#history lessons with tea!

[pokemon-teacology]

I appreciate the response so so much!! It’s always been said on places like YouMew vids and Rotomblr that they’re just urban legends. Which I refuse to believe and want to prove their existence, after hearing about the fact grudges against others and suffering created them, I don’t want them to be sealed away and locked in constant suffering alone. I’d want to offer my friendship and if they want, to be my Pokémon to catch or at least let me take care of them to show not all humans are bad. May I ask if you know more details about Wo-Chien? That’s my first goal as I know most about them! - Poketablet-Venturer

Ooh, if I recall correctly that's the tablet of ruins Pokémon! My buddy who does pokemon history was kind enough to let me borrow some of his notes on these myths from last year, since I asked about them.

It says in the notes that Wo-Chien is a Pokémon made from the anger of a human who was forced to carve his king's evil deeds onto wooden tablets. I'd imagine it's a grass type, since it's made of wood. The original story says that the chains that bind Wo-Chien are bathed in purple light, and leave a pit of dread in the stomach of anyone daring enought to get close.

The Pokémon itself has the body type of a macargo mixed with a piloswine, in my opinion, except it looks like it's made of moss and leaves. Though, these are very very old drawings, so I can't speak to their accuracy. It's said here that it can drain the life out of plants, such that entire forests and fields can become barren. Again, I can't speak to how accurate this is, it may have been an overdramatisation because it showed up during a famine or a dry spell or something, I dunno. My buddy says that the historians of the time of the treasures of ruin were more focused on telling a story than making accurate observations.

That's all I've got from the notes, unfortunately since nobody's been able to get into the sealed chambers that hold these guys, we've got no other evidence to go off of. Id love to research how they work if you do end up finding them, I'm sure they're quite fascinating lil guys. I also wonder what they eat, since they've been sealed away for so long.

It sounds like you have the right intentions, though, so I'm happy to help wherever I can! :)

[phantom-overdose]

((If anyone ever wants to write with a scruffy, kind of (unintentionally) goofy, sweet but still totally animalistic, former prisoner, werewolf-esque, character (complete with wolf tail) who has read a bunch of self-help books and who is super committed once he falls in love, and who also just so happens to be from a post-grand-fairytales fairytale realm full of magic and chaos and all that good stuff... just, ya know, let me know <3))

[teatitty]

That "hot blonde" is Illyana before she reverted back to being a child

As you can see here

[0silver0dreams0]

"Whispers of Devotion"

Yandere House of the dragon x ModernReborn!Reader Pt. 3

Summarized: Gradually, as time passes, the girl she once was begins to transform into a woman. Those around her take notice, and the actions of those in her life start to bear consequences. As tensions rise, rivalries deepen, and complex feelings begin to intertwine.

Warning: hatred, love macking, mutual masturbation, clues of incest, forbidden love and stalking.

<< Pt. 2 — masterlist — Pt. 4 >> (Coming Soon)

When will they finally leave you alone? Letter after letter after letter. They just don’t understand—you don’t want them anymore. Jacaerys, Rhaenyra, Daemon, even that insufferable boy Lucerys. You burned their letters in the fireplace without hesitation. You don’t care about them; you only wish for their suffering and demise, imagining it vividly before see them with your eyes. But you force yourself to set those thoughts aside. They are a distraction, and distractions displease your mother. Every minute of your day is accounted for, each task meticulously planned to maintain the illusion of perfection. If you falter—if you make a single misstep—Alicent will not forgive you. She will punish you, lock you in your chambers for hours, sometimes days, leaving you isolated with nothing but your thoughts.

You live to please her. To earn her approval. To become the daughter she expects you to be.

8:00 - Etiquette lessons 9:00 - Dance lessons 10:00 - Bath 11:00 - History lessons 12:00 - Go to the Great Sept with Alicent 13:00 - Have tea with Alicent 14:00 - Valyrian lessons 15:00 - Lunch with your family 16:00 - Watch Aemond train and encourage him 17:00 - Talk to Alicent about everything that happened during the day 18:00 - Sneak into the kitchen to eat something 19:00 - Pray Alicent doesn’t notice you ate something 20:00 - Read 21:00 - Prepare for bed 22:00 - Sleep

It’s almost noon, which means it’s time to accompany Alicent to the Great Sept. Yet, as the clock ticks closer to the hour, temptation claws at you. There’s a small gap in your schedule, just enough time for a stolen moment. You glance around to ensure no one is watching before slipping away to the gardens.

He’s waiting for you, leaning casually against a stone column, his armour glinting faintly in the sunlight, he was there, with his brown eyes, his blonde hair, Ser Alaric. The sight of him brings a rush of warmth to your chest.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he says softly, though the smile on his face betrays his words. “I could say the same to you,” you tease, stepping closer. “But I’m glad you are.” He reaches out, brushing his fingers against yours—a touch so fleeting it almost feels like a dream. “You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess. If your brother finds out…”

You tense at the mention of Aemond. He must never know about this, about you and Alaric. Aemond’s protectiveness would turn violent in an instant, and you dread to think what he might do.

“He won’t find out,” you assure him, though your voice is quieter than you intended. “I won’t let him.” Alaric studies you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he nods. “Just be careful. For both our sakes.”

Before you can respond, the sound of footsteps makes you both freeze. Your heart leaps into your throat as you whip around to see Aemond standing at the edge of the garden, his sharp gaze fixed on you.

“(your name),” he calls out, his tone neutral but his eye narrowing slightly. “What are you doing here?” You force a smile, stepping away from Alaric as casually as you can. “I had a bit of free time before prayer. I thought I’d take a walk.”

“And you, Ser Alaric?” Aemond’s voice hardens as he shifts his attention to the knight. “I was ensuring the Princess’s safety,” Alaric replies smoothly, bowing his head. Aemond’s gaze lingers on him for a moment before turning back to you. “Mother is waiting. You should go.”

You nod quickly, glancing at Alaric one last time before following Aemond.

When you arrive at the Sept, Alicent is already there, her gaze darkening the moment it lands on you.

"You’re late," she says, her tone sharp and clipped. “I apologize, Mother. I—” “I’ve no interest in your excuses.” She steps closer, her expression cold and unyielding. “You’ve been acting irresponsibly of late—sneaking off like a petulant child. I won’t allow it any longer.” Her voice is calm but cuts through you with the precision of a blade.

“After prayers, you will return to your chambers,” she continues, each word deliberate. “And you will remain there until I decide otherwise. Perhaps solitude will instil the discipline you so clearly lack.”

You open your mouth to object, but her piercing glare stops you mid-breath. Any protest dies on your lips.

The prayers are long and stifling, each moment stretching painfully under the weight of her disapproval. When they finally conclude, Alicent herself escorts you back to your chambers, her grip firm as though she fears you might slip away.

The heavy door shuts behind you with a finality that sends a shiver down your spine, followed by the unmistakable sound of the lock turning.

Left alone, you search your bed, hoping the books you’d hidden earlier might still be there. They aren’t. In fact, none of your hidden belongings remain. Realisation dawns—she must have discovered them. That’s why she was so angry.

With no distractions to occupy your mind, you lie on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Maybe sleep will offer a reprieve. But the hours drag on, the silence pressing against you like an iron weight. Just as the last light of day fades, a soft knock breaks the stillness, startling you.

“Aemond?” you call out hesitantly.

The door creaks open, and your brother steps inside, a tray of food in hand and a book tucked under his arm.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, though relief rushes through you.

“And leave you to starve?” he replies simply. He sets the tray down on your desk before sitting beside you on the bed. “Mother can be harsh, but she forgets—you're human, not an extension of her will.”

“Thank you,” you murmur, taking a tentative bite of the bread he brought. “But if she finds out, she’ll punish me even more.”

“I’ll speak with Father,” he says, his voice calm but resolute. “Perhaps he’ll see that Mother has gone too far.”

Your fingers graze the book he hands you, and for the first time in hours, a faint smile graces your lips. “You’re always looking out for me,” you say softly.

Aemond’s gaze lingers, his voice low but steady. “They don’t see you for who you are. To Mother, you’re a pawn; to them, a symbol. But I see you.”

Your breath hitches, his words stirring something deep within you. Before you can reply, he gently brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“I know how she treats you,” he continues, his tone measured but intense. “Always demanding, always expecting. But you don’t have to bear it alone. I’ll always be here.”

“Aemond…” you begin, unsure of what to say, but he interrupts with a faint smile. “Rest. If she troubles you again tomorrow, come to me—or Father. I’ll handle it.”

Without waiting for a response, he rises, his movements deliberate. At the door, he pauses, glancing back with a rare softness in his eyes.

“Remember, I’m always here.”

The door clicks shut behind him, and you’re left with a strange mixture of comfort and unease. Aemond’s presence was your refuge, but his intensity… it left a lingering weight in the air.

It was already dark when you decided to take a bath. Perhaps it would help ease the tension gripping your body. Surely Mother wouldn’t mind—not if it was just a few minutes to the bathing chambers nearby.

The corridor was silent as you slipped out, your footsteps a soft echo in the stillness. You moved swiftly, heart racing with the thrill of disobedience. Reaching the bathing chamber, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, pushing the heavy door shut behind you.

But before it could close, a hand shot out, stopping it. Panic flared as another arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you back, and a hand covered your mouth before you could scream. Your heart pounded, every nerve on edge, until the faint scent of leather and cedarwood registered.

“Relax,” came a low, familiar voice, its velvety tone tinged with amusement. “It’s just me.” You pull his hand away and whirl around, your expression a mix of relief and exasperation. “You scared me half to death!” you whisper fiercely, mindful of the echoing corridors outside.—”

“Forgive me, my lady. I couldn’t resist.”

“This isn’t funny,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “If Mother knew you were here—”

“She’d lock you away again?” he finished, his smile fading as his brown eyes softened. “I know. That’s why I had to see you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you trapped in that room, alone, while she wields her control over you.”

His words sent a rebellious spark through you, a flicker of validation in the face of your mother’s suffocating expectations. But just as quickly, the reality of your situation weighed it down. “Alaric, you shouldn’t be here,” you whispered, glancing nervously at the door. “If Aemond finds out…”

At the mention of your brother, Alaric’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening. “Aemond won’t find out. And even if he did, I’m not afraid of him.”

“You should be,” you murmured, your voice barely audible. “He’d kill you if he thought—”

“That I cared for you?” Alaric said quietly, his gaze piercing.

Your breath caught, and you looked away, heat rising to your cheeks. “You shouldn’t care for me,” you muttered. “It’s not safe—for either of us.”

“And yet, here I am,” he said softly, his hand reaching out to tilt your chin up, his touch gentle but insistent. “I don’t care about the risk, (your name). I’d rather face Aemond’s sword and your mother’s wrath than stay away from you.”

The weight of his words struck you, before you can stop yourself, you close the distance between you. Grabbing his arm, you pull him back, your heart pounding. His eyes widen in surprise, but he doesn’t hesitate. His hands find your waist as you lean in, and his lips meet yours in a kiss that drowns out every rule, every fear, and every consequence.

It wasn’t just a kiss—it was desperation and lust, a silent scream against the forces trying to pull you apart. For a fleeting moment, the world dissolved. No Mother. No Aemond. No suffocating expectations. Just Alaric and the reckless hope he represented.

When you finally pulled away, your breaths came fast, and your cheeks burned. Alaric’s eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak, his thumb brushing the curve of your jaw.

“I…” you started, but your words faltered.

His lips curved into a faint smile, tender yet resolute. “Say the word, and I’ll stay. No matter what.”

You shook your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “No. Not tonight. But… tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he echoed, one brow lifting in curiosity.

“Here,” you said firmly. “The same time, the same place. I’ll find a way.”

He studied you for a moment, as if weighing the risk against the determination in your eyes. Then, he nodded. “Tomorrow, then.”

With a final lingering kiss to your forehead, he stepped back toward the window. “Don't let her break you. Be careful, (your name).”

“You too,” you whispered, watching him slip into the night, his silhouette vanishing into the shadows.

As the quiet of the chamber settled around you, your fingers brushed your lips, the memory of his kiss still vivid. The enormity of what had happened began to sink in, but instead of fear, a strange exhilaration coursed through you.

The following day dawns with an air of tension you can’t quite shake. As you dress for your morning lessons, the memory of last night lingers like a forbidden dream. You replay every word, every touch, every moment with Alaric, but reality presses in too soon.

When you enter the dining hall for breakfast, Alicent’s gaze immediately locks onto you. Her expression is stiff, and her tone, when she speaks, carries a sharp edge.

“Sit,” she says curtly, her eyes flicking toward the chair opposite her.

You do as instructed, lowering yourself into the seat. Aemond is already there, silent but watchful as always, and Viserys occupies his usual place at the head of the table. His expression, however, is uncharacteristically lively this morning, his gaze softening when it lands on you.

“Good morning, my dear,” Viserys says warmly, his voice cutting through the tension.

“Good morning, Father,” you reply, a cautious smile tugging at your lips.

He waves a hand dismissively toward the plate before you. “Eat well. And don’t worry about that ridiculous punishment. You’re free to go about your day as you please.”

You blink in surprise, your fork pausing mid-air. Alicent stiffens visibly, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Viserys—” she begins, her voice tightly controlled, but he raises a hand to silence her.

“She’s done nothing to warrant being locked away, Alicent,” he says firmly, though his tone remains even. “Our daughter is a credit to this family. She carries herself with grace and dignity, and I won’t have her treated like some wayward child.”

Alicent’s hands clench in her lap, her composure barely holding. “It’s not about grace or dignity. It’s about discipline. She’s been sneaking off—”

“And you dealt with it, as you always do,” Viserys interrupts, his tone softening but leaving no room for argument. “But she’s learned her lesson, hasn’t she?” He glances at you with a fatherly smile.

“Yes, Father,” you reply quietly, your gaze lowering to avoid Alicent’s piercing stare.

“Good, then it’s settled.” Viserys returns to his meal, clearly considering the matter closed.

The tension at the table is palpable as Alicent pointedly cuts her food, the sound of her knife scraping against the plate unnervingly loud. Aemond exchanges a glance with you, a subtle flicker of support in his eye, but says nothing.

After breakfast, Alicent corners you just outside the hall, her voice low and sharp.

“Your father may see you as flawless, but perfection comes with a cost,” she hisses, her gaze cold. “You will not jeopardise what we’ve worked so hard to build with your recklessness.”

You swallow hard, nodding quickly. “Yes, Mother.”

Her glare intensifies, her tone biting. “You are the model of what a princess should be, and you will act accordingly. The court looks to you for inspiration, and I will not have them see weakness. Your lessons will continue, every one of them, and I will ensure your Septa does not coddle you.”

“Yes, Mother,” you reply, your voice steady but soft.

She studies you for a moment longer before sweeping away, her skirts rustling angrily behind her. The encounter leaves you standing tall, not because of fear, but because you know the weight of perfection that has been placed upon you—a weight you have always borne with grace.

The day stretches on, a never-ending cycle of lessons and expectations. Each moment is meticulously scheduled, a testament to your role as the perfect princess. Etiquette lessons are followed by hours spent discussing history, with each lecture becoming more and more of a blur. Valyrian is mastered with grace, the elegant words flowing from your lips as if they were second nature. The pressure to be flawless weighs heavily on you, but you bear it with an air of calm, never allowing it to show.

Throughout it all, Alicent remains a constant presence. She watches your every move, her sharp gaze never leaving you. You know she is pleased with your progress, but there is always a lingering sense of expectation in the air, as if the tiniest misstep would undo everything.

Even as you move from one task to another, the thought of Alaric flickers at the edges of your mind. The stolen kiss, the promise made—these moments linger in your thoughts like a secret thread woven through the fabric of your day. You push the thoughts aside, knowing you must focus on your duties. There is no room for distractions, not when you must remain perfect in every way.

Lunch comes and goes, a quiet affair with your family. You speak with your mother and Aegon, though your words are carefully measured. They don’t know—none of them do—but you catch Aegon’s eyes occasionally, a silent understanding passing between you. Afterward, you attend more lessons, this time under your mother’s watchful eye. Her gaze is always on you, sharp and piercing, but there’s also an unspoken encouragement there. She expects greatness, and you deliver it.

As the afternoon wanes, you move to your final task of the day: another meeting with Alicent. She inspects your progress with a critical eye, praising the things you’ve done well and reminding you of the things that still need perfecting. Her voice is firm, but there’s a gentleness there, too, the kind that only a mother can convey.

The hours pass like this, one after another, each duty completed to the highest standard. Finally, the evening arrives, and with it, the promise of a brief respite. Dinner with the family is a quiet affair, the room filled with the soft clinking of utensils and murmured conversation. You eat in silence, your mind elsewhere.

Afterward, you retire to your chambers. You change into your nightgown, the fabric cool against your skin. You look in the mirror for a moment, seeing the poised princess staring back at you. No mistakes. No cracks in the façade. Everything has been handled with perfect care.

You make your way to the bath chambers, the solitude of the corridors a small comfort. As you approach the door, you hear a voice from behind.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Alicent’s voice is sharp, and you freeze mid-step.

Turning slowly, you face her, the tension building in the air. “I’m going to take a bath, Mother,” you answer calmly, offering her a small, composed smile.

Alicent looks you over, her gaze lingering on your attire. “In that? Why are you dressed like that? You know it’s improper to go without the servants’ help.” Her tone is questioning, but not unkind.

“I didn’t want to trouble them, Mother,” you reply smoothly. “I thought I would go on my own this time, just to... clear my thoughts.”

Alicent studies you for a moment, her expression unreadable. “Very well,” she says, her voice softening slightly. “But you must remember to call for help if you need it. Don’t forget your place, (your name).”

You nod quickly. “Of course, Mother. I won’t be long.”

She gives you one last scrutinising look before nodding, satisfied for the moment. “See that you don’t. You’ve done well today, but there’s always more to be done. I’ll be watching.”

With that, she turns and walks away, leaving you alone in the quiet of the corridor. You exhale slowly, the tension in your body relaxing. Without another word, you slip into the bath chambers, and then you hear a sound outside the window. It’s him.

You approach the window, heart racing, and peek through the gap in the curtains. Alaric stands there, his presence unmistakable even in the dim light. His gaze meets yours, and the weight of the promise you made to each other the night before hangs in the air. The excitement builds in you as you move away from the window, quickly securing the door.

Moments later, the door creaks open just enough to reveal Alaric slipping inside, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you. His gaze lingers on your nightgown, the soft fabric clinging to your form in the dim light. You feel his eyes on you, heat rising in your chest. Neither of you speaks immediately—words are unnecessary now. The anticipation crackles between you, and it’s clear that tonight will be different.

He steps closer, the air thick with tension, and the space between you is filled with a promise of more. You meet his gaze, your heart pounding with the realization of everything you’re about to risk. But you don't care, and you know that neither does he. Without a word, you begin to unlace the ties of your nightgown, letting it fall to the floor at your feet, leaving yourself exposed completely to him. He watches you, his gaze intense, and then, without hesitation, he closes the distance between you. His lips crash against yours in a kiss that’s both hungry and desperate, a mix of desire and an unspoken understanding of the consequences. The kiss deepens, pulling you both into the moment, where nothing else matters but the heat between you, a connection neither of you can deny.

“Wait, I don’t want to be impure, even if I love you too much, and I need you so much that even words can’t describe it,” you say, voice trembling with a mix of desire and guilt. “I don’t want to disappoint my family by being impure before the wedding.”

Alaric watches you, his eyes dark with an intensity that both comforts and unsettles you. Even though you know he’s hungry, his gaze softens with concern, a frown tugging at his features. “Then don’t do it,” he says, his voice low and steady, almost like a promise. “We can always do other things.”

His words are a balm to your anxious heart, yet there’s something deeper in his tone, an unspoken suggestion that he’s willing to go to great lengths to keep you safe, to protect you—his obsession so deeply rooted in his care for you, and yet, there's a hint of something darker behind his gaze.

You hesitate, your hands shaking slightly as you look away, unsure if his care for you is truly all it seems. "But what if... what if I'm not enough for you?"

Alaric steps closer, his presence overwhelming as he lifts your chin gently with one hand. "You are more than enough," he says, his voice softer now, almost a whisper. "And no matter what happens, I'll make sure you're never alone."

His lips brush your forehead in a tender gesture, but the warmth doesn't quite reach your heart. You can feel the weight of his gaze, the unspoken promise of his love—and perhaps something more—pressing on you.

"You don't need to worry," he adds, his words both comforting and possessive. "I'll take care of everything. You just need to trust me."

And before you can say anything, he runs his hand down your body, touching your tits, your belly, all the way down to your private parts. You feel his fingers on your clitoris, circling, you want to moan, but before you do, his other hand goes to your mouth. As his head moves down your neck, kissing and sucking, but not leaving any marks. You were feeling so good, you don't know what he is doing down there and then he move away his hand of your mouth, and grabs yours, and guide to his dick and star to make moves.

"Just let me make you feel good too, all right, my lady?" Alaric’s voice is soft yet commanding, a tone that leaves no room for doubt.

You nod silently, your mind hazy and overwhelmed. You don’t fully understand what you’re doing; all you know is that you feel so good, so utterly consumed by the moment, that everything else fades into the background.

You barely notice what he’s doing with your hand or how quickly he’s guiding it. His touch is deliberate, firm, yet somehow gentle enough to keep you entranced.

You don’t have any idea what’s happening; the world around you blurs into pleasure and nothingness. All you know is the sensation—the warmth spreading through you, the dizzying rush of emotions—and the way he looks at you, as if you’re the only thing that matters in his entire world.

Pt. 4 >> (Coming Soon)

Author’s note: My apologies for the delay, I’ve had a busy few months, but I’m here now, and I hope to release part 4 very soon. Tomorrow, I’ll be posting some headcanons that I hope you’ll enjoy.

Taglist: @ursinaw @dakota-rain666 @laura-naruto-fan1998 @pookiedragonfire @jjggdfvvy @maryldrsstuff @1soultaken @ceramic-raven @eissaaaa @moodyblueberrytree @xadaboo @labryel @zoeyburton @hopingtoclearmedschool

[cloudshuffle]

spending time. yan!penacony

nobility au

Prince Aventurine

You consciously spend the most time with him by far - from the moment you open your eyes, there's breakfast, tea parties, lunches with him alone and dinners with his family. Up till the very moment he escorts you back to your room, leaving you with a kiss on the back of your hand at the door, you spend nearly every waking moment by Aventurine's side. It's undeniably comforting in many ways, knowing that you can rely on a familiar face if anything else.

But on the other hand, it's a little... suffocating. He's absolutely lovely towards you, but there's a certain way he looks at you - like he can't decide whether you'd look better in a birdcage or in a wedding gown.

Dr Veritas Ratio

Though not nearly as important as the prince himself, you're not spared from the pain of compulsory lessons - to get acclimatised to the history and politics of your home-to-be, so you're told. Your lessons are the few times you're apart from Aventurine (though not for lack of him trying to sit in. Ratio tells him he'll be a distraction and threatens to hit him with a book.)

He's a strict but frighteningly effective teacher, and you leave every lesson happy and knowing something new. He can be surprisingly kind too, giving you some leeway if you had a social engagement the night before and hadn't had time to revise.

Until butler Sunday comes looking for you in an urgent summon, citing a situation that relates to you personally. On your way, he tells you that he's never seen the professor so gentle with any of his students before, and that he never spends so much time on anyone personally.

You're not quite sure what to do with this information.

Sunday

You don't spend so much time with him as you do around him - he's a constant, lurking presence, waiting to attend to Aventurine when he's around, or looking after you when the prince gets busy and can't be by your side.

He's more unsettling than his prince is, and a lot more perceptive; but nonetheless, you find yourself making small talk with him sometimes. Sunday appears to gain special joy from fetching and carrying for you: making your favourite teas and cakes or perusing the library with you. Unusual for a butler, Sunday talks a lot, but you're content to listen and he offers you insights on a vast host of topics.

Boothill

A famous bounty hunter slash mercenary, with too-sharp teeth and a too-bright grin. He's charming but kind, and his company brings you some semblance of the days where you could walk the streets without need of a bodyguard. You're not naive enough to get close to him, however - everyone knows bounty hunters have their fair share of secrets, and you're sure so does he. You're not really sure what important things he might be doing in the palace, however, except for finishing all the toast at breakfast and following you around like he has nothing better to do.

Boothill spends most his days lounging around the gardens, shaving an apple with his knife and generally just giving the maids a scare. But when Aventurine can't be by your side, he tends to "just happen" to bump into you, quoting boredom and needing someone to pass the time with him. You let him accompany you to the library then, and tell him about inconsequential things, like the interesting bird you saw outside your window that morning or the new variety of Ratio's threats and insults.

[goldsbitch]

Past lives

Charles Leclerc is opening an ice-cream shop...And nobody knows why.

romantic, soulmate au, one shot, short

"Past lives couldn't ever hold me down Lost love is sweeter when it's finally found I've got the strangest feeling This isn't our first time around" - Past Lives, Børns

It's the little things that resonate for no apparent reason.

The fact he would always lean towards a perfume with bergamot undertones - because ages ago, the love of his life was obsessed with bergamot tea.

The fact she would have the windows open at any possible occasion - because in her past, she and the love of her life lived in a small house at the top of a windy hill.

The fact he hated alcohol, because in one their lifetimes, the love of his life drowned her sorrows a little too often and lost herself in it.

The fact she could not watch war time movies, because in one of their past lives he died tragically, and a little too early for them to build a proper life together.

They did not get to meet in each life. But when they did, it was one for the history books. Not the ones about grandiose, history changing events, but the little sweet ones, usually to be found at the back of the antique bookstores. The mundane miracles that are hard to describe to the unlucky ones, who do not get to experience them. Some of them end up with a happy end, some of them with the biggest life lessons human soul can swallow.

It's the strange feeling of "I belong here" or "I think this will taste good". Why? Because you had seen it in the past, because you had been there in a different life time.

Fate plays a funny little game. Has one and their soulmate born just in time for them to be able to find each other, but likes to put obstacles in between. Distance, social barriers, conflicting dreams.

This kind of love leaves traces around the history. Songs, poems, buildings and initials carved into stones and benches. Wedding rings passed on in families and eventually sold once everyone has forgotten. Portraits of unknown faces and photos found at the bottom of old wardrobes. The ancient piping in an old house that still works because he built it for her to live in.

The soul keeps a memory, unreachable to the simple mind of the body, as it travelled from one lifetime to another.

That's how she found herself staring at a random, actually not that important, painting hung in a gallery exhibition dedicated to landscapes from the romantic era. She wasn't exactly a galleries type of person, but a girls trip to Paris had to include something more than parties and shopping. She stood there for good five minutes, totally mesmerised by a painting that did not particularly stood out from the rest. Little did she know that the silhouette standing in the field was one of her past self and that the painting had been done by her soulmate in one of their luckier past lives. It was like she could smell the summer weeds growing, hear the ground under her feet and understood what the author wanted to capture. And he was successful enough to capture the attention of his love throughout centuries once again. As her friends dragged her away to end their artsy part of their trip, she made sure to mark the name of the artist.

For some inexplicable reason, Charles Leclerc, in this life a racing driver, was opening an ice cream shop in in Milan. It probably would have made more sense to everyone, himself included, if he'd known that in one of their luckier past lives, he and his soulmate met in a small café in that city, few decades before that. He would come in one day, order an ice-cream and then did not stop coming until he managed to charm her.

[batboyblog]

I have this low level fantasy, how that all the shit is happening and Trump signed the mega transphobia EO, and is sending ICE to elementary schools and arresting Americans, and tried to take away birth right citizenship, and force all the public health and medical research of the US government to shut down and his getting rid of black history month and so on and so forth.

I have this fantasy that the young people who fell for anti-Democrat propaganda will learn a life long lesson that even if the Democrat running for office isn't their favorite cup of tea, it sure beats being forced to drink liquid shit.

of course sadly I know in my heart most of them will learn nothing and will either not know about this stuff because TikTok is now controlled by Trump allies and won't spoon feed them stories about Trump's evil, or if they do know about it they'll be so brainwashed they'll claim that Democrats would have gotten rid of the trans rights they passed or they'll be mad that Democrats didn't stop it through witchcraft or something. And when all else fails "they need to earn my vote" they did earn it by saying they wouldn't brutally victimize people while the fascist party said they would, duh.

[licorice-and-rum]

My response to some "critics" about Babel

Okay, I'm gonna start by saying this: English is not my first language so I may commit some spelling and grammar mistakes here but I felt like I just had to write this down, especially because of the negative reviews this book has that just… didn't get it.

Don't get me wrong, of course you're allowed to not like this book, I recognize that it's most certainly not gonna be everyone's cup of tea but some of the people here just didn't get what this book was all about. Babel isn't a fantasy like ACOTAR, or HP, or whatever (in the sense that, for those, the story guides the message while Babel is the contrary): like many classical books, Babel was written to make a point, it's a romance, sure, but it was written to argue for something - the necessity of violence.

So, first of all: Babel is a historical fantasy, it talks about colonialism, racism, sexism, and other matters with no qualms, no embellishing to make it digestible, no allegories or metaphors because this isn't the point. Kuang's "lack of nuance" as someone here pointed out is very deliberate and extremely important for the story because the points she wants to make are always lost in nuance (just think how many people go on misinterpreting Star Wars, Hunger Games, or even anti-system songs like The Wall ffs), and the message is too important to get lost in allegories.

Second, as to the story, many people seem to think what she's pointing out is obvious "ur dur colonialism is bad, we get it". No, you clearly don't. There's a profound difference between getting it and actually comprehending it to an elemental level. Robin's travel to Canton illustrates that perfectly: he knew that colonialism was bad, he knew it was violent but he didn't comprehend it until he was forced to face it happening in front of him - to people who could've been easily him. More than that, because that was when he finally connected the theory with the reality, it became palpable to him.

It's not enough to get it, you have to actually stay attuned to it, to feel the flow of its violence throughout the world because then, and only then, I'll realize you can't be complacent, you can't turn your head from it. And Babel is an attempt, however tiny, of showing this to you. Of telling you "Look, you're ignoring it, the discomfort you felt reading this is your conscience telling you you relate to that". So no, I refuse to accept that Kuang should have been more nuanced: she was as clear as she could because she knows people say they get it but they don't, not really.

Third, the magical system is just chef's kiss. I've seen many people complaining about it but the thing is: the silver working is not about having magic in the world, it's about creating a palpable, material place where Kuang could center her attention as she talked about the economic aspect of colonialism. That's because colonial power is not centered in one place or thing, it is scattered all around but you can't hardly make a point like Babel's if you have your characters fighting off colonialism in all corners of the world. Like the Capital in the Hunger Games, Babel is a material place that symbolizes something.

Moreover, the silver working symbolizes the Industrial Revolution and its need for the advance of colonialism. More than that, silver-working is about capital, it's about technology to generate more profit, quicker, for a specific class that doesn't care who they have to kill to continue, doesn't care whether it is good or bad for the common folk.

Fourth, many people pointed out how academic Kuang's writing style felt during Babel and they're right, it is indeed very identifiable. I'm sure I even commented something along the lines of "it feels like I'm having the best History lesson of all time". But I'm going to challenge people who say things against the notion that the historical description of Kuang was unnecessary: every time Kuang chose to give the readers historical context has served somehow to the narrative.

I remember early on in the book when Robin was still a teen walking through London and reading anything he could put his hands on, and then we get two paragraphs of historical and political context for the time, then Robin comments that he didn't understand why this mattered so much. That paragraph served so much, both because it made us know a little more about Robin and because it served to make us understand the profound environmental change England was going through at the time.

And every time she did this, it served for something. Again, Babel is a historical fantasy, it is supposed to make you think about the point Kuang is trying to make but you won't understand it if you don't know the context of which Robin and the other characters in the book are coming from. It was a time of decision: either England would consolidate itself as an almost all-powerful oppressor, or it could go down… if the oppressed people - who share a common enemy - understood their responsibility to do something.

The strikes of the English working class, the violent acts of rioters, the advancement in technology, the possibility of the Opium War, the colonialism… it's all important. It's important because it allows us to understand the deep connection between it all. It allows us to understand who profits off of it, and who doesn't; who is able to understand and who isn't. It's why Letty is upper-class. It's why Abel isn't.

It's not as simple as some people think to understand colonialism, the flows through which one thing is tied to another. Why do people ask "How does this affect me?" when we point out deeply unfair things like unpaid maternity leave (I actually saw an American once saying she "wouldn't want her tax money to go to someone who didn't plan through"), like the fact people starve when we have the ability to feed a world and a half, of that Palestine is going through ethnic cleansing? Because they are unable to understand how closely their lives are tied to other peoples they have never met and probably never will.

Kuang's message is not "colonialism is bad", she's saying "These are all the forms through which colonialism is bad to everyone but a few, do something about it", she's saying "Every single one of your struggles is tied together in more ways than you even understand. A person in Haiti, in China, in India, in the other side of the world, has more to do with you than these white rich people, fight with them, stand with them."

Fifth, I can't believe I gotta say this but I'm not going to even bother with you if you think this book is somehow "anti-white": just get over your main character syndrome. We're talking about a historical fantasy set in England in the epitome of colonialism through the eyes of a person of color. Of course, most white people are gonna be bad, get over yourself ffs!

The actual entitlement to the protagonism white people have is maddening. As a white woman (in Brazil, at least), I'm ashamed of some comments here. It's not because white people in this book are majorly racist (which, according to the setting is 100% accurate) that Kuang is talking about you (although, if you're so bothered by it, it's probably about you anyway). This is a book about the experience of people of color under the oppression of colonialism: white people are the problem!

You can't just expect someone to write about colonialism and not talk majorly about race. White people reap all the privileges of this system and not just that, they are responsible for it, and all the crying about being the bad guys is just insufferable (they're actually so right about having to console Letty once she learns about the racism they suffer).

Be f*ing accountable for your privileges, take responsibility for your internalized racism, and be accountable for the system that privileges you. It doesn't matter that it wasn't your fault, that you didn't set up the system, you still benefit from it anyway so get a grip. This story isn't about you at all, it isn't about how some white people fought against slavery or oppression, it isn't about you.

Let's be very clear about this: most white people who fought against slavery did so to serve their own interests, exactly as Kuang points out. This doesn't mean none of them were good people who actually believed slavery was bad but we're talking of a time when racism and racial discrimination weren't even discussed seriously. Most white people, even the ones against slavery would have a deeply ingrained racism in them, so get real.

More than that, though: if those people who actually have no shame in saying Babel is "anti-white" had actually read the book through, they would know that some white people actually help and are good people in the story.

Anyway, Babel is so good, it's so painfully real and so passionately well-written. You can feel Kuang's love for her people, the struggles of what it means to love something but still not be a part of it, the deep understanding of how the world works, and how intricately every single thing in our lives is.

I just felt so heard (as a person from a third-world country) reading Babel, like someone was telling me all this rage and indignation I feel is justified, it's valid. I just treasured it so much, how I identified with Robin's need for security contrasting with his indignation for the price of it; with the rage Griffin carried around him, sharpened and well-directed even in its volition; with the love Victoire had to learn to have for her country and its story; with all the pain I was able to share with someone who understood it.

It's an honor to allow words to change me so fundamentally. It's humbling to realize I'm not alone, that my actions and my feelings are shared by other people. It is really precious, you know, to be able to become a better person than I was before because of a book.

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Ooh so i was watching "Sawdes" And i thought what if desi reader and Lando watch that movie together and she explains all the small details to him, like the caste system and how rigid it was, and how it actually was in the villages and Lando's like very curious to know about India.

swades ⊹.˚🪞🕯️♡

ᡣ𐭩 ln x desi!reader ✬

ᡣ𐭩 fluff ✬

masterlist ☾☼

lando was sprawled out on the couch, legs stretched comfortably over the ottoman, a bowl of popcorn precariously balanced on his lap. the tv flickered with the opening credits of "swades," the soothing hum of the background score filling the cozy living room.

"so, what's this one about again?" lando asked, glancing at you with genuine curiosity.

you settle next to him, tucking your feet in under you. "it's a movie about this indian guy who works for nasa and then goes back to his roots and finds a need to give back to his community."

lando inclines his head. "sounds deep."

you smiled. "it is, but it's also very beautiful and so real."

as the movie started, you noticed lando's brows furrow slightly during the scenes that showed mohan—the protagonist—returning to his village. the dusty roads, the humble huts, and the villagers carrying out their daily routines seemed to intrigue him.

"wait, why's he sitting on the ground?" lando asked during a pivotal scene where a villager refused to sit on the same level as mohan.

you stopped the movie and turned to face him. "that's actually a huge part of india's history—the caste system. it's a strict social hierarchy that has been around for thousands of years. people were divided into different groups based on their jobs, and it determined where they could live, what they could do, and even who they could talk to."

lando's eyes widened. "seriously? that's awful. is it still like that now?"

"not officially," you said, picking at a stray thread on your sweater. "the indian government banned caste discrimination years ago, but in rural areas… it's complicated. traditions and mindsets don't change overnight."

he nodded slowly, digesting your words. "so that's why the guy didn't sit on the bench. he's… lower caste?"

"exactly," you said. "he probably grows up thinking he's not good enough for someone like mohan, who's educated and from the city. it's just sad."

lando sat back, scratching his head. "man, we brits really left a mess behind, huh?"

you snorted, unable to hold in the laugh that had begun to rise. "a bit of an understatement there, lando."

he grinned sheepishly. "alright, alright, point taken. i’ll add it to the list of things i’m apologizing for. right under the tea tax."

the movie continued, and you found yourself explaining more details to lando—how arranged marriages worked in rural India, why electricity and running water were still luxuries in many villages, and the deep cultural significance of festivals like dussehra. lando hung onto every word, his questions reflecting genuine interest.

"it's crazy to think about," he said during intermission. "like, i took so much stuff for granted-growing up—clean water, electricity, just even … being treated as an equal. and then this guy's coming to alter the way an entire village lives its life. inspiring,"

you smiled at him, a warmth spreading through your chest. "that's why i love this movie. it's not just a story; it's a reminder of where we come from and how much work there's still left to do."

"also a reminder that my ancestors were the worst," lando added, giving you a mock-serious look. "you're never letting me live this down, are you?"

"nope," you said, popping a piece of popcorn into your mouth. "you're stuck with me and my history lessons."

By the time the credits rolled, lando was wiping at his eyes, laughing sheepishly when you caught him. "alright, i'll admit… that hit harder than i expected."

you chuckled, leaning into his side. "told you it's a masterpiece."

he looked down at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. "you'll take me there one day, right? to india? i want to see it for myself."

your heart swelled at his sincerity. "absolutely. but only if you're ready for a sensory overload-the crowds, the colours, the chaos."

lando grinned. "bring it on. as long as i've got you to explain everything."

you smiled, reaching for his hand. "always."

you then realized just how lucky you were-to share a piece of your world with someone who cared enough to listen, to learn, and to embrace it wholeheartedly.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

i tried to add a little humour in this, but like, the movie itself is really serious, so i kept the fic a little serious too. i hope you like it! this is my prompt list, so y'all can select a number, give me a driver and i will write it as soon as possible! i also have a google form for a taglist if anyone's interested! you can sent in your requests here :)

taglist: @imlonelydontsendhelp ; @greantii ; @anamiad00msday ; @maketheshadowsfearyou ; @nocturnalherb16 ; @justaf1girl ; @peterholland04 ; @phobiccneel ; @winkev1

[archangeldyke-all]

Ever thought about knight!sevika x reader princess that she has to protect and sevika get feelings for her

eeeeeeek!!!

men and minors dni

you could kill your mom you're so angry. if it wouldn't get you hung for treason, you would.

"you can't be serious!" you shout. your mother rolls her eyes from where she sits at the head of the breakfast table. she's trying to assign you a personal guard-- another one. "mom, i'm not even next in line for the throne! i'm fifth! i barely ever leave the palace walls and i never get into trouble-- what was the point of all those fencing lessons you made me take if you won't even let me defend myself?"

"darling, i told you if you scared off the last one that i'd just get you a new one. you knew this would happen." she says. "it's what happens every time."

it's true. you've had countless personal guards since you turned 18. now that you're eligible for marriage your mother thinks it's imperative that you're constantly protected, lest you're kidnapped and married off to the prince of a rival kingdom. you wouldn't have such a problem with it if your mother stopped picking total assholes to fill the roll. you've endured man after man after man, all assigned to protect you, all complete idiots. some of them are unassigned from you for falling in love with you, some of them you caught sneaking glances at you while you change, the perverts. some of them are intimidated by you, angry that a woman can outwit them or unwilling to work for a woman with more intelligence than them. (which is ironic, considering they've sworn away their lives to serve your mother.)

after you got rid of the last one, sir samuel, you'd had a lovely month long break from having someone constantly following you around, and you figured your mother had given up her efforts. apparently, you were wrong.

"this is bullshit." you grumble. behind your mother, one of the fully armed faceless steel figures' shoulders shake in silent laughter.

"i think you'll like this one, darling, i took some time to find you the perfect match." your mother says with a smirk. you scoff.

"i can't believe this." you mumble. your mother raises her hand, beckoning one of her knights toward her. the tallest, the one who had been laughing, steps forward.

"sir sevika, this is my daughter. darling, sevika." your mother introduces. you roll your eyes.

"what kinda man is named se--" you trail off as the knight removes his steel helmet. "oh shit." you whisper. her steel helmet. it's a woman, chuckling at your shocked face. she's got a little gap between her front teeth, her lips and eyes painted black. her brown skin is clear besides the scars littering the left side of her face, and her silver eyes are sparkling. she's... pretty. you gulp.

"it's an honor to be serving you, princess." the woman speaks. you blink at her and nod.

"yes, well..." you trail off as your eyes dart across the knight's face. your mother chuckles, and shoots you a knowing look from across the table. you groan and sink into your seat.

sevika's the best personal guard you've ever had. she's only been assigned to you for three months, but in that short time she's quickly become your best friend.

she's the first thing you see each morning, lightly shaking you awake with a gentle smile and a cup of tea. the two of you chat as you get dressed, sevika sometimes helping you pick out your outfits, zipping dresses and tightening corsets for you. of course, you don't need the help, you've been dressing yourself for years (the royal esquires of dress are reserved only for your mother and oldest brother) but you prefer sevika's gentle touch to your own.

sevika's smart, well versed in history and politics. you enjoy taking breakfast on your balcony with her, picking her brain about current events as you share scones and fruit. in the presence of others sevika is silent and stoic, and when she's required to talk she keeps her answers brief and curt. but when it's just the two of you, sevika lets her gruff guard down, joking and playing and constantly chatting with you. she's gotten you in trouble several times, leaning down to whisper scathing comments about various nobles into your ear at balls and galas, causing you to unattractively snort and giggle and then elbow her when your mother shoots you a glare from across the dinner table.

sevika's the first of your personal guards to ever agree to spar with you. the rest refused-- too scared to injure a princess, or convinced that a woman would never be able to hold her own against a royal knight. sevika's better than you by a mile, but she tones down her skill to scrimmage with you, teaching you as she goes, smiling brightly each time you manage to catch her off guard and get a good jab in.

on rainy days, you spend your afternoons in the royal library, reading to sevika or having her read to you by the roaring fire. one or both of you always falls asleep against each other, waking up when a servant finds you for dinner.

in the evenings, sevika 'guards' you as you bathe, her back turned to you, her face toward the door. you always laugh and tell her it's completely unnecessary-- both the guarding and the modesty-- but she insists.

she leaves you in your room each night with a gentle bow and a 'sweet dreams, princess,' and every night you asleep looking forward to the next morning, when you'll get to see your friend's face again.

you're in love with sevika. it's obvious to everyone except her. your mother teases you for it relentlessly; how you fell for the first woman she put on your guard, how you look at your knight with lovesick puppy eyes, the way you sulk on sevika's days off when a replacement guard takes her place.

"she'd be a good addition to the family." your mother whispers to you one evening as you dance together in the ballroom. you try to bite back the smile the words cause to form on your lips. your mother chuckles as she spins you.

"i don't think she feels that way about me." you admit. your mother scoffs. "what?" you ask.

"you were able to clock sir henry's crush on you before he could even complete his first week as your guard. where's that discernment, dear?" she asks. you chuckle.

"sir henry kept 'accidentally' walking in on me naked. sevika won't even look at me when i'm in the bath, covered in bubbles." you say. your mother rolls her eyes.

"sevika is a gentlewoman. you're a princess. sir henry came from a family of nobles, he was a presumptuous, power hungry boy. sevika's different, you know that." she says. you sigh, resting your forehead against your mother's shoulder as she sways the two of you around the ballroom.

she's right. sevika is different. you know this. sevika's parents were peasants, and she worked her way up the ranks with countless sacrifices and patience. she'd given her arm to protect your kingdom, to protect your mother. she was a genuine, loyal, knight, not some pretentious asshole playing dress up on his daddy's dime.

"still." you say. "she hasn't shown any interest in me." your mother laughs. you frown at her. "what?" you ask.

"you're a princess dear! she works for you. she's sworn her life away to protect you, to make you happy, to make all of your wishes come true. she's not going to show interest until you make it abundantly clear that you want her to show interest." she says. "your father was so scared approaching me when we were young that he--"

"i know. he spent years painting you before he even spoke a word to you." you say. you've heard the story countless times. your father was the royal artist, deeply in love with your mother when she was still a princess.

"but do you know what gave him the courage to finally speak to me?" your mom asks.

"no." you say. she grins.

"i kissed him. he'd just finished a portrait of me, it was so beautiful and detailed, and he had that proud look about him, his adorable shy smile, his beautiful sparkling eyes-- i just had to kiss him. and once i did, he came to life. not a day has passed since then where he hasn't made it abundantly clear how much he loves me."

you sigh. you suppose she's right. sevika would never do something to betray her duties or risk her position-- at least not without a bit of a push first. you bite your lip. "you're sure she feels the same?" you ask. the last thing you want to do is make a fool of yourself trying to seduce your personal guard and lose your best friend because of it. your mother laughs a loud bellowing laugh that echoes throughout the ballroom. you smile. even though she's laughing at you, it's good to hear her laugh.

"oh darling." she says as she brushes a few tears away from her eyes and catches her breath. "i needed that. whew. thank you." she says, pressing a kiss to your cheek. you chuckle and roll your eyes.

"whatever."

"i'm certain, darling. and, on the off chance i'm wrong, i'll hang her for breaking my baby's heart." she says. you laugh, and kiss your mother's cheek.

sevika is tall and handsome and charming and suave. she's courageous and composed-- she could have anyone she wants.

and yet she's speechless and flustered each time you flirt with her.

it's adorable. it gives you butterflies, seeing her react so strongly to your gentle touches and longing gazes.

the first time it happened was the morning after your chat with your mom. that night, after sevika had left your chambers with her usual bow, you quickly changed out of the cozy night gown you were dressed in, dawning a sheer, short sleep dress and giggling as you climbed in bed. you tossed and turned that night, eager for the sun to rise and for sevika to come wake you up. eventually, you fell asleep.

you awoke to a crash and a curse. snapping up in bed, you gawked at the scene you found on the floor beside you. sevika was flat on her back on the floor, the teacup that had been in her hands is in pieces on the floor, and sevika's eyes were wide, her mouth open, gawking at you. you giggled and pushed your covers away, carefully avoiding the shards of porcelain as you helped sevika to her feet.

a blush crept up her cheeks as her eyes darted down to look at your naked body, clearly visible under the thin lace fabric of your pajamas. "you okay?" you asked. she choked, her eyes snapping back up to yours.

"y-yeah. tripped." she stuttered out.

oh, this is gonna be fun. you thought with a chuckle.

since then, you've been laying it on thick. holding sevika's hand as the two of you walk down the winding halls of the palace, letting her tackle you to the ground during your fencing practices to sling your hands around her shoulders and blink up at her, kissing her cheek each night before she leaves your chambers.

sevika's been reacting the same, blushing, stuttering and gulping, before nervously laughing and shaking her head. it's killing you. as adorable as it is, you're dying for her to just fucking do something about it already. you don't know what else you can do besides throwing yourself at her.

you sigh, sinking into the couch. you're in the library, hoping that the smell of books and dust can calm your sexual frustrations. it's not working, of course, because sevika's sitting beside you, a furrow in her brow as her eyes scan a scroll. you bite your lip. she's so fucking pretty it drives you crazy. you reach your hand up to start playing with her hair, twirling the short soft strands around your fingers. sevika's body stiffens next to you. you sigh again.

"you're so pretty." you whisper. sevika blinks down at the scroll, then, she shyly looks over at you. you smile.

"so are you." she says, her voice just as quiet. you chuckle.

"you think so?" you ask. sevika nods. you sigh.

"what?" she asks. you shrug.

"i dunno. there's someone i've been trying to court and they don't seem to be interested." you say. sevika sputters beside you.

"who!?" she demands. you chuckle.

"why would i tell you that?"

"so i can beat some sense into them!" she says. you grin.

"i don't think that would work. she's pretty clueless." you say. your choice in pronoun doesn't go unnoticed. sevika freezes beside you.

"she?" she asks.

"...is that a problem?" you ask. sevika gulps and shakes her head.

"no! i just-- i didn't know."

"you didn't know!?" you exclaim. sevika shrugs. you burst into laughter. sevika huffs beside you.

"it's not that funny."

"it's hilarious!" you giggle. "everything makes sense now!" you say.

"what-- what are you talking about?" sevika asks. you roll your eyes.

"what do you think i've been doing, sev? you think i just like sleeping in lingerie for no reason?" you ask as you slowly scoot closer to her on the couch. "or that i kiss all my friends goodnight?"

"i thought-- what are you saying?" sevika asks, her eyes wide, her knuckles white where she's clutching the cushion beneath her.

"take a guess." you whisper, your face inches from hers.

sevika bites her lip, her eyes darting from your lips to your eyes and back again, her breaths are shaky. "princess, i don't--"

"oh, for fuck's sake, sevika." you groan as you pull her forward and press your lips to hers.

sevika's stiff at first, inhaling a shaky surprised breath through her nose, before she melts against the couch and lets out the sweetest little moan against you. you giggle against her lips, and her arms wrap around your waist, pulling you into her lap as she parts her lips to kiss you deeper. you bury one hand into her hair, the other clutching her bicep as your tongues meet and you moan against each other. sevika's grip on your hips is bruising, and it's making you light headed. you whimper, and sevika pulls away with the brightest smile you've ever seen her wear. you grin.

"oh." she says. "it's me?" she asks, her eyes dreamy and her smile disbelieving. you giggle and kiss her again.

"yeah. is that okay?" you ask. sevika gulps and nods.

"yeah. yes. very okay." she says. "i--" she pauses. you raise your eyebrow at her and she takes a deep breath. slowly, her hands run up your waist, until they're cupping your jaw. sevika brings your face forward until your foreheads are pressed together, her thumbs rubbing across your cheeks in gentle sweeps. "i was ready to kill whoever was fuckin' with your heart." she says. you chuckle against her.

"please don't. i'm kinda obsessed with you." you say. sevika smirks.

"your mom won't mind?"

"she's the one who told me to go for it. i think she was playing matchmaker when she was lookin' for sir samuel's replacement." you admit. sevika giggles.

"that explains all the weird questions she asked me. what side of the bed i sleep on and whether or not i was single." she says. after a moment of shared laughter, sevika frowns. you can feel her brow furrow against yours, and you dart forward to kiss the pout off her lips.

"what?" you ask. sevika sighs.

"i don't-- i don't know how the whole royal courting thing goes." she admits. you laugh.

"i'll help you through it."

"i know, but can i do something out of order now?" she asks. you smirk.

"depends on what it is. i feel like my bed might be more comfortable than this cou--"

"no!" she interrupts, scandalized. "i mean yes, please, obviously, but that's not--" you cut her off with another kiss, and she sighs against you. "i'm in love with you, your highness." she whispers. "i have been since i first laid eyes on you. i remember it so clearly, you were bitching at your mom and begging her not to assign you a new guard and i thought this'll be a breeze. i'd happily lay down my life for a woman like her."

the butterflies in your stomach soar, and tears well up in your eyes. you take a shaky breath and smile. "my knight in shining armor." you whisper. "i love you too."

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa

[notahorseindisguise]

australian history lesson. when white people came and colonised australia, they had a policy of assimilation with the Aboriginal people who were here first. eventually as part of this the government tried to, quote "breed out" peoples Aboriginality. they took any Aboriginal children that they thought could pass as white from their homes, and tried to raise them white. it was an attempted cultural genocide. because of this, Aboriginal people today range from black to white. but that does NOT make them any less Aboriginal. if you call an Aboriginal person who looks white "white" youre an arsehole. and a fucking racist. and thats why nobody is called "mixed". if you have a single drop of Aboriginal blood, you are Aboriginal. theres a quote from a doco we watched once in class where they go "Aboriginality is like tea. you can add milk and sugar to it, but its still tea."

[lilia-calderus-pet-goat]

Headcanons for a³'s coven of chaos, part 6, Lilia's history edition:

(previous part of headcanons, here.)

Lilia wasn't born into sicilian aristocracy. She was born in the carpathian mountains. Her parents were romani, victims of persecution, and so she was orphaned & taken in by her maestra.

As a little girl, Lilia was insanely self-conscious, shy and withdrawn.

She used to have a pet goat. Hence my username. Now, she's upset that it's become some sort of satanic-associated stereotype that witches talk to goats.

When she started showing signs of her forgetfulness, her visions, her flashes—people will have treated her as 'defective' and 'faulty.' One of those kids that just 'isn't very bright.'

She hated the texture of those darn dresses. Her Maestra eventually noticed her discomfort and passed down the shirt and coat we see her wear on the road—since the costume designer said they were indeed passed down to her.

Her maestra taught her how to sew, knit—and a great deal of sicilian, Italian and greek recipes. Her maestra enjoyed cooking, and she enjoyed drinking tea.

Her maestra also taught her a little pan flute. It was many years kater that she studied the zills by herself. She had a lot of free time as a hermit, okay?

She'd get easily distracted, she wouldn't pay attention when others spoke. She'd struggle with eye-contact. Her voice would trail off. Once in a while, she'd get really excited about something and go on a long rant, until breathless—which would be met with judgement. She'd space out and others would laugh at her.

But despite the fact she was considered strange, even by her sister witches—her covenmates did love her. Like you live siblings even as you tease them—and she was one of the youngest, if not the youngest.

The maestra was undoubtedly a strict, no-nonsense woman. But she was also the first, perhaps the only person, who sat down to understand Lilia's unique condition. Whenever she'd catch her 'visiting,' which was often, she would focus on guiding & keeping her calm.

She was desperate to toughen Lilia up, seeing how afraid and insecure she was. The maestra worried for her and didn't want her to end uo helpless. So, she taught her everything she knows—like a mother—even if everyone else thought she was wasting time, since Lilia struggled a lot initially. (“tea-leaves, i was bad at tea-leaves...”)

Lilia's Maestra had known about the fever that will wipe out their coven since before little Lilia hot the vision—since on their first lesson, 450 year old Lilia time-slipping from the Witch's Road told her. Despite this, the maestra didn't tell Lilia, because having seen how dark and sad her future is, she wanted her to feel safe and happy for a little while longer.

The first time Lilia met Jen (and afterwards, the rest of them) was exactly then. As adult Lilia was talking to her maestra, little Lilia was in the tunnels, experiencing her life out of sequence as she always had. She simply couldn't remember the flashes of her future coven or make sense of anything.

Lilia tried to warn everyone of the fever despite the fact it was set in stone, because of her own denial. None of her covenmates believed her—'Looney Lilia is at it again'—but her maestra, who already knew it would happen, simply repeated that death comes for us all.

Lilia would see Rio all the time in her full-skull form when she was young, in flashes. Rio's been following her! She thinks they're besties! Lilia is scared shitless!

Lilia's first girlfriend was one of the Doñas de fuera. In the historical folklore of Sicily, Doñas de fuera (Spanish for "Ladies from the Outside"; Sicily was under Spanish rule at the time) were supernatural female beings comparable to the fairies of English folklore. In the 16th to mid-17th centuries, the doñas de fuera also played a role in the witch trials in Sicily. In historical Sicilian folklore, the doñas de fuera} would make contact with humans, mostly women deemed to have “sweet blood”, whom they took to Benevento ("the Blockula of Sicily"), by mounting them on magical, flying goats.

Compared to surrounding countries, the witch trials in Sicily were relatively mild: in most cases, the accused were either freed, sentenced to exile, or jailed, rather than sentenced to death.

In Lilia's case, after the death of her coven, when she was left alone, she was eventually put to trial and exiled from Sicily.

She traveled from medieval village to medieval village across Europe, chased with pitchforks each time. She thought every tragedy was her fault.

She was in Strasbourg, France, to witness the Dancing Plague. She tried to warn everyone, but they called her crazy.

Another old friend of Lilia's, while in France, was Carabosse, based on whom the wicked fairy/Maleficent was created. Lilia watched once more as she turned into a racist caricature after her death. MANY years later, she went and watched Tchaikovsky sleeping beauty ballet—and then proceeded to go and punch him also.

Heinrich Kramer tried to hit on her. If you don't know, he was a German churchman and inquisitor. With his widely distributed book Malleus Maleficarum, which describes witchcraft and endorses detailed processes for the extermination of witches, he was instrumental in establishing the period of witch trials in the early modern period. Professor Malcolm Gaskill has described Kramer as a "superstitious psychopath."

And Lilia, in fact, was good friends (potential fling??) with Helena Scheuberin, an Austrian woman who stood trial accused of witchcraft just because she herself had rejected Henrich Kramer's advances. During the trial, thirteen other people were accused. Lilia was one of them. Luckily, the trial was dismissed.

She stayed in Germany for a while, to live with her good friend (perhaps even girlfriend.) Aka, the witch from Hansel & Gretel. She watched her, later, be put to death in her own over—persecuted for witchcraft. And then, she watched again as her tale was combined with other medieval stereotypes and bastardized into an antisemitic stereotype that painted her as a cannibalist, child-stealing villain. Lilia hates it. She says it's a tale that celebrates the order of the patriarchal home, seen as a haven protected from the dangerous characters that threaten the lives of children outside, while it systematically denigrates the adult female characters, which are seemingly intertwined between each other.

She met Evanora Harkness when she was pregnant and deeply disliked her.

While in Germany, she was subjected to yet another witch trial. She survived, hasn't talked about how, but she has scars from it that she will not show. (Würzburg witch trials. The Würzburg witch trials of 1625–1631, which took place in the self-governing Catholic Prince-Bishopric of Würzburg in the Holy Roman Empire in present-day Germany, formed one of the biggest mass trials and mass executions ever seen in Europe, and one of the largest witch trials in history.)

After Germany, she went to England to escape that mess of trauma. And so she witnessed the Great Plague of London, lasting from 1665 to 1666, was the most recent major epidemic of the bubonic plague to occur in England.

She lived in Styria for quite a few years, where she dated Carmilla, from the lesbian vampire novel. Eventually, they broke up. Lilia had been empathetic at first, but grew tired of being fed off of and punched her.

Out of spite, she spent a decade or two in Transylvania, helping other vampires escape vampire hunting trials. She witnessed a lot of friends be killed.

She lived in Greece for a few years after the Greek War of Independence. Later spent time in Asia Minor, until she had enough of Greek and Turkish witches arguing about who coffee reading belongs to.

She became an opera singer in spain, for a while. One of the many jobs she took over the years. It's when she met Tchaikovsky, in a trip to russia, as mentioned earlier, and bitch-slapped that twink into oblivion.

While in russia, she also met Alexandra Kollontai.

She met Rosa Luxemburg during the First World War. She also met Clara Zetkin.

She went to Argentina for a few years, met Virginia Bolten.

So, America it is... She wasn't happy about it. She went to Massachusetts, like a moth to the flame. Not Salem, no—Boston.

She was friends with Sylvia Plath. Maybe they even kissed a little!! Lilia tried to help her, but couldn't.

Her mental health was so terrible that she couldn't hold jobs for too long. She worked as a seamstress, as a stenographer, a governess, a maid.

She got married to a gay man, one time, for a few years, because people grew suspicious. He died.

She decided she deserved to be alone, because she was a bad omen. A jinx, a habringer of doom. She chose the life of the hermit.

She was at the Women’s Suffrage Parade in 1913 in Washington, D.C.

During the roaring 20's she became a jazz singer. She wasn't able to continue, because she was getting some really bad mental health episodes.

She had to sell a lot of her old sicilian jewellery and good dresses for money after the economy crashed on 1929. The Great depression made her... Greatly depressed.

She was unable to keep paying for a house and started traveling with a caravan. If she'd stayed in Boston at that time, perhaps she could have met Jen. She didn't.

She was attacked & robbed three separate times while in said caravan.

Obviously she's a polyglot, familiar with the language of every country she's lived in. But even as she forgets words and confuses details between languages, she never forgets anything about her native tongue. She hasn't been in Italy for centuries, but all her notes & personal writings are in Sicilian. She really misses speaking it and she feels like she can never truly, genuinely express herself in English.

Before whichever war, due to all the death she was predicting, she'd scream and cry like a banshee. It's one of the reasons she repressed her magic, put it away, ignored it.

She was in The March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom on 1963.

She was in the stonewall riots in 1969. She made some friends again, non witch folk.

She was also in Woodstock, again, in 1969.

She did activism during the AIDS crisis. She lost the friends she made.

At one point she got bored and got a history degree.

At another point she got bored and got a philosophy degree.

She's taught in schools, once or twice, but was deemed unfit after a few years even though the students loved her.

She moved to New Jersey, opened Madame Calderu's Psychic Readings and Lilia's Leggings, but the money from that is still not enough. I mean, her house is decomposing, her bed is her wall, and her food is scarce enough that she doesn't mind a lapsed expiration date. Girl is dirt poor.

She does a lot of children's parties. She often hates the parents, though.

She has very few clients on the daily, but one of her regulars (in both businesses) is Madisynn King from She-Hulk.

[anthemofgvf]

Teacher’s Pet: Sam Kiszka x Reader Fanfiction

description: when college becomes more interesting from your history with your music professor, you decide to take him up on a private piano lesson to rekindle what once was.

word count: 6.6k+

trope: student reader x professor sam (college au!)

taglist for future fics

warnings after cut…

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warnings: large amount of plot, angst, smut (18+ minors dni!), voyeurism, soft dom! sam, fluff, teacher x adult reader, inappropriate relations, swearing, begging, fingering, oral (fem! and male receiving), handjob, overstimulation, praise kink, unprotected sex, minimal aftercare

a/n: this may not be everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s okay! would also like to reiterate that reader IS a legal adult. i figured that would be clear considering this is a college au but i just wanted to state it once before the story itself does. all actions are consensual, and i do not condone un-consensual acts. with that being said, enjoy;)

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Starting college at Michigan State University at the age of twenty-one, you walked onto campus with a sense of anticipation and determination that set yourself apart from your younger peers. Your journey to this point had been conventional, marked by years of playing piano at home purely for joy, and finding an intense passion for music itself. Now, as a music theory major, you were ready to immerse yourself in the academic study of music, eager to delve into the intricacies of composition, harmony, and the structures that underpin the art form you love. Your path to college might have been delayed, but your passion for music had only grown stronger with time, making your arrival at the university both a new beginning and a cumulation of years of dedication.

But you were gifted a surprise on your first day in your "Music Theory 101" class when you sat near the front - only a few rows back on the far left, and your professor walked in. The cool fall air of Michigan allowed for him to wear a navy blue long-sleeve and a multicolored-purple scarf, with grey plaid dress pants. He clearly was taller than most, but the boots that he paired with his outfit granted him a few extra inches.

You started to analyze the features of his face, seeing something so familiar in him that you couldn't quite pinpoint. His long, brunette hair that held a light wave with a well-kept mustache and goatee. Something about his eyes were the most recognizable to you with the way they scanned the room slowly, then focusing in on papers on his podium. And as soon as he began to speak and introduce himself to you and your peers, the memories came flooding back into your brain, and you had to hold yourself back from gasping. But you couldn't contain your eyes from widening.

"Hello everyone," he began, "welcome to 'Music Theory 101.'" He said with a smile. "I'm Professor Kiszka, and I'll be teaching this course. I've been teaching music theory for about three years now."

You knew who he was. He was Mr. Kiszka, or Sam, as back then you were able to call him that because he wasn't the hugest fan of being called 'Mr. Kiszka'. He was your student teacher your senior year of high school in your band class. He would help your teacher as if he were a teacher's aide, yet also helped teach the class and was a mentee to your teacher. You couldn't even believe your chances of having him as an actual teacher, let alone even seeing his face again. And God, how he has changed from the guy you once knew. But he'd always be 'Sam' to you, whether you'd call him by his first name or not. You preferred not to take your chances anyways.

You and he had created a small friendship, or better described as a mutualistic relationship, but it went nowhere beyond because being friends would cross the boundaries that the school board had put into place. But it was more than likely for the better, because you had a massive crush on him that accumulated over time with the semester. You were keen to his wit, his attention to detail - his talent in music. Not to mention he had a great sense of humor and was outgoing that paired perfectly with his great looks. You remembered being saddened that you were not going to see him again after your last class of the semester, and while although he gave you a hug and a smile, he had said to you,

"You'll see me again, y/n, I'm sure of it," with a wink.

And somehow, he had predicted the future.

After he gave the class a short introduction, which you surely had missed from reminiscing about the past, he had begun to read down the list of students for attendance. Your heart began to bang against your ribcage with anticipation, with wonderance of if he would even remember you. After all, you were just another student he saw in the school day.

"Y/n L/n?" He had called out, searching for you amongst the crowd.

You shot your eyes up, looking at him as you lightly raised your hand and said, "Here."

He smiled at you, the same smile he always wore. His eyes lightly squinted, and his face lit up with a knowing expression.

"You went to Frankenmuth High School, right?" He pointed his pen out to you with his teeth still on display.

"Yeah, yeah I did." You nodded.

You felt everyone's eyes on you - all 40 something students that filled the lecture hall. He remembered you, and you had forgotten how nervous you would get when his eyes lingered upon you for too long. Surely your face was flushed pink for the whole class to examine, but you were praying the lights were dim enough to hide your complexion.

"It's nice to see you again, y/n." He nodded towards you, closing his mouth to soften his smile and focus his attention back onto the list and calling out other names.

The entire class all you could do was watch his facial expressions, the way he walked and used his hands in conversation and lecture. The way his hair flew with his head whenever he changed directions, the way his voice articulated words. And, surely watching him give the class a demonstration on the piano was going to be the death of you. Time had made him more attractive, and his knowledge of you was somehow a worser fate than going unknown.

He put his whole body into his demonstration, leaning into the keys and throwing his head back every so often. His shoulders would raise in a rigid motion, then relaxing back down whilst his fingers danced along the white keys. You began to press your thighs tightly together and place your fist over your mouth as you watched him intently. You were unsure of how you were going to survive this class for a semester.

But after that first day, he had called you over to his podium. Although the conversation was light, asking you how you've been, wondering what you were going to college for exactly, you couldn't help but feel unprepared to talk to him. He always had a way with words, and anything that came out of his mouth was pure poetry. You just felt like you were blabbing nonsense to him. But he cared what you had to say. He laughed at your jokes, nodded along to show you he was listening. He had not changed one bit after all these years, other than time aging him only enough to present himself as more of a mature adult, but his striking personality stayed intact.

As the semester went on, and you stopping by Sam's desk every so often after class, assignments were assigned. One big project that was presented was to perform a cover on the piano that showcased your level of talent on the keys - 30 measures to be exact. A different assignment was given to those who were incapable of playing the piano, which was to compose a piece instead on an instrument of their choosing, but you took the route of playing on the instrument you enjoyed the most.

With this assignment, he had allowed students to make appointments with him during his office hours for free lessons and guidance on their piece. And as soon as he had announced this, you had booked an appointment.

And that's where you were headed right now: A one-on-one meeting with Professor Kiszka. To say you were nervous was an understatement. His attention was all yours, and there was no avoiding his gaze by sinking into your chair. The only thing that you had repeated in your head was that he was no stranger, and you knew how to hold a conversation with him. Act normal, you said to yourself, act normal.

You pushed open one of the large doors of the classroom that groaned and creaked as it allowed your entrance. Sam had his back to you from across the lecture hall, hunched over as he played a song that was unrecognizable to you on the piano. Whatever it was, it sounded beautiful.

The doors slammed shut behind you as you walked in, which caught Sam's attention. He whipped his head over his shoulder as his fingers relaxed from the keys, and he lifted his wrist up to examine his watch.

"Guess it is that time, huh?" He said out loud, although he was mainly speaking to himself. "Come on in, y/n."

"Forgot I was coming in, Professor Kiszka?" You said with a smirk.

"I'm always forgetting the time as it passes," he chuckled lightly, "surely you'll forgive me."

You walked over to him as he rose from the bench with a light smile, extending his arm towards the piano to motion for you to sit. He wore an ironed white button down, and worn-out jeans that have seen better days. Casual attire: a bit astray from what he normally wears.

You stopped in front of him. "I guess just this once I will." You said to him, then taking your seat on the bench and keeping your posture straightened.

"Alright, y/n," he shook his head with a smile, "what's your song of choice then? Can't pick anything you've played for me before."

You cocked your head to the side as you gave him a pondering look. "There's no way you remember anything I played three years ago."

He pressed his lips together and thought for a moment, then looking down to you with a smile.

"Maybe I do, or maybe I don't. Just seems like you're trying to stall on playing your piece for me." He said to you. "There's nothing to be nervous about, y/n."

You shook your head with a light sigh. "I'll have to test your memory another time then."

He nodded at you. "So, what piece of music did you choose?"

"I chose 'Rhapsody in Blue,' sir." You spoke to him. "I remember you performing it for the class after finals were over, and I've been in love with the piece ever since."

He seemed almost shocked that he had made such an impact on you, one that was still intact after all these years. He gave you an earnest, genuine smile as he placed his hand on his heart.

"It means a lot to me that I played an influential role in your musical journey. Did you learn it after I performed the piece?" He asked.

You nodded with a giggle. "Embarrassingly yes, yes I did." You refrained from eye contact as you felt your face becoming hot.

He raised a brow. "So, this is a piece you're familiar with?" You looked back to him with a singular nod. "Then what is your reasoning for spending time with me during my office hours, y/n? I never knew of you to not be confident in yourself."

You stuck your tongue into your cheek. "Just wanted to make sure that I was playing the piece up to par, and I so happen to enjoy our conversations. Figured we'd be able to catch up a bit during this meeting."

"Is that so, y/n?" He smirked at you. His tongue ran across his bottom lip as he looked down at you. It was almost as if there were words that lingered upon his tongue, yet he was unable to muster the courage to let them roll off smoothly. He had opened his mouth for a moment, then shut it with a grin. "Well, then how about we see how well you can perform this piece, huh? If there's enough time after, I don't see anything wrong with catching up a bit more." His grin was near seductive, although he was talking about a topic pure as white. Something about the way his eyes captivated yours that had your body telling you to either look away flustered, or to hold onto his eyes to match his intimidating gaze.

But rather than look at him any longer, you chose to take in a deep breath in preparation to perform for him. You straightened yourself up once more and saw him leave your sight from the corner of your eye.

"Just a bit too tense, y/n." He said softly to you, placing his hands onto your shoulders gently. "Relax for me."

As if that sentence alone didn't have you feeling even more tense, you closed your eyes and found it within yourself to relax, and to forget that it was Sam's doing for making your nerves skyrocket.

You began the piece, fluttering your eyes open and playing it as you learned it. Some of your mannerisms matched the way Sam played the piece - at least back then, just because you admired how beautiful he looked whilst performing. You were certain that if he hadn't become a teacher, he'd be on a stage performing in front of thousands.

You were lost in the music, lost in your motions and the way your fingers traveled alongst the keys in perfect harmony. So lost that you hadn't realized Sam's hands had left your shoulders, moving to stand near the front of the piano, watching you perform. All you could do was focus on playing as perfectly as you could for him, because if you were to look up and see his admiring stare, you would have forgotten the rest of the piece.

And so, you finished, watching your fingers dance along the last few keys and resting your hands onto your thighs, keeping your eyes down only for a moment before cautiously allowing yourself to look up and see his chin resting into his palm, wearing a large grin that he never seemed to wipe from his face.

"That was," he began to stride slowly towards you, "near perfection."

You followed his movements with your eyes. "Near?"

He sat next to you on the bench, holding onto your eyes. "You lost yourself a bit with the tempo, is all. I'm not shameful to a bit of artistic expression, but that would be for another project. But it's nothing that can't be fixed quickly."

"So, then it's a good thing that I made this appointment, hm? Without your expertise I wouldn't have known to slow down a bit." You said to him.

He huffed a laugh with an amused expression. "What's your game here? Sarcasm or flattery?"

You took a glance at his parted lips, locking eyes with him again. "Your guidance, Professor Kiszka."

He shook his head at you with a knowing look yet dismissing your counter remark and sliding closer to you.

"Well, for one, you should raise your arms a bit higher above the keys." He slid his hands under your forearms and raised them up slightly, being ever-so gentle with his touch. With how close he peered over your shoulder, you were certain if you were to turn to him, your nose would brush against his.

However, you wouldn't have been bothered by it if it were to occur. The opportunity presented itself when he had willingly brought himself even closer to you. Whether you would dare to do it was not on your mind right now, as you were tuning into the feeling of his coarse hands holding your forearms and making them weightless.

You could feel his exhaled breath just barely hit the side of your neck, and your body almost reacted with a shudder. Rather, you could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and suddenly you had become more aware of how many breaths you were taking in.

"And to help keep tempo," Sam slowly slid his hands off your arms, placing his hand lightly onto your thigh, "I'll tap on beat." He said as he began tapping onto your jeans lightly.

You dared to turn towards him and flick your eyes at his parted lips, locking onto his stare and feeling the inability to look away. You were certain the face you were displaying was one of desperation, of want.

But to him, it didn't appear that way. "Is this...okay?" He had said with a hint of worry. Maybe he didn't want to read into your facial expressions too much.

"Yes, yes it's okay." You gave him a reassured smile, along with a small nod, and tore yourself away from his gaze.

You began to play once more, trying to keep your mind on your fingers hitting the keys at the right pace rather than the fact that Sam's hand was on your thigh. The act was supposed to be innocent, a teacher merely helping his student perfect their piece, but to you, it was hard to feel anything pure towards your professor.

With the way his chin nearly rested onto your shoulder, to his steady breaths that matched yours as you played, to the low humming you could hear in your ear as your fingers danced along the piano. How did he expect you to focus when he was closer to you than ever before? When all you were thinking about was how easily it would be to kiss him, to give into him.

"What's on your mind, y/n?" He whispered to you.

You had continued playing, trying to keep up with the tempo he had set on your thigh.

"What do you mean?" You said without missing a beat.

"I can tell you're not focused. You're playing the piece properly, but your mind is somewhere else." He removed his hand from your thigh, which caused you to stop playing.

You turned to him. "I'm just a bit distracted, that's all. I'm sorry, Professor." You pressed your lips together, flicking your eyes down to avoid his gaze. A low sigh escaped his mouth as he watched gravity tilt your head down.

But then you felt his finger hook under your chin, lifting it up to meet his eyes. Every detail of his face was on display, and you couldn't focus your eyes on a single piece of his complexion - it was all something you wanted to remember so intricately.

"Am I distracting you?" He took a glance at your lips only for a discreet moment, then focusing in on your eyes and searched within them for an answer that you had yet to put out into the air.

"Maybe," you began, "what if I said that you were?"

Your bold statement had nearly taken him aback, with his hand removing itself from under your chin, and a light chuckle with the shake of his head as he composed himself. His hand ran to the back of his neck, then finding its resting place on the top of his thigh.

He leaned back slightly, the playful glint in his eyes dimming to something more contemplative. "Then I'd have to ask why," he murmured, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. "Why do you find me distracting?" The air between you seemed to thicken with unspoken words and unsaid possibilities, leaving you teetering on the edge of where his mind was at.

You took a hard swallow, tugging at the inside of your bottom lip and praying that you weren't about to make an embarrassing mistake.

Your heart raced as you decided to take the plunge. "Because" you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "I've never been able to keep myself composed long enough around you. And, now that we're alone, it's become increasingly hard to even think straight."

His eyes widened slightly, the seriousness of your confession hanging between you two like a fragile thread.

He moved closer, his warm breath just barely grazing the tip of your nose. "Maybe that's not such a bad thing," he said softly, his lips hovering just inches from yours, leaving you breathless and wondering if he was about to close the distance between you. "But you know what the rules are, right, y/n?"

"Do you plan on getting caught?" Your question hung in the air, heavy with implication. You felt a shiver run down your spine as the reality of the situation hit you. How the proximity had almost fizzled out in between you, the way Sam held your eyes in the most captivating way, taking only a millisecond to peak at your lips before returning to your gaze.

"Didn't know of you to be such a risk taker, y/n." He said to you with a steady voice.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your lips, trying to mask the nervous flutter in your chest. "There's a lot you don't know about me, Sam," you replied, your voice just as steady, matching his intensity.

His gaze flickered with curiosity and something deeper, something that made your pulse quicken more than it already was. "Sam?" He smirked. "As much as I like you calling me 'Professor,' I've missed hearing you say my name."

"I'll say it as many times as you want me to," you said softly, flicking your eyes to his lips before returning back to his gaze.

"Then start now," he murmured, his tone a blend of challenge and invitation. He inched closer, his breath mingling with yours, the space between you almost nonexistent now.

"Sam," you barely voiced.

"Again." He said as his lips were just barely brushing against yours. His hand gently traced the line of your jaw.

"Sam." You repeated for him.

He closed the remaining distance, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as much a promise as it was a risk, practically whimpering into his mouth the second you got a taste whatever flavored ChapStick he wore.

His hand cupped your cheek, while his other hand rested on your thigh. You willingly fell into the touch, placing one of your hands onto his white button down, and the other beginning to tangle itself in his hair. You were merely breathless with the deepening of the kiss quickly becoming apparent, and now you were just desperate to run your hands under his shirt - to feel his warm skin under your touch.

Without unlocking your lips from his, you began to unbutton his shirt, and while he noticed, he allowed you to continue, pulling the shirt off of his shoulders and throwing it wherever it may land onto the ground.

His fingers crept under the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it up to let every inch of your body feel that singular motion, and as soon as the tips of his fingers hit your bra, you were removing your mouth from his and finishing the job.

"You're eager." He teased at you, tugging at your bottom lip as he encapsulated your lips onto his again.

Instead of giving him a pitiful response into his mouth, you undid your bra with little struggle and threw it off of you whilst scooting yourself closer to your professor. His cold hands almost stung against your bare sides, yet soothed your heated skin as he ran them up slowly, finding your breasts and toying with them tenderly. A soft whine escaped out of your mouth, and in return, his mouth made its journey of running from your jawline, then to your neck, and to your collarbone.

Before you had even realized it, your hand was sliding down his chest, finding his bulge and cupping it. His groan vibrated against your neck, sucking lightly and digging his teeth into your neck as you threw your head back.

You had found yourself already breathless, squeezing your thighs together as your mind wondered to the inevitable. You lightly squeezed on Sam's bulge, hoping that he would mutter another sound for you to listen to.

But he removed himself from you with a heaving chest, unbuckling his belt as he stood up in front of you. While his eyes were first locked in at undoing the material holding up his pants, he then looked to you, pulling and shimmying off his jeans that were caught at his ankles. His briefs followed suit with his motion, and his cock sprung out in front of you.

Without hesitation, you had wrapped your hand around his length, keeping his eyes locked on yours as you pursed your lips and allowed spit to dribble from your mouth onto his cock. His mouth parted slightly, watching as your hand ran up and down him at an agonizingly slow pace. You gave him a small smile, one that had him caressing the side of your face and running his hand to the back of your head.

As he tousled with your hair, you pressed your lips softly onto his tip, then sliding him into your mouth. You watched as he threw his head back, groaning in a deep sigh and lightly tugging at the hair on the back of your head. You kept your hand pumping slowly at his base, while your head bobbed up and down his length.

The sensation of your soft, skilled mouth moving with rhythmic precision drew a deep moan from his lips. Your tongue danced expertly, exploring every inch, while your eyes remained fixed on his as he let his head fall back down towards you, drinking in every reaction. He was entranced with your motions and the way you effortlessly brought him such bliss.

His breathing had become unsteady, tugging at his bottom lip as he tugged your hair back which in return removed your mouth from him. You looked up to him eagerly, and in silence, he slowly fell to his knees at your mercy.

He looked beautiful bowed before you, unbuttoning and unzipping your jeans in a fluid motion, then dipping his thumbs under the denim, and wrapping his hands onto your sides that were hugged by the material. He slid them down slowly, and while doing so, you had lifted yourself up just enough to aid him in fully removing your jeans and panties. He had tossed them to the side, and once he looked back to you, your legs were pressed together.

You had found yourself shy with the vulnerability shared with him. Fully exposed to Sam, permanently imprinting this image of yourself in his brain that he would not dare to allow slip from his mind. His hands came to your knees as he noticed the sudden pink hue in your face.

"Open your legs for me, pretty girl." He said in a hoarse voice whilst he massaged your kneecaps. His demand was calm, and not one that meant to rush you. And you could feel the soothing, comforting energy that he was emulating in this moment that had you realizing he found you breathtaking - every single part of you.

So, you gave in willingly, looking at him with lustful eyes as you spread your legs apart slowly. His eyes were locked in onto your heat. Your bare form was being traced by his eyes, marveling at the curvatures of your body that seemed almost ethereal to him. He could not bring himself to speak a word, but rather sigh in reverence as his head inched closer and closer in between your thighs. It was if he was at your mercy, willing to give up anything and everything just to please you.

His lips pressed softly against the inners of your left thigh, and you had found yourself gasping lightly with a choked breath at the tender impact. Your hand relaxed at the back of his head as you massaged it, just as he did for you before, and a small grin curled onto his lips as he pressed more, soft kisses against your thighs, even sucking softly onto the skin. You were on the verge of begging for his mouth on you but resisted the urgency to see how Sam wanted to navigate himself around your body.

He raised his middle and ring finger to you, looking up at you submissively before uttering a soft, "open," to you. You quickly obeyed, parting your lips and letting him insert his fingers into your mouth, and resting them onto your tongue. You sucked slowly onto his fingers, swirling your tongue around his digits and allowing him to withdrawal them from your mouth.

And he kept his eyes locked on yours, watching intently for your reaction as he slowly inserted his two fingers inside of you. You gasped lightly, jolting forward with your back arched and your hands smashed onto the keys of the piano behind you as Sam curled his fingers. He broke from your eyes to see your hands clenched onto the keys and allowed a small smirk to curl onto his lips. He let that be his only reaction and continued to move his fingers.

You threw your head back as his other hand snaked up your body and lightly massaged your left breast. Your eyes were barely shut, mouth agape and allowing any sound bubbling in your throat out quietly. You had tugged onto the back of his head harshly as soon as you felt his tongue onto your clit, with your thighs squeezing tightly around his head and muffling your moans. As much as he wanted to push your legs apart to listen to every melodic sound that came from your mouth, he wasn't going take away from your bliss.

His tongue circled around your clit at a steady pace, with his fingers quickening to draw your moans out even more. You were tugging at your bottom lip as you rolled your hips into Sam's motions. You couldn't help but admire the view below you: your professor's eyes shut softly, seeming perfectly content in between your legs as he licked and sucked at your clit. He was already in tune with your body, knowing what made you feel good, and exactly what to do to send you over the edge.

You felt the knowing pressure in the pit of your stomach; a knot desperate to be unraveled by your orgasm. Your moans became strained - whiney.

"Sam, fuck, just like that." You slurred. Your hand had yet again found itself bracing against the keys of the piano, pressing a multitude of keys that didn't make the most beautiful melody, but the irony of that was it didn't matter what it sounded like. It mattered how it felt, which it perfectly conveyed.

You were arching your back away from the piano as your thighs trembled around Sam's head, calling out his name once more as your head fell forward and your breathing quickened. You alerted him of your orgasm, and all he did was continue his motions, calming them and seizing their existence after dragging out your high.

"You okay?" He looked up to you, removing his fingers slowly from your entrance and encapsulating them into his mouth to lick them clean.

You shuddered, and quickly swallowed and nodded at him.

"Yeah, yeah I'm okay." You laughed lightly.

He rose from his knees, standing before you still fully erect. You had forgotten how perfectly carved his abdomen was, how desirable him in his vulnerably, bare entirety was.

His fingers pressed from below your chin, lifting your eyes up to his own and holding a soft smile yet again.

"Are you okay to keep going?"

You smiled at him and his concern that just barely washed over his face.

"Yes, Sam." You nodded, reaching out for his face and him almost immediately complying.

He smashed his lips onto yours as you pulled yourself up from the bench. Your bodies melted into each other in a feverish rush, hands frantically exploring once more to remember the feeling of each other's skin. His hand had found the small of your back, guiding you to rotate to where you were now standing where he originally was.

His mouth kept on yours, slowly sitting down onto the bench and losing your lips with the action. You stood before him, watching his eyes fall to your thighs, where his hands began running slowly up and stopping at your waist.

He met your eyes again with his tongue darting out in between his lips. His touch was both tentative and possessive, as if memorizing every curve and contour. You could feel the heat radiating from his palms and igniting that fire once more.

He pulled you closer, his grip firm yet gentle, urging you to straddle his lap. As you settled into him, he had a hand on the base of his cock, dragging it alongst your sensitive folds that had you whimpering from the slight overstimulation. He looked to you once more to look for any sign of discomfort, but you placed your hands onto his shoulders, and lined yourself up with him.

You had sunk down onto him slowly and could not help breathing a relieved moan. He, on the other hand, released a guttural groan as you fully rested with him completely inside of you. His hands gripped onto your hips, breathing already unsteady, and beginning to guide you at a slow pace.

"Shit, y/n," he breathed, "you feel so perfect." He watched you grind your hips into him and continued. "You are so perfect."

You ran a hand from his shoulder and to his neck, finding his cheek and giving him a lustful smile. You were warm around his bare cock, tight and sucking him in perfectly. Your mind was dizzy with the thought of this all being a reality unfolding at this very moment; dizzy with the way he was making you feel.

You began to bounce at a steady pace, feeling his hips buck into you lightly to help alleviate some of the work on your end. He could tell you were tired. You were lazily chasing your next orgasm, although desperate for yours again and to help him find his, but your energy almost begged to deny it.

His left hand found a home onto the piano keys for leverage, lightly wincing at the sudden noise that filled the nearly silent room. You looked at him and smiled lightly, holding back your laughter at the noise.

"Doesn't sound too good." You teased.

He shook his head at you, furrowing his brows as he battled full euphoria taking over his being and disallowing a response from him. His breath came in short, ragged bursts as he tried to focus, the dissonant chord fading into the background of his awareness.

With a slow, deliberate movement, his thumb pressed into your hipbone, anchoring himself in the reality of your presence. The look in his eyes was a mix of passion and frustration, struggling to form words but failing as the intensity of the moment overwhelmed him.

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, a silent promise that you understood. His fingers flexed on the piano keys, creating a soft, accidental melody that echoed the unspoken rhythm of your connection. Even when he's not trying, he can make something beautiful out of a small mistake.

Yours and his's movements became quicker, both of you voicing your satisfaction with breathy moans, mixing swears and each other's names into the lustful air. Your hand ran to the back of his head, tousling with the damp hair and resting your forehead onto his. You both were a sweaty mess, which had you and him sticking to one another. It would be a battle to unravel yourself from him after this, but you warranted that.

He had a harsher grip onto your hip. His fingers dug into the plush skin while his thrusts became unsteady. He removed his hand from the piano and let you carry the pace on as his thumb circled onto your clit. You called out to him in a hushed moan, feeling your second orgasm creeping up quickly. Even though you warned him, he did not care. He wanted that.

"Cum for me again, y/n." He quickened his finger, pressing down onto your lower stomach. "Cum. For. Me." He repeated with gritted teeth.

Your eyebrows pulled together, locking your eyes with his as you reached your high almost immediately and pulled your head back from him with a hand pressed against his chest. You trembled against him and rode yourself through your high, with a high-pitched gasp shooting out from your mouth while you squeezed around him. And although your head was still fuzzy, you kept going for him.

He muttered your name in a warning, lifting you up from his lap just enough for him to pull out from you. You had sat yourself onto the middle portion of his thighs, far enough for him to finish himself off by painting his stomach and hand with his cum. You couldn't tear your eyes from him as he heaved and looked at the mess he had made, lightly chuckling to himself. You found his laughter and matched it, tucking your bottom lip behind your front teeth and smiling.

He reached for your lips once more, pressing a gentle, meaningful kiss onto your mouth as he cupped your cheek with his dry hand. And once your lips parted from his, you found the pattern of his breathing and controlled your own to emulate his.

He lifted his wrist to look at the time, and you in turn gave him a puzzled look whilst throwing your arms around his neck.

"Have another appointment today?" You said to him with slight disappointment. You had almost forgotten where you two were.

"I unfortunately do." He replied. "And I'd suggest we should clean ourselves up now and make it look like we did not just have sex on this fucking piano." He chuckled.

You quickly obeyed, standing up quickly and running over to his podium where he had a tissue box. You knew you were to return home and shower, but for now, this would suffice. Besides, you didn't know how much time you had before a student would walk in, so both of you focused on yourselves.

You had found your phone and quickly switched to the camera to make sure your hair wasn't too much of a mess, along with your makeup. Thankfully, it was a quick fix for anything out of place, and you took care of it while Sam finished buttoning up his shirt.

After you had placed your phone in the back pocket of your jeans, you walked over to him.

"Do you do this with all of your students?" You questioned him with sarcasm.

He shook his head with a breathy chuckle. "Only the ones I like." He shrugged, catching onto your teasing.

You giggled at his response, choosing to leave the teasing behind in fear of the unknown amount of time you had left with him. "So, I'll see you tomorrow for class then?" You rocked on your heels.

"Well, I'd hope so," he smiled at you, sliding his hand onto your waist and pulling you closer. "Will I start seeing you outside of class, too?"

You felt a rush of warmth from his touch, a sense of comfort that had now been familiarized to you. "I think we can arrange that." You said in a playful manner as you placed the palms of your hands onto his chest.

His thumb traced small circles on your waist, his expression softening with a mixture of desire and affection. "Good," he murmured, leaning in to brush his lips against yours once more. "I look forward to it."

After you had parted from his lips again, you reluctantly pulled away from him and made your way to the doors of the lecture hall. You were hoping that whatever student was to come next wasn't outside already, because by the burning sensation that filled your cheeks, you could not hide that something had occurred beyond the lesson with him. With your professor.

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

taglist:

@hollyco @ageofhearingloss @sacredjake @mountain-in-springtime @ignite-my-fire @gvfsstardust @jakesguitarsolo @gold-mines-melting @digitalcalamity @demolitionndann @lipstickitty @joopsworld @gvfgal @gvfpal @hellowgoodbye @writingcold @stardustcatcher @absolutely--mental @hippievanfleet @haileygvf @gretasfallingsky @dont-go-home-without-me @indigofallingsky @sinarainbows @laneygvf @josh-iamyour-mama @starshine-wagner @lyndz2names @jjwasneverhere @mulberrimouse @starcatcher-jake @lallisonl @jordie-gvf @mindastreamofcolours @peaceloveunitygvf

[aventurineswife]

Barbatos x gn!reader, study date, maybe fluffy but you can do what you want. Well, tbh, it wouldn't be much of a study for him because I feel he would already be well-versed in the topics they study at RAD, so either it would be a refresher for him or have occasional topics of development that he hasn't heard of yet. Because he's so old he probably has a semi-history in his mind of different discoveries and theories and the public's reaction to historical events and I just think that's neat sksksks

I hope I did that right? You can tell me if I didn't. I'm not used to sending writing requests.

Study Date w/ Barb!

Summary: You spend a quiet evening studying at RAD's library, only to be joined by Barbatos, who offers his company and vast knowledge. What begins as a study session quickly turns into a fascinating journey through historical anecdotes and philosophical discussions. Barbatos’s insights and calm demeanor provide not only clarity on your studies but also a warm, meaningful connection.

Tags: Barbatos x GN!Reader, Fluff, Study Date, Light Teasing, Intellectual Bonding, Soft Moments.

It was a quiet evening at RAD, and the library was more peaceful than usual, save for the occasional rustle of pages and the soft clicking of pens. You had been spending hours immersed in the dense pages of your textbooks, trying to grasp some of the more complicated concepts of the latest lesson. You weren’t struggling per se, but the material was certainly taking some time to digest.

A familiar figure appeared at your side, his calm demeanor as impeccable as ever. Barbatos, dressed in his signature elegant attire, offered you a soft smile.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said, his voice as smooth as the fine china you’d seen him use to serve tea. His eyes gleamed with a subtle warmth. “I thought you might appreciate a bit of company during your study session. It’s not often I get the opportunity to enjoy a quiet evening with you.”

You couldn’t help but smile back at him. His presence was always calming, and the thought of him offering to study with you felt like an unusual, but welcome, treat.

“No interruption at all,” you replied, gesturing to the empty seat next to you. “I’d love the company.”

Barbatos settled into the chair, smoothing out the cuffs of his white gloves. His movements were practiced and precise, the epitome of grace. He glanced at your open textbooks, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. He had likely already mastered the material you were studying, but he didn’t say anything—he was always polite, ever the thoughtful gentleman.

You watched as he flipped through the pages of a different textbook you had left open on the table. "Ah, the developments in ancient demonology," he remarked, his voice quiet but laden with a hint of interest. "I remember when this theory was first introduced. The public reaction was quite… enthusiastic. Some hailed it as groundbreaking, while others dismissed it outright as fanciful. I wonder how they’d react to the modern interpretations now."

You blinked, taken aback by his knowledge. "You were around when it first came out?" you asked, trying to suppress the awe in your voice.

He chuckled softly, the sound warm yet slightly mischievous. "I’ve been around for quite some time, my dear. There are a few events that remain fresh in my memory." He turned his gaze back to you, his eyes softening. "I must admit, however, there are some modern developments that have eluded me. I find it… fascinating to see how some of the theories have evolved."

You smiled, grateful for his input. His centuries of experience made him a walking encyclopedia of history, though he didn’t boast about it. It was moments like these that reminded you of how much you could learn from him—not just about academic subjects, but about life itself.

"So, you don’t mind a little refresher?" you asked, a teasing note entering your voice.

“Not at all,” Barbatos replied with a faint smirk, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of your textbook. “It’s always a pleasure to revisit old material. Sometimes, the smallest details can make the difference in how we view the present.”

As you continued to discuss the material, you couldn't help but notice how deeply engaged Barbatos was. His observations were always insightful, drawing connections between historical events, theories, and even the way modern society approached those ideas. You found yourself asking questions, not just to learn, but to hear him share his knowledge.

“Did you know,” he continued, his voice lowering as he leaned slightly closer, “that during a particular revolution in the Human World, the public’s reaction to the first mass production of a certain item caused widespread debate? Some believed it would be the downfall of society, while others viewed it as a blessing.” He paused for a moment, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I, of course, knew the outcome.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "And what was the item?"

"A printing press," Barbatos said, his smile barely contained. "It changed the course of history, but at the time, most people thought it would bring ruin. It’s amusing how much the human perspective can shift with time."

You laughed softly, charmed by his knowledge and the way he seemed to enjoy sharing these stories with you. "I guess that makes sense," you said. "So, what was the general reaction when that happened in the Devildom?"

Barbatos’s eyes darkened for a moment, as though he were pulling a memory from the depths of his long existence. “In the Devildom, I’d say the reaction was more… indifferent,” he said thoughtfully. “It wasn’t until much later that the value of such a development was fully understood, but the difference between human and demon responses is always fascinating.”

The two of you spent the next few hours in an easy conversation, with Barbatos providing insights into history, philosophy, and modern-day theories. As he spoke, you found yourself captivated, not just by his knowledge but by the way he effortlessly made the most complex topics seem like stories of old. It was as though you were sitting with a living piece of history, someone who had seen the ebb and flow of time and had the wisdom to match.

Eventually, the quiet of the library enveloped the two of you once more, and the only sounds were the occasional turning of pages and the soft clink of Barbatos adjusting his glasses.

"Thank you for this," you said, breaking the silence. "I think I’ve learned more in these few hours than I have all week."

Barbatos smiled at you, a warmth in his gaze that spoke volumes. "The pleasure was mine," he said softly. "Sometimes, it’s not about learning everything all at once, but understanding the journey of discovery. And if I may, I believe you’re well on your way."

You felt your heart flutter at his words, and for a moment, the study session became less about books and more about the connection you were sharing. Barbatos, always so composed, had a way of making you feel seen, not just as a student, but as a person. And you couldn’t help but look forward to the next study date, knowing it would be another opportunity to learn from the enigmatic butler at your side.

[wutheringcaterpillar]

Would you please do a stepbro! Tommy smut with a piss kink? Maybe he makes reader hold it?

Summary: Your step brother finds you out stumbling drunk, there’s only one thing that must be done for you to learn.

warnings: watersports, piss kink, dom/sub dynamics, p in v, mentions of intoxication, humiliation, degradation, stepcest

Everyone knew Tommy was close with you, always around one another, joking around, sometimes playing games that step siblings shouldn’t be playing. 

You hadn’t been home since breakfast and though you were well old enough not to have a curfew, Tommy still demanded to know where you were, who you were with and that you’d be home before dark.

Yet here he was driving down the street in the piss pouring rain looking for his step sister whom he may or may not have a sick, twisted, far too loving relationship with.

Stumbling off through the dark alley giggling with your friends, a car pulled up by the sidewalk that you knew all too well to be your step brother Tommy.

Bidding you goodbye, your friends scattered off, frightened of him, while the brick wall you were now leaning against was the only thing keeping you up on your feet.

Tommy stepped out of the car the rain pouring down onto his head as he slammed the door shut in anger, walking toward you with vigours, thunderous steps.

“I’ve been looking for you all night, and you’ve been out getting drunk at me fooking pub?” Making a sly goofy smile, Tommy rolled his eyes shoving you in the car before driving off back to the house.

The liqour was creating a sense of sexual urgency, and need to be fucked. Yet unlike all other days Tommy disregarded your longing stares and seductive touches, instead leading you into his office, forcing you down on a chair demanding you not move.

“Since you love drinking so much, why don’t we see just how much you can withstand.” Furrowing your eyebrows in confusion, Tommy returned, his heated gaze never swaying from your hazy eyes.

“Drink up, love.” He eyed you from the opposite side of his desk, pushing the tremendously full glass of water toward you.

Eyeing him nervously, you did as he said, allowing the cool liquid to drench your dry throat, relinquishing the headache almost immediately.

His ocean eyes impended directly on you, focusing on the discomfort you attempted to hide.

“You will hold it until I say so.” Whimpering, he stood from his chair, massaging your shoulders, his plush lips dusting against your ear.

“Maybe you’ll learn your lesson next time, eh love?”

You just hadn’t realized how far Tommy would go for a punishment.

Throughout the day he consistently ignored your begging to use the restroom. Instead refilling the glass with each complaint you gave him.

It wasn’t until five glasses in that you realized he wasn’t just messing around, he wanted to see you suffer immensely.

When Ada arrived home, she has voiced concern that you might be ill. Playing it off, you mentioned that your sleep cycle had been inconsistent, relying on the blatant lie of being drowsy and irritable while Tommy simply smirked in the corner, attempting not to laugh as he sipped his tea.

“Well, perhaps a movie will help you sleep.” Nodding, Ada removed her coat, recalling that history movies were a dull interest to you, and ran outside to get the post to see what would be playing on the television tonight.

Once she was out of sight, Tommy abruptly appeared behind your back, purposefully pulling you back against him, arms squeezing tightly around your lower abdomen.

Whining, your head fell back against his chest as his hand glided beneath your skirt, rubbing your aching heat.

This wasn’t fair, he didn’t hold Ada to these standards even though she was older. She’s never had a “curfew”, why should you be any different?

“How’s my little lamb holding in there? Gonna piss yourself right here in the kitchen?” The water slowly dripping from the sink faucet has your eyes drawn in as Tommy continued to massage your mound, the rain pattering against the window outside.

The dripping sounds and the stimulation, causing your mind to spin in a million different directions.

“Such a sensitive little thing aren’t you? Just imagining the moment of releasing the flood gates, draining yourself, completely?” Tugging away from him once the door opened, Ada motioned that your brothers and Aunt Pol wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, but the good news was she had found a movie, only it was three hours.

After eating dinner, the living area was set up with blankets and pillows along with simple snacks.

You were currently seated in the middle of the sofa, Tommy beside you of course while Ada was in the recliner to the side.

As a obnoxiously loud scene came on, you took the time to address your brother.

“Tommy, please! I’m going to burst at the seams!” You pleaded, and begged to him, wishing to just dispel the extreme un comfort of your bladder holding the max capacity of piss. 

He simply chuckled, shaking his head in disapproval, enjoying how desperate you sounded.

Your eyebrows creased together when his hand guided toward your lower abdomen underneath the blanket, pressing firmly onto the bloated, hardened skin, causing you to squeam in slight pain and discomfort of his actions.

Glancing around the room, Ada was still awake fully indulged in the movie.

Shit, you were going to have to play normal for longer than you already have.

Shivering Ada stood up from her seat, complaining of how cold it was in the house even with the fire lit.

When she mentioned hot chocolate, Tommy’s eyes lit up with mischief and pure diabolical intentions.

“Y’know Y/N was just complaining of the same thing, do you mind making us one too?” 

Oh how you wanted to smack him in the back of his demented head, and rush to the toilet.

Every other minute Tommy was shifting, in his seat. How long was this movie? You wouldn’t be surprised had he picked on nearly three hours. But you could play this game better.

As the film continued on about an hour later Tommy’s eyes were becoming heavy, his slight minuscule snores just barely audible.

Taking the opportunity at large, you were careful standing up from the sofa, hesitant not to wake him before walking off toward the upstairs bathroom. Only thing was this was an old house with creaking floors. The night time shade made it hard to see where you were stepping, and then it happened.

The first creak and Tommy was awakened, turning his head to catch you red handed.

Glancing over, Ada was asleep and luckly for him she was a heavy sleeper.

Terror seeped over your eyes as Tommy stood from the catch, walking over and grabbing your arm, forcing you to his room.

“Did you think I wouldn’t hear?” Barging through the door, you shed one another of your clothes, eventually, falling down onto the mattress. Tommy towered over your aching body, noticing how bloaded your bladder appeared, and how hard your nipples were even in the warm air.

You couldn’t help but blush in embarrassment from the fact that being degraded and controlled in such a way turned you on.

Pressing firmly down onto your skin, he smirked watching you squeal and squirm beneath him in desperation, while his hardened cock slid in an up and down motion between your moist folds.

“Tommy I- I can’t. Please let me go first!” He shook his head, plunging his length in your heated flower. The over filling sensation, causing extreme discomfort with a hint of pleasure.

“Maybe you should learn to listen to your big brother every now and then eh?” Your lips parted agape when he began to drill into your body, the head of his cock feeling like it was hitting your bladder with each thrust.

Surely he didn’t expect you to hold your piss through this.

“I-I’m sorry, I promise I’ll be home on time from now on.” His hands grasped at your boobs, feeling them bounce with each rhythmic thrust.

It was almost pathetic how soaked you were, how your pussy clung to his long length in desperation.

When he flipped you over onto your stomach, that was when the inevitable was about to happen.

“Tommy-Tommy I’m gonna- I can’t-“

“You can release now love.” As soon as he gave you permission, all of the piss inside your aching bladder pooled out onto the sheets around his cock. The relieving sensation was almost too satisfying to recognize the humiliating situation that didn’t seem to phase Tommy at all as he continued to fuck you relentlessly. The piss warming his cock like a popsicle melting from the hot sun on a warm summer day.

The white sheets now stained yellow beneath your sex, your cheeks burning red in embarrassment.

It wasn’t long until Tommy released his seed inside of your dripping hole, the overwhelming heat of your pussy and piss sending a tidal wave of pleasure through his veins as his toes curled with one last strong, powerful thrust as he rode out his orgasm.

“So tell me? Did you learn something useful today?”

[nczennie]

it's ok if it hurts.

Pairing: Reader & Stray Kid's Hyunjin AU: Historical, Royalty Genre: Angst Preview: Hyunjin was always a romantic. Maybe that's why the second he found love he left you for dead. Words: 3.8k *warnings undercut

WARNINGS: Death, mentions of blood, mentions of sexual harassment

You've come to find out that you learn a lot of things growing up in a palace.

You may not learn how to read or write. How to walk so perfectly straight you can balance a book on your head. You'll never learn how to sweet talk delegates from other regions, but you think the lessons you've learned are just as valuable.

You know to always keep your eyes trained down, you know when it is okay for you to speak. You know to listen and observe every conversation you stumble upon. You've learned the techniques it takes to survive living as your rank in a place run by royals.

Your father is one of the King's chefs, your mother one of the ladies in charge of making the Queen's tea. They fell in love and married, you coming along shortly after. This meant you were apart of the palace life since you were born. And once you were old enough you were put to work as well, helping the other ladies in the garden picking herbs and cutting flowers.

You didn't mind your job, not that you had anything to compare it to. You enjoyed being able to work outside and the older women doted on you endlessly.

The King and Queen had two sons. Two boys blessed in beauty and had their own unique talents. The oldest of the two was eager to adopt his role as future King. Loving to read the history of the region, often taking his horse to explore the land. The youngest of the two boys was quite the opposite. He was a softer boy who loved poetry and art. Eager to make his own paintings rather than read about those who already did.

The younger Prince, Hyunjin, was your age. In fact, he was born merely months after you. The Queen found comfort in talking about her pregnancy with your mother as she served her tea. Comparing symptoms and trying to guess if that meant they were having a boy or a girl.

And though not proper, you and Hyunjin often played together when you were young, though it came with disapproving looks from his father whenever he caught you both. "It's alright, they're still young." his mother would say.

You always wondered if that meant once you become older you and Hyunjin would no longer be friends. But here you are now, having recently turned eighteen, pulling weeds from the garden as Hyunjin sat next to you sketching a newly bloomed flower.

The late summer humidity was getting to you as you move to wipe the sweat from your brow, the wide brim hat protecting you from the sunlight but did little to help your temperature when there was no breeze out. Reaching to place another weed in your basket you let out a huff.

"Did you hear the news?" Hyunjin speaks up, one of the first words he's spoke since concentrated on his writing. You turn to look at him but he doesn't move his gaze from his paper. "Maehwa is pregnant."

Maehwa is Hyunjin's sister-in-law. She married his brother some years ago and is set to be the future Queen. You hum, removing one of your gloves to relieve a bit of the heat, "Yes, mother told me. She seems very excited." Now alongside the Queen, your mother also serves Maehwa her tea as well.

Hyunjin puts his pencil down, opening and closing his fist as if to relieve his charcoal coated fingers of the stiffness. "My brother says he secretly wishes it's a girl," Hyunjin chuckles knowing if their father heard he would yell at him, knowing tradition calls for needing sons in order to keep their position as royal family.

You smile at the thought, you were fond of Hyunjin's brother. He was always very polite and nice to not only you but everyone he met. He was well read and modern and determined to make a difference when he became King. Even Maehwa, whom he was arranged to marry was a perfect fit for him. Sharing his kindness and beliefs.

Returning your glove to your hand, you reach for another weed hidden beneath a dirt pile, "I know he will be a great father no matter what." Hyunjin hums in agreement moving to smudge bits of his drawing.

"Well, well, well," Someone draws out and you and Hyunjin look in surprise as someone approaches you both.

Upon seeing him, you avert your gaze, secretly rolling your eyes as he approaches, "What are you both doing alone?" It was Hyunjin's personal guard. A young man by the name of Sahan.

On Hyunjin's eighteenth birthday, a personal guard was hired to make sure he was safe, especially since it meant he could now travel outside of the palace. This is where Sahan came in, he was some years older than the Prince but much more immature. There was something about the man you didn't quite trust, and the inappropriate comments he makes to the women staff around the palace make you all uncomfortable. But Hyunjin doesn't see that, in fact he seems to love Sahan. Growing up his only contact with people around his age were his brother and you. You figure he takes pleasure in having Sahan around and sees him as a friend.

Hyunjin smiles as the man approaches, "Oh come on, you know she is my friend." He chuckles standing to his feet and wipes at his clothes to remove any dirt. You still don't move to look at them but you could basically hear the smirk in Sahan's voice, "That may be but you know it's inappropriate for you both to be alone. Especially when you are friends with someone so beautiful, it could be tempting."

You don't give the man the satisfaction of a reaction, biting your tongue and keeping your gaze fixed on the plant before you.

Hyunjin lets out an amused scoff and your stomach clenches as he speaks, "Oh, please. It's not like that." Sahan laughs loudly at this, perhaps finding amusement in your friends rejection of you. "Suit yourself," you hear Hyunjin gather his art supplies.

You don't dare to look back, not even when Hyunjin calls your name and tells you goodbye. You listen to the sound of their footsteps growing further and further away on the gravel.

Your mom always warned you your feelings for Hyunjin were dangerous.

But you merely rolled your eyes. You weren't stupid, you felt like saying. You knew you could never be with Hyunjin and you would never try to. Those thoughts you had about him falling in love with you and begging his parents to let him marry you were just fantasies you knew were for your head only.

But that doesn't mean it hurt any less when they announced he was getting married.

A scholar's daughter. Her family quicking raising in social status and wealth. Not acceptable for an heir, but for a second son, she would do.

You feel grateful that it isn't Hyunjin that breaks the news to you. That way when your mother tells you, you could cry in her arms as she tells you off for your feelings but hugs you tight nonetheless.

Hyunjin has always been romantic.

And now that he is getting his chance at love he seems happier than ever. Now sitting below the tree where you pick apples. Hanging on to the ladder and biting your tongue as he drowns out about his wedding.

"I think I will paint her something and surprise her with it the night of the wedding." He looks up at you and you fill the bag with the ripe fruit. You hum but don't speak, focusing on reaching and keeping your balance.

"She'll probably be so nervous to move into the palace. But after the wedding when we're finally alone, I'll reassure her I'll love her and protect her. And then I'll present her with the painting and we can display it in our room." He drones on.

He's always been like this, coming up with romantic scenarios where he's the hero that can save and comfort someone he loves. But unfortunately they've never been about you.

"I could paint a picture of her town, to remind her of home. What do you think?" He asks and you sigh. "That's sweet, Hyunjin." You say because no matter how bitter you feel, you can't deny the sentiment.

"I just met her, she's is quite the beauty."

You jump with a start, turning to see who has joined you in the gardeners shed. A chill runs through you as you see Sahan standing in the doorway. Without giving him a response, you turn back to the bucket of water where you were washing the vegetables.

Your heart pounds as he walks closer to you, your breath hitches as he stands directly behind you. "Salin, that's her name." He says in a low voice behind you.

He's speaking of Hyunjin's finacé. The wedding is tomorrow, and she arrived to the palace tonight.

"Leave me alone, Sahan." You finally say, scrubbing the radish for the wedding celebrations even harder.

Suddenly, you feel the weight of his hand over your waist, causing the vegetable to slip from your hand. You turn, burning red as he has the nerve to touch you.

"Don't touch me." You say firmly but he only looks down at you with a smirk. "Hyunjin is not yours anymore." He whispers, "He belongs to Salin now." He moves closer, pushing you into the large bucket, pressing against you and you try to push at his chest to keep your space.

"I can help you forget him, I can distract you." He leans in to whisper in your ear as you yank your head to the side. He hand form before returns to your waist giving it a squeeze.

"Get out. I'll scream." You say trying your best to keep your voice steady. But he merely laughs, "I think it's funny you have any power over me. You think anyone here will care what I do to you?"

Your lip wobbles as you look past his shoulder. Because no matter how small it made you feel, it was true.

There's a bustle of commotion from outside. You assume more gardeners returning to work after finishing their dinner. The whole palace will be awake all night to finish preparing for the big day tomorrow.

Sahan glances towards the door before pulling away from you completely. "I'll see you another time." He says simply before slipping out into the night. Leaving you to finish washing radishes as quiet sobs leave your mouth.

The wedding goes splendidly.

Not that you would know as you were not allowed near the occasion, but the rest of the palace speaks happily about the whole ordeal.

You haven't seen Hyunjin in over a month. You suppose you should've expected this as he is married now. But a part of you wanted to believe you meant a least a fraction as much to him as he did to you.

On that note, you haven't seen Sahan since that night as well. He was busy accompanying Hyunjin and Salin around the town as they explored her new home.

But now a sense of paranoia and dread filled you whenever you were alone. Not wanted to run into him in fear of what he would do to you.

It was one early morning when you and the rest of the garders were busy planting seeds for a new crop. However your work was interrupted when the newly appointed princess, Salin walked with her staff into the field.

As protocol has it, you all stopped your work, standing to bow before standing still with your gaze pointed to the ground.

"I came to check out the work," she speaks and her voice is light as a feather. It's the first time you've been in the same room as her and you're dying to cast your gaze up to get a glance at her. But you restrain yourself.

"Thank you for all your hard work." She speaks over everyone, walking down the line of you all before stopping merely feet from you. "As you all know, I am now Prince Hyunjin's wife. And I just want to remind you all that you are gardeners. You work for the palace."

"And palace staff is all you'll stay. Please remember your place. Staff should not be on comfortable speaking terms with any of the royal family." Your mouth runs dry at her words.

She is talking to you all, but you know she is speaking to you.

She thanks you all once again before taking her leave. Shakily, you get back to your position. She had to be talking about you, there was no other explanation. Somehow she must've found out about your friendship with Hyunjin, but how?

A couple of days later when it's your turn to set the fruit buckets to dry, you notice Hyunjin sitting under the tree just ahead of you.

A smile quirks on your face as for a second it feels like the old days. "Hyunjin," you call as you walk up to him giving him a friendly smile. He looks up from where he was drawing, eyebrows furrowed as if he didn't hear you approach.

But instead of his familiar warm smile or playful smirk he once gave you, his face stays still. A look of blankness casting over him like a veil. As if twenty years of memories slipped his mind.

"I hope you are not forgetting you are speaking to a member of the royal family." He speaks in an even tone.

You take a small step back taking a moment to consider his words. Hoping for a second that he was joking. Unfortunately there is not a hint of amusement in his face, instead a coldness that passes from his gaze to your blood.

"Your highness, excuse me." You say quietly before turning and scrambling off, forgetting about what you originally came for.

Your chest heaves as you make your way back to your working quarters. A dull pain lingering in your head as you try to comprehend what happened.

For as long as you've known Hyunjin you've never adhered to the rules that everyone else was expected to follow. He made it clear to you from the start that you were friends and there was no need to treat him otherwise.

Not realising that must've ended for him as soon as he got married.

You keep your head down as you enter the gardening shed, your coworkers chattering loudly. Suddenly, you remember about drying the baskets, so you quickly make your way into the corner pretending you came to grab more.

Stacking them slowly, you give yourself a minute to cry. Tears streaming down your face as you mourn your friend. It seems so sudden he was ripped from you without you even knowing.

You hear the door open but don't bother to look, not even when the loud chatter becomes murmurs.

You still work as you feel a presence behind you before a voice speaks, "I suppose whatever relationship you had with the Prince has come to an end."

It's Sahan. You recognize his chilling voice from anywhere. That must also explain why the other ladies have quieted. For there is no woman in the palace who feels comfortable with him.

You don't speak or acknowledge him as he only brings out a burning anger from within you.

"It's a shame the Princess doesn't want him around you. I must've let your friendship slip." He teases with a smirk you don't have to see to know is there.

So that's what happened. It's Sahan who told Princess Salin about your friendship with Hyunjin. That's why she visited you all in the fields the other day. That explains Hyunjin's behavior.

Sahan turns to leave a second later, perhaps not finding fun in your lack of reaction but you would never give him the satisfaction. You would never let him know that he's ruined you.

The next month has been miserable.

Not only is there a big harvest coming up that has you working from sunup to sundown, but you miss Hyunjin.

You loved Hyunjin. And although you were smart enough not to admit it to anyone it still doesn't stop the fact that you feel utterly heartbroken.

You've lost not only a love, but your only friend in the palace. At this point you feel as if you've had nothing left. Even your parents have got to retire from their years of hard work and loyalty, living in a house outside of the palace and in town. It may be small but it was their own.

One night you feel like you're sleepwalking as you make your way back to your sleeping quarters. The palace is dark as everyone who is inside sleeps, but you volunteered to be the one to cleaned and prepped the tools ready for the morning.

Walking past one of the building you freeze.

It could be your sleep deprivation, or the wind, but from within just for a second it sounded like a yelp.

You pause listening for more. Surely if there was something, the guards would be alerted by now.

There was not another yelp, but instead a large thud.

This, not something you could blame on being tired. You heard it loud and clear.

You look around, waiting for someone to come to check out the noises, but there are only crickets. Hesitantly you take a step towards the door. If no one else was coming you had to make sure everything was okay.

Slowly, you start to slide the door open, as if to warn whoever was on the other side of your entry. Once you slip in, you let your eyes adjust, only a single candle lighting the room from the corner.

Standing in the middle of the room, is Prince Salin, causing you to freeze. You're about to bow and apologize before you noticed the terrified look on her face. She's heaving, sweating from her brow.

Looking at her hands, you freeze noticing the blood.

A panic wells in you as you begin to think she is hurt.

She holds what looks like a piece of a vase. Your gaze continues to the floor. You quickly move your hands to your mouth before the sound of shock can leave you.

There lies his body.

A pool of blood spilling from his neck, looking black in the dark lighting. The remains of the broken vase scattered around him.

You make a quick decision, entering the room completely before shutting the door quietly behind you.

"He-He was trying to touch me! I just wanted him to stop!" Salin cries, far too loud for your liking.

You hush her, moving in front of her to throw your hand over her mouth. "It's okay." You comfort her, knowing in fact it was anything but with a dead body on the floor beneath you both.

Keeping your hand over her mouth as she cries, you look down at the mess. Your mind wheeling with what to do next. What you finally decide scares you at first, but you start to move before you can think too much.

"Listen to me," You whisper to her, waiting for her to meet your gaze. "You need to sneak back into your room okay? Don't let anyone see you. Wash your hands and burn the dress, do you understand?" She merely stares at you so you push your hand into her, "Do you understand?" You whisper harshly.

She finally nods, looking desperate. You remove your hand, "Only get the help of your most trusted lady. Don't speak a word of what happened, just have her wash you and burn the dress." You repeat hoping she gets it despite her shocked state.

You step away, taking the sharp glass from her hand before nodding at her, "Go." She doesn't move for a second, looking at you before you point to the door.

She doesn't spare you another glace as she leaves as quietly as you entered.

You stare at the door for a few moments before finally looking down at the body again.

Sahan.

Leaning down you let yourself check for a pulse, confirming he was dead. You return to your standing position, looking at him and not finding it in yourself to feel sorry for him at all. You contemplate, for even in death he continues to ruin your life.

And that's how they find you.

Hyunjin was always a romantic. Maybe that's why the second he found love he left you for dead.

You knew this would be the ending of your story as soon as you made the decision to take Salin's place.

Tied and kneeling in the courtyard of the palace, moments away from death.

Though your heart pounds with fear, you don't let yourself look away from Hyunjin, hoping to catch a glimpse at your old friend before you go.

But the reality is, he is no longer there.

For he was the one who suggested execution when they told him you had murdered his beloved Sahan. At the beginning you tried to plead, explaining how he was regularing harassing women around the palace. How you were merely defending yourself but it fell on deaf ears.

Sahan was right when he said he had more power than you, even now that he was gone.

You move your gaze from Hyunjin to Salin. You're welcome, you try to convey with your eyes. This could be you. You're lucky I'm the one who found you. All messages you want her to know, but you doubt she even cares at this point. Merely happy she got away with murder.

The guards ask if you have any last words.

You've been practicing for this. You clear your throat looking at Hyunjin in the eye. It didn't really matter what you said anyways, in moments you'd be dead.

You speak clearly, hoping to conceal any traces of fear from them.

"Hyunjin," You say loud enough to make sure he can hear, "It's ok if it hurts, because I love you."

A silence follows and though not even in your fantasies you imagined this is how you confess your love, you're just glad that you got to. Even if no reaction follows.

You keep Hyunjin's blank gaze until they throw the cloth bag over your head. Darkness consumes you, but you wish you could somehow see Hyunjin's reaction. To see if there is even a sliver of sadness or remorse as he see your life taken away from you.

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