Who do you want to be Y/N?"

Your little home was homey, clean now after you found out you were pregnant. Usually it was so unkept with clothes tossed about the floor, shoes, bras, dancing outfits, it was always a mess. But now it looked clean. But you found that it wasn't enough. You starred at the closed bathroom door," I was taught to stay free. Never to be caught up with affairs of a normal life because a normal life wasn't meant for someone like me. I stayed free, running all these years. I never once stopped,"

Something dark came upon Namor at the mention of her mother. Everything you were told and taught was from a woman who's husband left her to be with a normal human woman. What he took from your stories of your childhood and the lessons of your mother was that she loathed you, she hated that you had inherited her power and she could no longer keep your father entranced to stay with her. If you were a man, there would have been no issue.

These lessons were that from a jealous woman.

"What does your mother say that would hinder you? Trap you?"

You didn't hesitate to answer him because it was one of the lessons that she bore into you since the moment you could walk." Love. Love is...only meant for certain people, and shouldn't be taken lightly, or given away freely. Because then your freedom would be taken away," You hesitate a bit before continuing. "Sometimes certain people you can love are so few. So, one person is enough...they have to be. They won't tie you down or trap you." Did you sound silly? If you did, you didn't care. You were in this void, so you would use it to talk about things you'd never talk about with another person before.

"I can't...I can't connect to anyone. There's no room, no time, no effort."

Namor looked at your hair, cascading in waves against the pillow. Your skin looked darker against your baby blue sheets," Do you wish to be someone to connect to others?"

"No. But sometimes I wonder what it's like." Whether it was the truth or a lie you immediately responded.

He lifted a hand, ran it over the exposed skin of you shoulder and down the length of your arm pushing the blanket down with it." That is a feeling that can kill someone. Perhaps it's better that you don't know what it feels like."

You stayed still while he felt down your side, exposing your naked body. What was he trying do? This wasn't what you both agreed upon. You were already pregnant so there was nothing to gain from being intimate again.

"What are you doing?" Now it was your turn to ask him.

Namor said nothing as he continued to slide his hand further down past your hip and to your thigh. While you were feeling better already, you felt a fire start to ignite in the pit of your stomach. His hand went back up to your hip and stayed there, then he decided to scoot closer to your back moving the blanket back over the both of you so your bodies were meshed together. Meaning, what you so desperately wanted to do earlier when pressed against his back he did to you.

He slid one of his legs in-between the two of yours and spooned you. If it was just for one night, one day, or even one hour he will pretend. Pretend that the both of you deserved to feel that you both belonged, you both were accepted that the feelings between the two of you were answered. It was the least he could do.

As much as you wanted to say this was an expected outcome, it wasn't. This conversation shouldn't have happened, but it did. He shouldn't have stayed to comfort you after watching you throw up the contents of yesterdays dinner, but he did. You both shouldn't be laying in bed like two couples making up for lost time, but you were. And now you realized that this, his touch, his warm embrace were the things you missed. You craved it.

That powerful hand slid over the bump of your hip and to the tiny baby bump that held not just his child, but yours. This was what he wanted. An heir to rule his kingdom by his side, with the power of both a god and a powerful siren, unstoppable. But he did want the woman that carried that powerful being, you. He wanted what he knew he could not have and that's what made this transaction between the two of you that much more covetous. You belonged to your rules and he was willing to rip you away from them.

"Let's pretend, for an hour. That you are all that you wish to be and I am all that I wish to be," His lips were on your should in an instant kissing it. "You will be a woman who wants to give love and understand others. I will be the man who receives your love and will help you to understand."

This was a ridiculous way to ask you to sleep with him but it was one that you somewhat understood. Talking was cheap, actions was what got you somewhere. "You want...us to pretend we're...together?"

"No. That's not what I said. Pretend you are a woman who is a woman and I will be a man who is a man. Like that night? I know you remember it as vividly as I do," He spoke lowly trailing his lips up to your ear that was hidden under the tresses of your hair," Pretend. And I'll touch you however you want to be touched Y/N."

There was temptation here and pleasure but there was also another rule breaking. You got the job done so...why again? It wasn't like him to give you yet another opportunity to give in to your wants and needs. Did he miss being intimate with you?

"W-we had one night. A few moments," Words were coming out but it was as if you were on autopilot. The mouth could move all it wanted, a thousand words spoken, but the desires of the body could overpower it all. Like it had previously.

During this time, you nor him realized that you both were resonating with one another. Calling one another from the darkest depths of the sea and now the great serpent answered the sirens call, a life in return for pleasure. And maybe he will take a little more before he was consumed.

Slowly his hand went up, fingertips brushing against your naval, tickling and touching the sirens skin before reaching one of the breasts that his unborn child will never suckle from. You took in a hiss of a breath when he encased it with his hand, thumb brushing against the sensitive little nub. "I'm already pregnant, I don't need this Namor,"

"Say my name." His lips were still whispering by your ear. Somehow he managed to slip his other arm under the pillow you rested your head on and put you in a lazy headlock. His veiny forearm lightly pressed against your neck , the sea king wanted you, and he wanted to take you so you knew just how well he could 'pretend'.

His name wasn't Namor but Ku'kul'kan. And he wanted you to say his true name like that night, you said it over and over again until it sounded like gibberish falling from your lips. Namor found great pleasure when he heard his name sung from your lips like a hymn, a hymn that was meant just for him.

Releasing a soft breath you shook your head. No, this wouldn't be like the last time because the last time you were blinded by lust, greed and overall was just sexually frustrated. You weren't this time. The lust, the hunger was always there and still was but that other feeling you never wanted to feel was nagging at the back of your mind. Longing.

Longing for what could be and what will be. To pretend the bot of you felt the same at least for an hour...an hour should be enough.

"Ku'kul'kan," You whispered softly closing your eyes. You fell back into the headspace of what could be while chanting his name in your sing song voice that lured men to their deaths but for him it just sounded beautiful. It was only for a bit, pretend for a bit.

"Let me touch you mujer fatal,"

"Touch me then, touch me here," You took his hand that played with your breast back down to your pelvis, past the trimmed curls," Here. Touch here."

Without missing a beat he slid his thick fingers through those soft curls at her pelvis and was welcomed by a pooling wet heat. So you were excited. He was gentle in his exploration, caressing, rubbing, tapping and flicking of your clit. Thankfully his leg was keeping your parted because there were a few instances that you wanted to close your legs and mewl out in ecstacy. Namors second exploration of your body lead him a few conclusions, you enjoyed being handled like this barely having any say in how you were positioned. Secondly, this thing the two of you had between the two of you excited you. The pretending wasn't what excited you, it was the relationship you had brewing. Forget the agreement, forget the rules, outside of that you liked that you carried his child and you liked the attention you were receiving from him. He knew deep down in that cold heart of yours that this was what you wanted.

Your soft breaths were what kept him going touching every inch of your cunt before deciding that it was enough, he slipped in two of his digits making you arch. It's been forever since you were touched like this and over a month since he laid hands on you so intimately like this. His hand took your chin and forced your head to tilt to look up at him, and through hazy eyes you saw his bright chocolate eyes that smiled down at you. That feeling came up again like bile at the back of your throat. Longing.

That longing to be normal and have normal feelings for another person, that longing to be one with another and love another. But that feeling, longing, was a feeling you were forbidden to feel. After all, there was no room for it. No room for the effort you had to put in in order to achieve what you most desired and it was to be taken and loved on...but still be free.

You released a quick moan when his fingers found that certain spot that made your toes curling in pleasure. When he heard the moan his chocolate eyes grew sharp when he found the perfect spot to bring you to your end. Faster his fingers went, curling and uncurling inside you flicking that one spot over and over again. Now, you were gripping his wrists for dear life never breaking eye contact even when you breathlessly begged him.

"Don't stop, please don't stop," You whispered craving for more of his touch, accepting it.

Namor grinned, chocolate eyes full of victory. "Did you know Y/N," He began deeply, pressing his mouth to your ear," that when a woman tell as man not to stop, it means he has found the exact rhythm she uses when she pleasures herself?"

He pressed harder, rubbed faster and you all but purr." Don't...stop." You moaned again.

Everything you were doing and saying was maddening. Namor looked down at your mouth again, focused on it and craved it. He eased on the motions of his hand, and knew he needed to take from you now.

Namor leaned in without any hesitation, and kissed her.

There was absolutely nothing soft about it, as their kiss had lacked gentleness as well. The act was only to use, only to take and only to taste. Instantly, your mouths opened against one another, instantly your tongues met. Namor could taste the sweet sin that lured men to you, could taste the desire, and he almost felt the need to pull away. Almost. But your mouth was giving even as you demanded more of him, you sucked his lips before accepting his tongue again.

His hand no longer forced you to keep your head tilted, he eased that hand down to your breast and gave it another squeeze, he couldn't get enough. "It's so good," you whispered between kissing him, your mouth open against his as your tongues met and licked each other," Why is it so good?"

Namor pulled away from your mouth, and your enticing voice, moved to your neck and sucked you there with all the desperate drive of a man with a time limit. His fingers helped you soar to new heights as they maneuvered between your wet folds, his thumb surprised you and rubbed your swollen bud with precise flicks. You hummed deeply while exposing your neck more to feel those lips of his taste your flesh and mark it. It wasn't enough for Namor, he wanted more of you.

Pulling back he gave your neck a lick before finally whispering back," No man will have you like this Y/N, you carry my seed, I will fill you up as many times as I have to, to make you understand."

You were already on the brink, his forefinger and thumb played with your sensitive nipples," It feels 'so good' because you want it to feel good Y/N." Your voice went higher and your body began to tremble. Before you knew it you were crying out with your true voice, the call of the deep, the call of a siren being pleased by the very man who impregnated her.

There was no better feeling to Namor than watching your red lips spill his true name in a song. Your juices spilled from you drenching his hand, as you settled from your high you found the strength to keep your gaze locked on his. While you were panting desperately trying to catch your breath he went on to make you lose it some more when he pulled his soaked fingers from your center and did the one thing you didn't know would turn you on.

He slid those fingers that were soaked in your nectar across his tongue, tasting you. The taste of a fully willing woman tasted explosive on his tongue, it was your taste, the woman who devoured men was being tasted by the man who planned on being devoured by the alluring siren.

Namore continued to taste you off his fingers with an unwavering look that told you to watch him, and to witness just how delicious you were to him if he devoured you. He wondered just how a woman who was normally tough and blithe could look as innocent as you did, an expression that had nothing to do with the words you said during sex or your own actions.

Your face...your face was capable of giving him all he could ask for.

But would he be able to ask from you more than what you've already given? The dreamy look on your face could convince him that you'd say yes to anything he'd ask but he knew better than to push you.

As you basked in the afterglow of a much needed orgasm you couldn't help but caress his forearms, his hands that smoothed over your thighs and belly. Did pretending always feel this nice? Were they truly pretending, right now?

Longing could do a lot to a person. Fix them up to be great and do better.

Or it could break an already fragile relationship into pieces, that could never be put together again.

------------------

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#namor x you #namor x y/n #namor x reader #namor of talokan #namor smut #namor fanfiction #namor #black panther #fem reader #self insert #pregnancy #smut #wayoflove

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solar-sunnyside-up · 6 months

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Little libraries -

Free little Libraries are a great passive mutual aid project. Originally inspired by DIY projects they are easy to build, are generally low maintenance once established, creative and fun artworks within themselves, and its a great way to introduce a gift economy into your neighborhood!

History-

2009- Todd Bol of Hudson, Wisconsin, built a model of a one room schoolhouse. It was a tribute to his mother; she was a teacher who loved to read. He filled it with books and put it on a post in his front yard. His neighbors and friends loved it, so he built several more and gave them away.

UW-Madison’s Rick Brooks saw Bol’s do-it-yourself project while they were discussing potential mutual aid projects. They were inspired by community gift-sharing networks, “take a book, leave a book” collections in coffee shops and public spaces, and most especially by the philanthropist Andrew Carnegie.

2010 the name Little Free Library was established and the purpose of these Little Free Library book exchanges became clear: to share good books and bring communities together.As Bol and Brooks continued to give away Little Free Libraries with wooden charter signs, engraved with official charter numbers, curiosity and demand for more Libraries grew. The acceleration centered on the enthusiasm of early adopters and stewards, who were crucial advocates. Some small grants and informal partnerships began to have an impact on Little Free Library’s ability to keep up with demand.

2011 brought national media attention, and by the end of the year there were nearly 400 Little Free Libraries in existence. That number would skyrocket to over 4,000 Libraries within a year.

2012 Little Free Library became a registered 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization in the states!

Little Free Libraries have continued to grow by leaps and bounds every year. In 2022 we surpassed 150,000 registered Libraries in more than 120 countries worldwide. Even establishing an online map and app to help people locate the libraries!

How do I do this?

The little library website hosts a bunch of plans and blueprints to make a library or get ideas for locations. Even having ready to order kits if you want!

You will need either land or public approval to establish one however, this can be by the city, neighbours, or other public spaces but they are technically put on private land. You wont find anyone ho would object to their installation but I would not recommend just installing one unless your okay with it being taken down.

Pick a location that has a lot of foot traffic and be highly visible to anyone nearby and is accessible as possible.

Fill it up with books!!

#solarpunk #ref #sprout guide #reaping week #anticapitalism #mutual aid #little libraries #cottage core #reading #books

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torhues · 1 year

Text

kenma kozume.

"so there's someone i like," kenma speaks and from a distance— literally from the other corner of his room— you can hear an exaggerated sigh escape kuroo's lips.

he flips his book close, eyes shut as he exhales deeply with patience running down visibly from his face. "oh god, not again,"

"shut up," kenma retorts, there's a soft blush on his cheeks, a menacing glow in kuroo's eyes, a surprised grimace on your face. they make a good tale to tell. "anyway, there's someone i like and i don't know what to do about it,"

"usually, people confess, instead of being an idiot," the captain says it as a matter of fact, more of an advice although, it sounds like a heavy remark directed to his friend.

on other days, kuroo would gladly drop all his businesses and be at one to offer some love advice to his friend. however, today, or probably from the past few months, he would rather be busy sweeping the gym floors than help his friend, and the reason his simple— it's exhausting.

"tetsu, if you can't say something nice then consider keeping your mouth close," the above addressed man mimics your words with a dramatic expression, making you roll your eyes at his actions. honestly, you couldn't be bothered, you have better things to worry about. "yes, kenma, what about your crush?"

"i don't know," kenma shrugs.

"okay," you nod, pretending to think of some life-saving love life questionnaire to help him reach a conclusion. "are they a complete stranger or someone you know already?"

"we've been friends since middle school," in a distance, you hear kuroo sighs again. he has picked up his book yet again, snickering every once a while, mumbling under his breath. you're aware he hasn't turned a single page in past then minutes for someone who's a fast reader, and you know he's doing anything but reading.

"oh my god, that's cute," you revert your focus back at kenma, a smile that doesn't seem to leave your lips even though your heart feels heavy. "so, when did you become aware of your feelings?"

"three years ago," he replies, a hint of hesitation in his voice and if he's scared of disclosing a precious secret. "almost a few months after we met,"

"people get married and have two kids in three years, kenma," another comment from kuroo, another sigh from kenma that makes him look like a ticking time bomb. you wouldn't care about it, but usually, kenma isn't someone so restless. he isn't someone to dig nails into his fist, to tap his foot on the floor relentlessly, to stutter between words, or to get too lost between his own thoughts. kenma, normally, is a straight forward guy with a simple goal— playing genshin and enjoying everyday drama on genshin twitter.

but he is different today. "i will kill him if he doesn't shut up,"

"do you think they reciprocate?" you ask another question in an attempt to divert his attention for kuroo, the one who wasn't invited to the afternoon friend group therapy show at kenma's ( the group as in your and kenma, who cry about science and alhaitham ) kuroo wasn't even supposed to be in the city. he should've been in osaka at his aunt's for someone's wedding, being the centre of attention because the 'ladies' love him for being so well-mannered and talented.

"i don't know, i hope they do," kenma takes a pause, as if he's uncertain of his words, and you can't do anything because one can never be too sure of how someone else feels. "i can't remember the last time we spend a day without each other. we have movie nights almost every weekend, share the deepest of secrets, i can name a lot of such things. i think we're more than friends, not sure of what we are, but i don't want to be just friends, so yeah, i really hope they feel the same,"

now, you'd be lying if you say that his explanation doesn't sound familiar, but again you don't want to make assumptions. maybe, it's hanae from, his classmate. you met her once in middle school through kenma since they were assigned as project partners for history. it could be anyone, someone from other school, anyone who went to the same middle school as the two of you. considering how perfect kenma is, you aren't possibly the only one to harbour feelings for him.

"y'know, i'd love to meet this person," there's a hint of dejection evident in your voice. perhaps, his descriptions about his crush gave you a slight idea of how kenma loves, and how his feelings aren't reciprocated towards you. you could grab your stuff and leave, but liking someone, in your eyes, has always been about giving into their happiness, no matter how much it hurts you in return.

"trust me, you know them already," kuroo strikes again and this time, you're kind of glad because one, it makes you feel better, dragging your mind out of whatever depressing pool of thought it was drowning into, and two, you couldn't wait to know to who kenma's crush is.

kenma snickers. "how about you focus on chemistry?"

"c'mon, kenma, tell me their name?"

"it's a secret,"

"no it's not, he's just scared," kuroo retorts.

"kuroo, i will tell miss nakamoto how you were the one who added that chunk of sodium in water and almost set the whole lab on fire," you could physically feel kenma plotting some really villainous move in his head, which probably also includes having kuroo benched for around three days. and the best part is, kenma doesn't need make an excuse because you know kuroo has done shit that could get him benched, if someone snitched on him, that is.

"ignore him," you say bitterly, but it's more of an attempt to get kenma's attention back to you. "anyway, give me some hints if you can't tell me the name,"

"um, they're pretty," you thank him in your head for giving you such useful information that you feel like you can track them down from several miles away. "we go to the same school and, are even in the same club. they always attend our matches and used to be in the student council before quitting this year,"

silence conquers the room as you take a moment to think. now, it does sound too familiar to be a coincidence, but again, you don't want to make assumptions. like, you're not stupid enough to think he's talking about you and jump to conclusions, ultimately making a fool of yourself. on the other hand, you can practically feel kuroo looking towards you with hopeful eyes, and you don't know the reason why.

you nod just before kenma was about to panic out of nervousness. "okay, i think i have some candidates,"

"must be nice being this stupid," now, you're sure you would aid kenma in killing kuroo. you can be the one to dispose the body, or his lawyer who will defend him— kenma apologist, to be exact— one to help him flee the country just when japan's police force will be out for him. perhaps, that's one way to stay next to kenma. if not lovers, then partners in crime.

it strikes you that you don't know what you're thinking, but it's doesn't make any sense.

"will be nicer if you just shut your goddamn mouth up," kenma hisses under this breath, and you think he looks like an angry cat, which is cute, but that's for another day. he turns to look at you to pleading eyes, almost as if he's begging you to spare his life. "just let it be, i'll tell you when the time comes,"

"and by that time, your crush will be married and have three kids while expecting one more," kenma is seeing red, you bet. perhaps, the volleyball team will lose a player today, and you can't do anything because sometimes, kuroo literally asks for it. it amuses you how he's one of the smartest students in school and yet so dumb, it makes you feel better about yourself.

"kuroo plea—"

kuroo interjects before kenma could even complete his sentence. "no, kenma, you both are making my head hurt,"

"now what is so stressful to you about kenma having a crush?" you

"that, he's dropping so many hints but someone has to be fucking blind," another series of silence, kuroo feels hopeful again. maybe this time, you would get the hint, and actually, you got the hint, you know it could be you but also, you're confident it's not you. not that you don't feel confident about yourself, but actually, it's because kenma has barely shown any interest in you, apart from everything that he has mentioned earlier.

you look at kuroo, and then at kenma, who's busy avoiding eye contact and fiddling with the hem of his shirt. you know he's probably trying to come up with more excuses and more ways to end kuroo. or perhaps, he's just nervous because you'd be the second person to know about his crush, next to kuroo. you could be wrong, so you leave your thoughts at that. "so, who is the crush?"

"the heck, yn, it's you !" and since then, kuroo has been skipping school for three days now because of the ( big ) red swelling on his forehead thanks to the notebook kenma projected at him.

#♡ hues'.#♡ handmade.#kenma x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fic #kenma fic #haikyuu fluff #kenma fluff #haikyuu drabbles #kenma drabble #haikyuu headcanons #kenma headcanons #haikyuu #kenma kozume #haikyuu kenma #I DONT KNOW WHAT THIS IS FORGIVE ME #this is so . rusty #but at least it's funny ig :/

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