#uncommon time signatures | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

appocalipse · 10 months ago

Text

MAKE IT EASY : ̗̀➛ STEVE HARRINGTON

・❥・part 1・part 2 ❥・3.8k words

Summary: steve asks you to pretend to be his girlfriend for a family dinner. the problem is: after all is said and done, he gives you the cold shoulder. have you done something wrong?

requested by my beloved @stevebabey 🥺

a/n: this was supposed to be a drabble, and now, oh well...I had to split it into two parts. here we go.

・❥・

It was the epitome of a terrible idea.

And it had started that day.

The very moment Steve walked into the diner your family owned, you knew something was wrong. Not that it was uncommon for Steve to visit you at work — not at all. In fact, it was almost a weekly occurrence, the highlight of it, in fact, for you; the odd part was that Steve never showed up alone, without at least a few of the kids. On that Wednesday night, he was not only alone but also strangely nervous.

You rarely saw Steve get nervous. His confidence was as much a part of him as his signature perfect hair. But tonight, his hands fidgeted with the edge of his jacket, eyes darting around the diner as if searching for an escape route. He looked like he was trying to convince himself to leave.

Weird.

"Steve," you greeted him with a warm smile, hoping to ease his obvious tension a little bit as he approached the counter. "You look like you've seen a Demogorgon."

It was supposed to be a joke. You only felt comfortable saying that now because — luckily — things had been quiet at Hawkins. It had been a long time since you and your friends had to deal with one. But something about Steve's demeanor really made you wonder if there was more to this visit than just a friendly catch-up.

He tried for a convincing chuckle, but it came out tinged with a hint of sadness instead. "I wish," he said, and then quickly shook his head, "Actually no, of course not. I kinda…There's something I wanted to-"

You furrowed your brows, concern knitting your features together. At this point, Steve's tension seemed to be rubbing off on you.

"Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, everything's fine, just…can we talk?"

"Of course."

He glanced around the diner, gaze briefly flitting over the empty tables and the neon glow of the jukebox. "Not here," he murmured, voice barely audible above the din of conversation and clinking dishes. It was a busy night, despite being Wednesday. "Can you, like, take a break?"

For Steve, of course you could.

Curiosity mingled with concern, and you followed his lead, stepping out into the cool night air. The streets were bathed in the soft glow of streetlights, casting elongated shadows that danced upon the pavement. You leaned against the side of the building, your eyes fixed on Steve, awaiting an explanation for his beyond unusual behavior.

He raked his fingers through his hair, a nervous habit that seemed magnified in this moment. "Look," he began, his voice tinged with a vulnerability you hadn't heard before, "I need a favor- a big one."

Oh, Jesus. "Steve," you placed a hand over your chest, breathing a sigh of relief. "For a moment there I thought you were going to say something terrible. A favor? C'mon, sure. What do you want me to do?"

Steve's eyes met yours, his gaze earnest and…vulnerable?

"I... I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend... Just for one night!" he quickly added, like he was afraid you might misinterpret his request, say no even before he could finish… but no, of course you wouldn't. Far from it.

Who wouldn't want to date Steve Harrington?

"But why would you-"

"My parents," Steve interjected, tone deeply tinged with unease, "they're in town."

"Oh." Steve rarely ever spoke about his parents, and their mere presence seemed to have stirred a sense of apprehension within him. "Are they still... difficult?"

You knew you were touching scars, deep scars. You made sure to be gentle.

Steve sighed, gaze fixed on the ground.

"Yeah, you could say that," a hint of frustration colored his voice, as if he were carrying on his shoulders the weight of every little judgemental glare they had ever sent his way. "Nothing I do is ever enough for them. They've always been focused on money and success. To them, that's the measure of worth. And because I don't fit their mold of the perfect, ambitious son, they treat me like…well, you know how they treat me."

Indeed, you knew.

Steve looked like he didn't know you were unable to say no to him.

And that's how you put yourself into one hell of a mess.

It's Saturday night and you're standing in front of the mirror, desperately trying to zip up your stupid dress. Why anyone would put a zipper in the back of a dress, in the most difficult possible place for a person to reach on their own, is something you are unable to fathom.

But then again, maybe you're the stupid one in this story, you think bitterly, since it was you who chose the dress with the zipper in the back in the first place.

Why are you trying so hard, though?

"I'm not," you tell yourself out loud, stubbornly.

There is a big pile of discarded clothes on your bed that says otherwise.

With a feeling akin to fear bubbling in your stomach, you glance at the clock. It's almost seven. For fuck's sake.

You're late.

Steve will arrive soon, and you are apparently unable to close the damn zipper of your own dress, no matter in which awkward positions you try twisting yourself into…you just can't reach it.

The doorbell rings.

The world is truly a dark place, isn't it?

You freeze. It can only be Steve. Shit, shit, shit! For a moment, you consider the idea of simply not opening the door, turning off the lights and pretending you never agreed to take part in this madness that is dining with the Harringtons.

HA! As if you'd really be able to turn your back on Steve.

You take a deep breath, accepting the battle you just lost, and decide that your only and best option is to simply open the door and ask Steve for help — mortified or not. With no choice but to leave the dress with the zipper still open and your back somewhat exposed, you quickly walk to the door to open it.

"Sorry, I'm late," you say, a little out of breath. "I had a little problem with the dress and I... flowers?"

Flowers, for sure. Steve holds a beautiful bouquet of red roses. He looks at you for a moment, then his eyes run over the partly open dress and your exposed skin for a couple of seconds too long to be accidental. You swallow thickly.

"Yeah I..." he shakes his head, a little uncomfortable standing there, and then his eyes meet yours. "The flowers are for you. Do you want me to...?" he mimics the motion of closing a zipper.

You feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, but there is no choice but to accept. You look at him, a mix of gratitude and nervousness in your eyes.

"Yeah, that would be great," you reply, stumbling over the words.

If he notices, he doesn't say anything.

Steve comes closer and hands you the bouquet, your fingers briefly touching his. You catch a whiff of his cologne — citrusy fruit and wood notes — as you turn around, brushing your hair away from your neck.

For a moment, Steve does nothing, and you wonder if he is just figuring out the best way to close the zipper…or something else entirely.

His touch ghosts down your bare back before his hand finally, finally finds the zipper. Slowly, he pulls it up, inch by inch, and you hold your breath for a moment, lost in a feeling your best friend is definitely not supposed to evoke in you. You feel the dress tighten, fabric adjusting to your body, his fingers inevitably brushing your skin and sending unexpected tingles up your spine. You try to ignore the trail of electricity left by the tip of his fingers as you turn to face him, eyes finding his.

"There you go", he murmurs, taking his hands off you and taking a small step back. "You look very... girlfriend."

You laugh.

"Thank you", you say softly, your heart beating faster. "You also look very boyfriend."

A small smile plays on Steve's lips, a flush creeping up his cheeks. Or maybe it's just the cold night breeze coming through the open door...

Steve's gaze drifts to your lips and lingers there for way too long to be accidental. He is so close that he starts crushing the bouquet between the two of you…

Something clicks inside of you. Common sense, perhaps.

"Thank you... for the flowers."

The spell breaks; he moves away so fast that you almost drop the flowers on the floor.

"Yeah, uh, no problem," he says quickly, regaining his composure. "Ready to go?"

Disappointment stabs at you, but you try to hide it. Maybe you imagined too much, read signs where there were none.

"Sure. I'll just put the flowers in a vase."

It's an excuse to catch your breath. You walk to the kitchen, put water in the first clean container you find and put the flowers in it. Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Your heart is racing and yet nothing has happened. It's just dinner, you tell yourself, I've had dinner with Steve and the others before. It's just dinner.

So why did you try so hard to look beautiful? insists the other voice in your mind. You decide it's best not to answer.

"You okay?"

Steve is at the kitchen door, all concern and soft brown eyes. You must have taken too long.

"Yes, I'm fine," you reply, forcing a smile to calm your own anxiety. "I was just taking care of the flowers. Ready to go?"

Steve nods. A gentleman, he opens the car door for you to get in. It's a short drive to the Harrington house, and you take the opportunity to try to calm your nerves. Looking out the window, you watch the city lights blinking as you approach your destination.

You look at him. You have the impression that Steve is driving slightly slower than necessary.

"Can I ask you something?" you say, unsure.

Steve briefly glances at you before returning his attention to the road, looking so stiff you're under the impression he might break his back at any moment.

"Sure, what's up?"

"Why did you ask me to pretend to be your girlfriend? I mean, I understand the part about your parents…but why didn't you bring someone you're actually dating or something?"

There's a brief moment of silence before Steve responds, his voice a bit softer.

"Actually, I'm not really dating anyone at the moment," he admits. "And when my parents mentioned the dinner, I kind of panicked. I didn't want to show up alone and face more questions about my life, you know?"

"I know," you respond, understandingly. "And why did you choose me specifically?"

He looks away for a moment before answering.

"Because you're perfect," he says, finally looking back at you. Then quickly, as if he only just realized the words slipped out on their own, he adds, nervously staring back at the road, "I mean, my parents, they... you're perfect for them. They're going to love you."

You feel a mix of surprise, satisfaction, and confusion with Steve's response. You try not to read any deeper meaning behind the words, telling yourself not to notice how he quickly tries to disguise them.

"I see," you reply, although you don't really understand anything. Steve seems to say one thing when he means another. "Well, I hope I can do well. I mean, I'm not very convincing when I lie."

Steve smiles briefly and nods.

"I'm sure you'll be great. Just... be yourself."

You appreciate Steve's vote of confidence and focus on staying calm as the car approaches the Harringtons' house. Although there's still a lingering questioning in your mind about Steve's earlier response, you decide to set it aside for now and focus on the immediate task.

Steve parks the car, and you both step out together. Nervousness returns as you approach the front door. You exchange a quick glance with Steve, seeking mutual encouragement.

As you walk toward the house's entrance, Steve's hand finds yours. He gently squeezes it, and you're not sure if he's trying to convey or seek comfort himself. You don't mind anyway.

The door opens, revealing Steve's parents, Mr. and Mrs. Harrington. As you prepare to enter their house, they cast evaluative glances your way, as you had expected. Mrs. Harrington's smile seems a bit forced, while Mr. Harrington maintains a serious expression you can't even begin to try to read.

It's not like you expected anything different.

"Mom," says Steve in lieu of a greeting. "Dad."

"Steve, you finally made it," says Mrs. Harrington, her tone somehow a mix of relief and disapproval. "And this must be your... girlfriend."

Steve maintains his composure as he introduces you, although you can sense a slight tension in his shoulders. It's only when he says your last name that Steve's parents' gazes turn into something completely different, almost a scientific interest.

Hawkins is a small place. Your parents' business is respected enough in town.

All eyes turn to you, and you try not to show the insecurity you feel inside. Mr. Harrington studies you for a moment, his penetrating gaze seeming to assess your suitability for his son.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Mr. Harrington," he finally says, extending an unusually large hand for a formal greeting.

You shake his hand firmly, trying to convey a confidence you're not quite sure you feel. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Harrington. Thank you for the invitation."

Mrs. Harrington still seems a bit unsettled but composes herself as she invites you inside. You're making your way toward the dining room when you feel Steve's hand intertwine with yours again, and when your gaze meets his, he's smiling.

Thank you, he mouths.

You smile back.

During dinner, you make an effort to be as pleasant and interesting as you can possibly be in the eyes of Steve's parents, responding politely and trying to find points of common interest. In turn, Steve makes an effort to showcase his worth, defending his accomplishments, however small and sharing his plans for the future, painting an image of maturity that, you can tell by the look in his parents' eyes, they were not expecting.

Throughout the evening, you realize that although Steve's parents are demanding and neglectful in many aspects, they also seem to have their own insecurities and concerns. They want the best for Steve, even if their way of expressing it is at least…unusual.

As the night progresses, you find yourself navigating this strange family dynamic better and better, to the point where Steve's parents' attention is fully on you, and it doesn't even feel that uncomfortable anymore. You even laugh at one point.

By the end of the dinner, as you two prepare to leave, you notice a very similar expression of relief on the faces of Steve's parents. They seem to have found some kind of approval in the way you both behaved together during the evening.

As you say goodbye, Mr. Harrington extends his hand again, but this time, his handshake is warmer, less formal, and Mrs. Harrington's smile almost seems genuine. Almost.

"It was a pleasure having you here," she says. "You should bring her more often, Steve."

You and Steve exchange a look of surprise. Had you somehow managed to create a connection with his parents?

As you walk away from the Harringtons' house, Steve's hand finds yours for the third time that night, and an optimistic part of you registers the fact that there's no one else here to see. He gently squeezes it, his brown eyes filled with gratitude when they meet yours.

"You were amazing," he says, genuinely smiling.

In the car, during the ride back, you both talk animatedly about the night and his parents' reactions. The tension from dinner seems to have diminished, leaving you both more relaxed and confident.

When you arrive in front of your house, Steve turns off the car and gets out to accompany you to the front door, even after you— out of politeness, mind you — said it's really not necessary.

"You know, I didn't expect everything to go so well tonight," says Steve, with a playful smile. "I can't believe I'm saying this about a dinner with my parents, but thanks to you, it was even fun."

You laugh. "I kinda had fun too. I think we did better than we thought possible."

"You're amazing," he says again, and this time his voice carries a softer, more intimate tone. His eyes meet yours, shining, and you see admiration there…maybe, you dare to think, something even deeper.

The silence grows tense. Your heart races. There's something special happening between you, you know there is; this goes beyond mere friendship or pretending to be a couple for one night…doesn't it?

Are you imagining this?

"Steve..."

You can't finish before he's leaning in slowly, and you're almost certain his eyes are fixed on your lips. For a feverish moment, you think Steve is going to kiss you.

He tilts his head last second. You feel the softness of his lips brushing against your cheek a moment later, a light and brief kiss, mouth almost uncertain against your warm skin….and then it's over.

Steve pulls back slowly.

"Goodnight," he says, eyes soft, smile softer. "Thank you…for today."

"You're welcome."

It's only when you enter the house that the dress dilemma comes to mind.

Well…shit.

The zipper at the back is still unreachable for you, and you can't undo it yourself unless you use scissors — which, considering the price you paid for it, you really don't want to do.

With few options and too much embarrassment, you decide to call Steve back while you still can.

"Steve?" you practically shout, your embarrassment immediately doubling. He's about to open the door of his trusted BMW when he turns to you, confused and unfairly handsome under the street light.

Suddenly using the scissors on the dress doesn't seem like such a bad idea anymore.

Well, too late.

"Could you, you know... " you ask, gesturing to the back of your dress, "help me with the zipper?"

His initial surprise quickly gives way to a nervous smile.

"Sure. What kind of fake boyfriend would I be if I didn't help?"

"I'm sure that's one of the many job duties."

"Definitely. And I strive to be a top-notch fake boyfriend."

He steps in. With the door closed behind the two of you, the atmosphere takes on a sense of intimacy and anticipation.

"I really can't reach the zipper," you feel the need to explain, even more flustered by his silence.

"No problem," Steve says with that gentle tone that makes your heart do funny things inside your chest. "Turn around."

You turn so that he can reach the dress' zipper, and now you're facing the large oval mirror in the hallway, with Steve standing right behind you.

He reaches out gently, his fingers lightly brushing the back of your dress.

Breathe in.

The temperature around you seems to rise a few degrees.

Breath out.

You feel the gentle pressure of his fingers as he starts to slide the zipper down. He touches your skin and you tell yourself that this is inevitable, that he didn't mean to…but he lingers. Lingers just enough for you to tense up and let out a breathless sigh you certainly didn't intend to.

"Are you okay?" Steve asks, his voice soft, filled with concern. You know he's looking at you through the mirror and that's precisely why you keep your gaze on the floor. "Are my fingers cold?"

"No, your fingers..." your voice sounds hoarse. You clear your throat. "...it's fine, I'm okay."

I'm great. I'm more than okay. Nothing out of the ordinary happening here.

However, when the zipper seems to momentarily get stuck — because of course it had to — the two of you exchange equally panicked looks through the mirror, though perhaps for different reasons. An uncomfortable silence fills the air as Steve tries to fix the issue.

"I'm... it's just... sorry, it seems to be stuck."

There's a moment of awkward silence as he tries to figure out a way to open the zipper. You can feel the tension in the air as he struggles to handle the situation.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" you joke, desperately trying to ease the tension.

Steve lets out a low laugh, his warm breath gently caressing your neck.

"Absolutely," he replies, his voice slightly husky. Then, probably without so much as noticing, he adds, "I've taken off many dresses before."

Oh.

"Steve-"

Steve doesn't give up. With skilled fingers, he adjusts the position of the zipper and makes another attempt. It moves.

"We're almost there," he murmurs softly, his voice close to your ear.

Finally, with a smooth motion, the zipper gives way, sliding all the way down. A sigh of relief escapes your lips, and you turn around to face Steve, finding his eyes filled with excitement.

"I did it!"

His enthusiastic smile soon gives way to something else as he realizes how close — and technically partly undressed — you are.

And close you are, so very close. Close enough that you and Steve are somehow breathing the same air now.

Close enough, you realize, that a slight tilt of the head and...you'd be kissing.

Kissing.

Did he notice that too?

You hold your dress up over your chest to make sure it doesn't fall because, well…no matter how distracted you are, it's not enough that you'd risk a wardrobe malfunction that'll leave you standing there naked in front of Steve Harrington.

"...thanks," you manage a whisper, lips a hair's breadth away from his. You do know that Steve has no reason not to go now that dinner is over and everything went (surprisingly) well, but a part of you wonders if maybe…

Steve's hands hover around your waist as if unsure of what to do next.

So close...

You hold still.

In that breathless silence, you're under the impression that Steve leans closer, even if just the slightest bit, maybe without even noticing.

"Steve…" you slowly tilt your head to the side.

Steve's heart is pounding in his chest as he feels the warmth of your breath against his lips. Stop, he thinks. His eyes flutter closed, and Steve can't help but lean in just a little bit more.

He raises his arm as if to touch you, wanting to touch you, to hold your face, to bring you closer…but he stops with one of his hands hovering near your cheek.

He pulls away with a gasp, his hands flying up to his face in shock. "I should-" he stammers. "I need to go."

Bam.

Door closed.

And just like that, he's out of the house before you can even open your eyes properly.

He just…pulled away.

What the hell was that?

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington angst #steve x you #steve x reader #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagine #steve harrington drabble

3K notes · View notes

creganslover · 3 months ago

Text

My Queen

Pairing: Rhaenyra Targaryen x GN! Targaryen Dragonseed! Bastard! Reader

Requested?: Yes/No

Summary: Throwing your life away to travel to Dragonstone was not your initial idea, nor was claiming a dragon... and getting to bond with the Queen herself.

Word count: 3.0k

Warning/s: canon-divergence, foul language, graphic descriptions of death, lmk if i missed anything!

Note: first time writing for rhaenyra! i apologize if she might be ooc, but i really enjoyed writing this and had gotten taken away i think- anw, likes, reblogs, and feedbacks are greatly appreciated! <3

GIF is not mine, credits to the owner!

Falling into the dragon’s pit was not necessarily your idea.

Nor traveling to Dragonstone for that matter.

You were but one of the many common folk in King’s Landing, instead of sporting the signature platinum hair of the Targaryens, you sported their rare purple eyes instead, your hair was anything but platinum, but you weren’t royal, you were a bastard, often lingering gazes would be on you as you passed down the streets minding your own business.

Targaryen bastards weren’t uncommon, no, but you would all get the same looks of pity and shame even if they do not voice it out loud.

Though you wouldn’t trade it for anything as your father had raised you, saying that your mother was a wonderful woman that gave you to him, however they did not get the ending of getting to be together till death.

Two and a half decades had passed as your father had fallen ill and shortly succumbed to it due to lack of treatment in which you desperately tried to work for.

And when the time came when you’ve heard rumors spreading through the streets of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Black Queen, wishing to call upon anyone who had a form of Targaryen lineage to come to Dragonstone, especially those who were not afraid of death, those who would join were required to travel in two nights time.

It made you curious, the eldest daughter of Viserys calling upon Targaryen bastards and to be not afraid of death? You could almost chuckle as you traded your craft to a vendor on the street, until you heard she was finding those courageous enough to claim a dragon.

A fucking dragon.

Something in the back of your mind nagged at you to throw all caution to the wind and try your luck in the game of roulette, to either die consumed by flames, or fight for the side of the Blacks with a dragon of your own.

It was tempting. But last night as you peeked out your window to see people leaving their houses, of all ages, some also harboring silver hair, some not. Glancing to the knapsack you had perched upon the wall, filled with necessities you had prepared if you ever grew tired of King’s Landing, you bit the inside of your cheek.

The footsteps began to fade out before you cursed and slung the bag over your shoulder, putting out your fires and candles before you glanced one last time at your house, hesitating.

Your father would have always wanted greater things for you, right? Though you’re not sure if those greater things involved risking your life for a dragon of all things.

Slamming the door and clicking your locks shut, you quickly joined the throng of people, easily blending in as you reached past an exit out of King’s Landing, watching as you walked down the hill, the dawn barely breaking. A smart move leaving in the night without many eyes to bear witness.

Getting in the boat taking you to the ship, you gave a last glance towards King’s Landing, your home. Your brows knitted before you let out a breath, glancing towards the people on the ship with you, some looking uncertain, some determined, some talking and possibly sharing the bizarre notion of it all.

You sat alone by the front of the ship, arms resting on your knees as you sighed, shaking your head and possibly getting some sleep before you had arrived at your destination.

Being shaken awake, you quickly complied, standing up and being a little disoriented from the trip, before your eyes had adjusted and there, you saw the intimidating Dragonstone Island. The castle sits on top of the hill, a mountain of smoke behind it, adding to its allure.

The sun was up in the sky now, as you reached the shore, one by one getting out as your boots hit the white sand, moving forward as you all climbed up the steps towards the castle. Nearing it, you spot a figure up on the balcony, donned in red robes, platinum hair styled to a braid cascading down on one shoulder.

Your eyes met, it was Rhaenyra Targaryen, assessing the strangers she was letting into her domain. You did not think about it much, truly you were the ones surprised she had even let you come this far.

From then you were all inside, many knights standing guard as you were all led into a dimly lit room, and the faint deep growling rattling the walls could only mean one thing…

You were growing anxious, now backtracking your decision as you glanced at everyone in the room around you, they have surely heard it as well.

The sound of approaching sets of footsteps pulled you from your dreaming, and there she was again, her Queensgard behind her walking down the stairs as you watched the scene unfold, another group coming from the other hall, dressed in long robes tied with red, some holding onto staff. You’ll soon catch whispers that it was the dragonkeepers.

Your brows furrowed as the Queen herself and one from the dragonkeepers had conversed in High Valyrian, and by the tone of it, it looked like it was at a disagreement as the man gestured to all of you waiting in the room.

After Rhaenyra had given her speech, most of the time her eyes always seemed to find yours as you stood at the back, and everytime it happened, there seemed to be a kindling energy within you. Perhaps it was just being in the close presence of royalty.

“The dragon… named Vermithor, is the largest in the world after Vhagar, and… perhaps the most fierce,” Rhaenyra started. “He’s called the Bronze Fury.” Another deep grumbling in the distance could be heard. “We’ll go to him now.”

As she started walking, she halts, turning to face all of you again. “May the gods bless you.”

Following suit out into the hall and onto where a platform lay towards the deep cavern. The dragonpit, you all come close as Rhaenyra started to speak in High Valyrian, speaking of Vermithor.

There was silence, until heavy footsteps grained the tunnel, your stance tensing as you never knew what awaited your faith.

The deep roaring answered that. From the shadows came Vermithor, as large as she had depicted, its body partially hidden within the dark as it came to view, face scaled and horns as big shaping its head. Vermithor screeches as Rhaenyra commands the imposing creature, soon calming as she holds out her hand to palm against its snout.

“Who among you would be first?” She asked, voice echoing in the dark tunnel.

From then on, it was chaos. Vermithor flamed the first person to have gone up against him, before screams erupted, your senses jumping to overdrive as the thought of survival was paramount. This is what Rhaenyra had meant.

You dodged as the flames rained, Vermithor’s roars ringing in your ears, eyes scanning the area for some sort of cover as you saw the many knights preventing the other volunteers from being able to escape in order to live, fueling your spite.

It was a gruesome scene as Vermithor not only burned, yet also decided to treat the folks as his food, a man’s scream fading as Vermithor swallowed him whole, before hunting the others down, their screams haunting.

“Fuck!” You grumbled before you dashed to survival, instead being pushed and shoved all over, you tried to steady yourself, but you had stumbled, making your heel miss the platform.

And that’s where you found yourself now after these events, a flickering torch in hand, running within the tunnels in the hopes to escape the clutches of death from a dragon. You had not even known if Vermithor had been claimed or everyone had been given death, and you dared not put notice on the sharp pain in your ankle as you had sprained it from your fall.

You’ve lost track of time, not wondering how long or how far you’ve gone off to within the large tunnel. Your legs were starting to give out from exhaustion, your breathing uneven as you stepped onto the mud, making you try to stumble, about to land on your face when your foot had finally hit the ground.

Followed by what it sounded like cracking. Looking down, there were wisps of smoke, and oddly enough, large looking eggs nestled within the cocoon you had stepped on, making you furrow your brows as your body couldn’t even process the events this day had.

Up until you had heard a large grumbling behind you. Seven hells.

Steeling yourself with what little resolve you had left, you turned on your painful heel, torch in hand as you faced it.

The dragon began to rouse itself, your eyes widening as you tried to move, its roar echoing and making you shrink onto yourself as your body was frozen, staring up at it as it had faced you fully.

Its long neck moves fluidly as it stared you down, its gray scales gleaming from the cavity up in the tunnel. It was about to lunge at you.

Tired and weary, you’ve begun to accept your fate.

Until its snout finally reached you and—

Poked you. It sent you tumbling back against the ground with a huff, making you scramble back and try to hoist yourself back up again until it happened again, the dragon’s snout nudging against your form, knocking you down and rolling until you had your back against the wall. Its screeching even sounded amused, as if making fun of you.

However, it stopped as you had your eyes screwed shut.

You had fully thought you had died and gone to the Seven heavens, peeling your eyes open, your heart stopped in your chest. You watched as the dragon crooned and bowed its head toward you-

Realization had come dawning in, it chose you. A dragon had chosen you.

You did it, you had claimed a dragon. If your father would’ve witnessed such a thing, he would have no doubt about it. He always knew you were born for greater things.

Due to your exhaustion, you could only laugh breathlessly, finally being able to calm down without the fear of death looming onto you.

“Get me out of here, will you?” You jokingly said, taking in deep breaths as you slowly stood up, hissing at the pain in your ankle, hesitating, but starting to limp towards the dragon as it eyed you, craning its neck, showing the apparent saddle on its back, worn and rusty. It seemed like she hadn’t had a rider in a long time.

Before you knew it, you were on a dragon’s back, shooting out into the cavity as the grey-scaled dragon roared at feeling the breeze outside, its wings spread full as it gathered air and momentum.

You literally had to hold on for dear life as you began to get woozy, exclaiming in triumph as you had rounded Dragonstone.

Rhaenyra had been alerted of this as she ran out the balcony, watching as Silverwing screeched with its new rider on the she-dragon’s back.

After the scene, you had been brought down and onto your own personal chambers where you would be staying, as a Maester had been bought for you to treat your ankle, giving you milk of the poppy to numb the pain.

You were also given handmaidens that helped you into cleaner clothes, thanking them as you tried to refuse their service, not used to being treated as such in the span of a few hours.

Resting against your bed, you stared up at the ceiling, wondering where your life would lead to now, it was such a funny feeling that you would believe it if someone had told you it were nothing but a dream.

The door creaking as its response to being opened pulled you from your thoughts, making you glance and wonder if it's just the maester coming to check upon you, when your eyes almost popped out of its sockets to see Rhaenyra herself.

Sitting up right and swinging your feet off the bed, you cleared your throat. “Your grace,” You greeted, standing, though weakly as your ankle was still sore and wrapped in bandages. Rhaenyra held her hand up, motioning. “You are hurt, stay seated.” Her voice comes in a soft tone.

Following as you sit back down upon your bed, Rhaenyra glides through the room, hands clasped together. It felt like being surrounded by an angel, she did certainly look like one as you were able to get a closer look every folk would want to kill for, even.

“You have done a good job,” Began Rhaenyra. “Two of you have managed to claim Vermithor and Silverwing.” You made a mental note that your dragon was named Silverwing, fitting.

“I did not think I would find my way out of it alive if I am honestly speaking, your grace.” You replied, making Rhaenyra nod in response, noticing your eyes were a deep shade of purple. “Those lives lost today are for a greater cause in the future, it would prevent further bloodshed.” She responded.

Taking a deep breath, you understood her point. Staring up to find her still looking at you, sending you to avert her gaze. “Your eyes are quite comely.” Rhaenyra had suddenly said, catching you both off guard.

An awkward silence rose, before Rhaenyra cleared her throat. “I apologize,” She said as you managed to let out a small grin, shaking your head. “No harm done, your grace.”

This in turn made Rhaenyra smile, finding light in the situation. Clearing her throat, she shifted to a more serious expression. “As you have claimed Silverwing, from this day forth you are to train the ways of dragonriders, learn High Valyrian, and pledge your loyalty to your Queen.”

The new responsibilities you had seemed a far reach back then, but here you were now stood in front of Rhaenyra Targaryen herself, asking you to pledge your loyalty to her.

Carefully moving, you had bent the knee in front of her, not putting much strain on your swollen ankle as you bowed. “I pledge my fealty to you, the true Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, I offer all that I am, to aid you in your cause.”

Rhaenyra looked relieved as you bent the knee for her. “Stand.” She commanded, making you follow a second later, meeting her eyes again. “You will begin at once when your ankle has healed, for now you shall rest and someone will call upon you.”

With a bow to her grace, you watched as Rhaenyra turned and left your chambers.

This was the beginning of a new chapter in your life.

As your ankle had healed, the lessons did began, with Maester Gerardys teaching you key command words in High Valyrian, practicing the phrases during the afternoons, whilst you were practicing dragonriding in the morning.

You had also managed to meet those able to claim House Targaryen’s dragons, Hugh who had claimed Vermithor, and Addam who had claimed Seasmoke.

Though it seemed like Rhaenyra had taken a liking to you in the midst of these preparations, your fiery spirit is something to always look out for as Silverwing proved to match your energy.

The feast she held between you and the other three as well as her son Jacaerys and her step daughter Baela. You had managed to hold a conversation with Rhaenyra well, telling her of your background as a trader in King’s Landing and how your father had solely raised you. Jacaerys had even begun to respect you even if he was still apprehensive in welcoming new dragonriders who were not of blood.

Nonetheless, Rhaenyra found herself taken by your charm and wit, even taking the time to show you around Dragonstone herself whenever she was free from council meetings, your presence a respite from the pressure she had been feeling, translating her appreciation in lingering touches and stares.

There was one time you had been flying around Dragonstone, getting to try banking left and right as you tugged on the ropes on your newly reformed saddle, when Silverwing had decided to do a barrel roll, sending you both spinning in the sky with her strong form growling in delight.

Rhaenyra had been watching that time, and her heart nearly leapt to her throat as you lost hold onto your saddle, her grip tightening against the stone ledge, eyes widening.

Though the sight of you pumping your fist in the air and whooping successfully had her releasing a breath she wasn’t aware she had held in watching you. The spike of worry led her to assess what you had meant to her.

“Did you like the trick I did up there, your grace?” You casually asked as you met her, smiling and beginning to shrug off your gloves. “You had me worried at the start, but you and Silverwing do make a great pair.” Rhaenyra replied. “In fact, your move would make a great maneuver to dodge whatever the Greens might throw at us.”

You couldn’t tell if she had been joking or not, but the slight smirk on her face made you reciprocate, your stomach oddly knotting at the feeling.

“Perhaps I can teach you how to do so on Syrax, yet I believe the safety of our Queen is of greatest importance.” You lightly teased, feeling like you were walking on eggshells.

But that does make Rhaenyra laugh, cheeks flushing pink, in truth, she had begun to get fond of you, and she hummed in thought. “My safety is of great importance, yes, but you’ve proven yourself a capable dragonrider and warrior,” She gestured, as you had been taking combat lessons to the side in your free time, keeping yourself in shape as well as your skills.

“I would be at peace and content knowing I have you to protect and fight for me.” It was a simple phrase, yet it seemed to click at the two of you that it held something even deeper under the surface.

Both of you could feel it. “And I am honored to be one of those protecting and fighting for you, my Queen.”

#house of the dragon #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #queen rhaenyra #rhaenyra targaryen x you #rhaenyra targaryen x y/n #rhaenyra targaryen fanfic #rhaenyra targaryen imagines #hotd x reader #hotd fanfic #hotd #hotd s2 #house of the dragon season 2 #house of the dragon x reader #hotd season two #house of the dragon fanfic #hotd x you #hotd x y/n #hotd fanfiction

760 notes · View notes

probablyasocialecologist · 10 months ago

Text

There is a growing body of physiological, anatomical, ethnographic, and archaeological evidence to suggest that not only did women hunt in our evolutionary past, but they may well have been better suited for such an endurance-dependent activity. We are both biological anthropologists. I (co-author Cara) specialize in the physiology of humans who live in extreme conditions, using my research to reconstruct how our ancestors may have adapted to different climates. And I (co-author Sarah) study Neanderthal and early modern human health. I also excavate at their archaeological sites. It’s not uncommon for scientists like us—who attempt to include the contributions of all individuals, regardless of sex and gender, in reconstructions of our evolutionary past—to be accused of rewriting the past to fulfill a politically correct, woke agenda. The actual evidence speaks for itself, though: Gendered labor roles did not exist in the Paleolithic era, which lasted from 3.3 million years ago until 12,000 years ago. The story is written in human bodies, now and in the past.

[...]

Our Neanderthal cousins, a group of humans who lived across Western and Central Eurasia approximately 250,000 to 40,000 years ago, formed small, highly nomadic bands. Fossil evidence shows females and males experienced the same bony traumas across their bodies—a signature of a hard life hunting deer, aurochs, and woolly mammoths. Tooth wear that results from using the front teeth as a third hand, likely in tasks like tanning hides, is equally evident across females and males. This nongendered picture should not be surprising when you imagine small-group living. Everyone needs to contribute to the tasks necessary for group survival—chiefly, producing food and shelter, and raising children. Individual mothers are not solely responsible for their children; in forager communities, the whole group contributes to child care. You might imagine this unified labor strategy then changed in early modern humans, but archaeological and anatomical evidence shows it did not. Upper Paleolithic modern humans leaving Africa and entering Europe and Asia show very few sexed differences in trauma and repetitive motion wear. One difference is more evidence of “thrower’s elbow” in males than females, though some females shared these pathologies. And this was also the time when people were innovating with hunting technologies like atlatls (spear throwers), fishing hooks and nets, and bow and arrows—alleviating some of the wear and tear hunting would take on their bodies. A recent archaeological experiment found that using atlatls decreased sex differences in the speed of spears thrown by contemporary men and women. Even in death, there are no sexed differences in how Neanderthals or modern humans buried their dead or the goods affiliated with their graves. These indicators of differential gendered social status do not arrive until agriculture, with its stratified economic system and monopolizable resources. All this evidence suggests Paleolithic women and men did not occupy differing roles or social realms.

#foraging #hunting #prehistory #anthropology #archaeology #Paleoanthropology #gender #Paleolithic

1K notes · View notes

azzayofchaos · 5 months ago

Text

As an exercise in creature design and in the interest on developing my dreaming-verse/general world building lore, i thought these guys would be fun to do!

More lore / transcript:

THE STRIDER:

Peaceful lava walkers and grazers, they’re often breed and domesticated for both their use as transportation across the lava lakes and for various materials.

While not certainly an acquired taste to an overworlder, strider meat is not an uncommon food source. String and membranes from their opalescent sensory organs and hide are also valuable resources.

The membranes are heat management, courting displays, and gathering sensory input as they are near-blind.

Strider's eyes are largely vestigial, the sensory organs picking up on heat signatures exclusively.

They have spiracles for breathing along their sides and tails.

When wading through lava, their limbs are able to stretch out, this process requires the high temperature and results in the brighter, redder coloration of their skin as the heated fluids move under it. When not on lava, this fluid cools resulting in a duller coloration.

A subspecies of strider can be found in regions of the deep Neth that are blue in color.

They are long lived and migratory creatures, lichens and fungi often growing on their harder outer plates to spread across lava lakes. These are not an incident the striders, though magma barnacles, the stationary stage of a Nether-local insectoid species are considered pests.

Adolescent striders are a few meters tall, though they can grow considerably larger.

When being ridden, a lantern full of the phosphorescent warped mushrooms that Striders prefer. This lantern has the bonus effect of glowing when passing across sections of land. While Striders prefer to graze on fungi, they also spend significant amounts of time filtering minerals from the lava lakes.

Flags are displayed to help make visible where the rider and the strider are coming from and what the point of travel for the rider is.

THE GHAST:

Territorial and aggressive animals that use the updrafts of lava lakes to remain afloat in the the atriums of the Neath.

Ghats contain organs able to solidify and fire out explosive charges, when about to fire, the organ will light up, an illusion of a demonic face appearing through their spiracles and semi-transparent bodies.

They feed on minerals and airborne biological matter that filters out of the biomes in the upper-regions of the Neth with their oral arms.

The ghast tear is an organ in their center arm.

Adult ghasts release their own spores into the air to help with genetic exchange, otherwise growing young ghast on their bodies that eventually split off in a sort of mitosis.

the gelatinous bodies of ghasts are used primarily in construction and fuel, but parts of their innards, explosive organs not included, are commonly eaten.

#dreamingverse au #minecraft #world building #my art #minecraft worldbuilding #minecraft ghast #minecraft strider #speculative biology #this stuff is up to changing but I think its a good start

407 notes · View notes

letoasai · 1 year ago

Text

Vlad- Alternate Obsession

Simply if Vlad hadn't been so obsessed with Maddie. How priorities might have shifted.

Daniel was dead. Great god almighty… He was dead. Half dead. Whatever. That didn’t matter. The little details were just there to make a horrible situation more tolerable. For one brief moment, Vlad hoped he was wrong. Hoped that this was merely exposure to ectoplasm or a sign that Daniel would become liminal faster than previously predicted, but no. He was sure. Daniel was dead.

He watched as Daniel’s ghost sense was triggered, the teen coughing a second later. He looked around warily, holding himself rigidly. He was alert, but inexperienced enough to not realize Vlad was right in front of him.

“Daniel, my boy!” Vlad greeted, finally untangling himself from Jack and Maddie’s latest tirade on being validated in their research. “How is school?”

It wasn’t uncommon.

He was Daniel’s godfather after all, and had done what he could to be present for both Daniel and Jasmine since they were born. The children were exempt from his contempt and his affection for them was genuine but he’d never feared for them until this moment.

Vlad tried to block out as many memories from his college years as he could. After his accident and subsequent half death, he had raged for a while. He’d been in despair, learning to mourn himself while handling abilities foreign to him. He had to learn things from scratch opposed to normal ghosts who knew things instinctively.

He’d only briefly lost track of Jack and Maddie after his hospital stay but the urge to look them up again had gnawed at him. He had notebook after notebook filled to the brim with his own research on ghosts and ectoplasm but he would have been remiss to shun their research just because he couldn’t stand the sight of them. It was Jack’s blunder that had changed him after all.

The pair had gotten married, and had a baby girl, but Vlad found himself more interested in their labs than their domestic life. The fondness he’d felt for his best friend, and the passion he’d once directed at Maddie had died with him.

Jasmine had been a bright spot, and a wonderful distraction in those early visits. A small child also kept the Fentons busy enough that he could slip into their labs undetected. Copying their work and altering their inventions to ignore his own ecto-signature was essential. As far as he could tell, they’d never suspected a thing.

Daniel coming along had been a blessing, even if it had confused Vlad at the time. Jack and Maddie loved their children but they were always complaining about not having enough time for their research. It had always been to Vlad’s benefit but adding a second child into the mix would only draw out their parental duties.

However it baffled it, it benefited him. He only had to offer his jovial congratulations and time went on.

Vlad…was aware that he was not who he once was. He’d either lost something when he half died, or gained something. He wasn’t sure. He was no longer naive. He’d done things in the last twenty or so years. Not all of them he was incredibly proud of. He had amassed a fortune, but it had seemed the natural progression of things at the time. He’d been young, desperate and dead. He’d need money to further his research so money needed to be acquired.

He’d had medical bills…. Then he had ambitions.

He might have been something of a thief, a criminal, but he’d never hurt anyone…to his knowledge…

It was easier on his conscience when it was only stealing from Jack and Maddie. That felt like recompense for what Jack had done to him. He’d had a working portal a full four years before the Fentons.

He’d never said a word about it and delighted in the secret of it. His wealth of knowledge was greater than theirs. When the pair had recently called him, gushing about their achievement, he’d been skeptical, but he’d seen Amity Park’s newspaper articles on the ghost of a lunch lady at Casper High, and the poor picture quality of a white haired menace that chilled him.

“Hey Uncle Vlad.” Daniel greeted him with a smile, but his eyes were wary and stressed. Dark circles were beginning to form. “School’s, uh, good? Same old bullies. I gotta read Pride and Prejudice. Aced my last math test though.”

Vlad hummed and nodded. “That about sums up my memories of high school as well.” It pulled a smile from Daniel.

“And a ghost sighting! To think we’d find one so close to home! We’re pulling out all our weapons out of their testing stages!” Jack’s voice boomed, overly excited at their find and completely missing the way his son shrank back.

“A stake out might be in order.” Maddie said, a smile in her voice. Her excitement was more contained but was very real. “Who knows, we might be there to capture the next one.”

Vlad made a show of rolling his eyes and focused on Daniel. “What is freshman math anyway these days?”

“I’m taking geometry.” Daniel said, latching onto the topic. “I got the hang of it pretty quickly. So far at least.”

“You always did have a head for numbers.” Vlad said conversationally.

“Vladdy! Come take a look at the newest prototype!” Jack was beaming, far too excited over the notion of ending a creature that was already dead. Vlad didn’t care for the sparks of fear that settled in his throat. An ending after the end was final, and terrifying.

“Jack.” Vlad laughed good-naturedly. “Surely there’s time for that later. I did just arrive. I’d love to speak with Daniel for a while. High school will pass by before you know it.”

Maddie just sighed, perhaps nostalgic. “It sure does. It won’t be long before Jazz is graduating.”

“And entering into the ghost hunting business!” Jack declared.

“Oh, Jack.” Maddie just laughed.

“Where is Jasmine?” Vlad asked, his need to check on her…sudden.

Maddie looked thoroughly. “Oh, hm.. She’s…”

“Tonight’s the night she tutors.” Daniel said, sounding exhausted. “She’ll probably eat dinner before coming home.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Maddie smiled, but she was already distracted with the toaster she was dismantling.

Vlad hummed, oddly relieved. As the children had gotten older, their well being came into question more and more. “Well… Jack, you and Maddie seem to have your hands full this evening. Why don’t i take Daniel to dinner? I’d love to hear about his freshman year anyway.”

“Can we get Nasty Burger?” Daniel perked up.

Vlad snorted. “Not my first pick, or my second, but why not?” He’d eaten more burgers than he could count in college.

“Really!? Yes!” Daniel grinned, “I’ll grab my hoodie, be right back!”

“Danny sure loves your visits.” Jack laughed loudly.

Maddie just hummed, still focused on what she was doing. “Don’t spoil him.” She said vaguely.

“You won’t have to worry about a thing.” Vlad said, already turning back to the door. "I'll take care of him." By the time he got there, Daniel was behind him, practically pushing him out the door.

“Let’s go, let’s go.”

Vlad felt himself relax once he had Daniel in his car. He would definitely need to sneak back into the Fenton’s lab and grab whatever new information was available. He would also need to add in Daniel’s ecto-signature to their equipment before something automatically shot at him.

He needed to address this. He couldn’t let the Fenton’s mistake harm anyone else. He’d shut their research down if he had to. He'd shut his own down if he had to.

He cringed at the thought.

“Daniel, wait.” Vlad said after he’d parked in the most secluded spot the parking lot to Nasty Burger provided. “Before we eat, i would like to talk to you?”

“Yeah? Sure.” Daniel said. His tone was light and playful. Normal. The color however, drained from his face. “Do i even gotta bother to tell you to call me Danny again?”

Vlad smiled faintly. “I quite like the name Daniel, you know? That’s not however, what i wanted to talk about. Let me be clear, this conversation does not leave this car. Not by you. Not by me.”

“Oh, uh. Yeah? Yeah, of course.” Daniel said, turning sideways in his seat to face him. “What…are we talking about?”

“Ghosts.”

Daniel sighed. “C’mon Uncle Vlad. Don’t i get that enough from mom and dad?”

Vlad shook his head and reached out to grab Daniel’s shoulder. “No, listen to me. It’s safe to talk to me, and i will not ask about… whatever accident you must have had-” Horror was all over Daniel’s face. Enough time hadn't passed for him to mask his reaction to his death. “But i understand, Daniel.”

“I don’t know what you mean?” Daniel muttered and winced when it didn’t sound the least bit convincing. For just a split second, he turned invisible. He probably hadn’t even realized he’d done it. Most would assume their eyes were playing tricks on them.

Vlad leaned forward and opened the glove compartment, pulling out the article of the ghost attack on Casper High. “You’re not in trouble. Not with me.”

Daniel only glanced at it before looking away again. He’d seen it already no doubt. “It’s not what you think.”

“I’m very sure it is.” Vlad said softly. “I know all too well what ectoplasm and trauma can do. I can sense death around you.” He paused before pushing forward. “In time, i’m certain you’ll be able to sense it on me too.”

Daniel’s lips tightened, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew what he heard and was proceeding with caution. “What do you mean?”

“We’ll get some dinner to go and we’ll head back to my house here in Amity.” Vlad said. “And i’ll show you my own ghost form.”

“Yours…” Daniel sounded winded. “When did you…?”

“Long before you were born.”

“My parents…?”

Vlad just tsked. “They were dear to me once, Daniel, but they are fools. No, they don’t know about me, and i will not tell them about you.”

“Don’t.” Daniel said, somewhere between agreeing and begging Vlad to mean what he said. The tremor in his voice told Vlad all he needed to know. He was well aware of how his parents would react. He was afraid.

“It will stay between us.” Vlad said calmly. “I won’t ask. It’s breaking all kinds of ghost etiquette to be so nosy but if you ever want to talk to me about what happened, you can. I can also help you adjust.”

“Can you?” Daniel asked immediately, the closest he’d come to admitting Vlad was right.

“I’ve never had to teach anyone to use ghost powers before, but yes, I think i can offer you some insight.” Vlad said. “Falling through floors?”

“Yes.” Daniel said with feeling. “I keep dropping things. My clothes…”

Vlad nodded along, all of it sounding familiar. “I know all about it. You just need to get used to it. Gain control over what you can do.”

Daniel swallowed, looking like he’d have a meltdown any second. “You promise?”

“I do.”

He inhaled slowly. “I…died.”

“Yes,” Vlad said softly. “I’m so sorry…”

“You’re…” He watched Daniel’s expression crumble. He didn’t have to ask why. How did you mourn your death when you were still half alive? It had taken Vlad years… “Sorry.”

“So sorry, my boy.” Vlad said, sounding choked up. “It never should have happened. Not to someone else. Not to you.”

Daniel bowed his head only seconds before he started to sob. It didn’t matter why. Was it stress? Was he starting the process of mourning? Was it the knowledge that he’d lost a piece of his family? It didn’t actually matter…

Vlad leaned closer as far as he comfortably could in the car and pulled Daniel to cry against his shoulder. It was all the comfort he could really offer. He couldn’t make it better, he could only put a band-aid on it. He couldn’t change the Fenton’s minds. Not for Daniel and not for himself. They were always going to be in danger, but he could listen. He could be everything for Daniel he didn’t have. He could let the boy cry. He was only fourteen.

God, at least Vlad had been in college. Daniel was a child…

“Does your sister have any idea?”

Daniel shook his head, hiccuping in an effort to catch his breath but he just cried still.

“At least she’s still safe. You and i will work up a few safety protocols and… i’ll stay in Amity Park.” The castle in Wisconsin had really been the height of his arrogance.

There was so much to teach the boy. Not just how to use his powers but ghost manners and taboos. He’d learned a lot himself in the last few years of having his portal up and running. Access to the Ghost Zone had made things a great deal easier on him.

Daniel wrapped his arms around him, clinging in a way he hadn’t since he was a much younger child. He hadn’t had any time at all to come to terms with his own death, but this was a start.

If Vlad needed to cook up a few excuses for getting him away from his parents, well… he’d been bored anyway.

Master List

~ It'll hit differently when Skulker shows up to hunt the halfa welp and is instead met with a fully grown, pissed off halfa in mama bear mode.

#Danny Phantom #Vlad is chill #alternate obsession #The Fentons A+ parenting #Child neglect

1K notes · View notes

etheries1015 · 7 months ago

Note

Can you do a twst wonderland x overworked reader? But instead of being normal and taking a break they keep pretending everything is fine despite the fact they are starting to flunk classes and forgetting lunch?

I don't really care who it is for I just need more twst wonderland stuff haha

I actually really really love this, since I've been working full time and going to college full time, overworking is NOT difficult to achieve. Remember that your grades do not determine your worth, and take care of yourself <3 thank you for this lovely request, Anon <3

Twst x Overworked!Reader

General warnings: Gender neutral, mentions of not eating and being exhausted.

featuring: Riddle, Silver, Vil, Malleus, Lilia

Intro:

Being the prefect of Ramshackle came with a plethora of responsibilities. You were practically the campus rag doll- carried around by everyone's will, solving problems, fixing issues, someone people would trust to go to in times of crisis. You were always there when a student over blot, and it was no hidden secret that you managed to do that while being at the top of the class despite being non-magic.

However, there was so much you could do, and so many smiles to hide behind. Everyone began to take notice, of the way you became snappy at others a little quicker than usual, dismissing issues with a wave of your hand and a stand-offish quick solution. It was in the way someone would ask if you were alright after noticing the dark circles under your eyes, only for you to give your signature kind smile and insist you were alright.

It was also obvious in the way that you were not found at lunch as you normally were, most students unable to find you not to realize that you were attempting to catch up on school work where you could. You could feel yourself begin to wither away, but the fear of being judged and losing the title of the smart, courageous prefect was slipping from your fingertips causing you to fall into a vicious cycle.

What do they do when they finally decide to confront you, seeing past the facade you were so clearly painting?

Riddle

It came as a complete surprise when you showed up to his dorm asking him to assist you in studying for classes. This was uncommon since he was certain you were doing incredibly well for yourself, taking note of your slowly increasingly disheveled look with every session you had set up. It wasn't until you yawned for the fifth time during a study session that he spoke up.

"Are you alright, (Y/N)? He asked, "You're distracted. You better pay attention if you wish to do better on this test, since-"

"Yes, since I practically failed the last one. Yes, I'm fine, please continue." Your interruption left Riddle surprised, raising an eyebrow and setting down his pencil.

"Are you sure you're-"

"I'm fine!" You snapped. Riddle was taken aback at this sudden outburst, a look of dread covering your features at the realization your voice had raised in a way you hadn't meant it to. You pursed your lips and looked down in shame, tears filling your eyes. You were quick to cover your face in embarrassment, shaking your head.

"I'm sorry," You mumbled a few times, each time becoming more broken as tears streamed between your fingers and you attempted to choke back sobs. You heard Riddle close his book and let out a small sigh, before standing up. You couldn't bring yourself to look at the red-haired male, for you were ashamed of yourself for lashing out in such a way when he had only meant to help.

"Come," He said. Confused, you peeked between your fingers seeing that Riddle had stood up and grabbed your hand.

"When I'm feeling overworked and sad..." He said shyly, "I secretly go to the kitchen and take a tart, or some other dessert." You raised your eyebrows, your tears slowing as you furrowed your eyebrows and tilted your head. "Do not repeat that to anyone else, though. Come, I'm feeling...overworked." Biting your lower lip, you nodded and took his hand, Riddle leading you out of his room and towards the dorm kitchen. Silence filled the hall for only a minute, interrupted by your curiosity. You knew how he felt about taking tarts that were meant for unbirthday parties, much less breaking the very rules and morals he strictly maintained.

"Do you really do that?" Without looking back, Riddle replied with a smile on his lips.

"I do in this moment."

Silver

Silver has always been a sweetheart to you, being attentive to your state he'd often bring you things such as teas on occasion, however, you realized he was doing it a lot more frequently than usual.

"Here," He said to you as you let him into Ramshackle and set down an armful of items on the table, "This tea my father says is good for aching muscles. Young master and I cooked some of these foods, they are good for replenishing your energy, especially after a long arduous day of training."

"I don't do any physical training though?" You pointed out to the silver-haired male, pulling out a chair and sitting in it, resting your head upon your hands as you glanced over the goodies he had brought you.

"Well, it works a lot for when you're really tired. I eat these myself frequently, and it makes you feel a little better when you're overworked." Your eyes widened at his statement, mouth opening slightly and looking up at the tall male who only graced you with a gentle yet sad smile.

"I'm not...overworked," Overwhelmed by his gaze that only held affection, you averted your eyes and began picking at your fingers. Silver placed a hand upon yours, before pressing his forehead against your own. Your face flushed red, yet you couldn't find the energy to pull away.

"You're warm, I think you're getting sick..." You tried not to correct him in the fact you were warm in his close proximity, allowing him to do whatever he felt was needed. Silver grabbed one of the teas that lay against the table, eyeing it and looking back at you.

"This will be good for you...I'll make some. You should go get some rest, and I'll help you sort out an appropriate schedule for you."

"Silver, I-" You wanted to decline his offer, yet was interrupted by the shaking of his head and a chaste hug.

"You do so much for all of us around the campus, your bravery shows no bounds. But even the strongest of heroes need to know when they've taken on too much." Sighing in defeat, you gave in and nodded. Silver smiled in satisfaction and made his way towards the kitchen to prepare you the tea he so kindly brought for you, as your eyelids felt heavy and the weight of burden slowly eased from your shoulders.

You were going to have a wonderful night's rest for the first time in a very, very long time.

Vil

You weren't particularly in the mood for this, Vil inspecting every part of you at this moment simply by attempting to convince him you were fine.

"your skin is pale showing signs of fatigue, your muscles are untoned-"

"They're always like that."

"I am not finished," Vil folded his arms, " The skin around your nails are torn up, and you have bags under your eyes that only get that dark and puffy after a significant amount of sleep deprivation and lack of hydration. You went from the top of the exam board and plummeted to the middle," He strutted towards you, looking into your eyes with sadness.

"And worst of all, you are nowhere to be found during lunch the past two weeks, and you seem to be losing weight and have less energy."

"Thank you," you rolled your eyes, "For pointing out everything wrong with me, as if I didn't already know. I'll be fine, thank you for your concern." You went to turn away from Vil, before his strong hands turned you back around and held you into a hug, stroking your hair. You were taken aback by this sudden form of affection, your arms laying flat at your sides.

"I'm fine," You repeated, mumbling into his chest where he held you firmly.

"I'm very good at spotting when someone is lying," Vil said plainly, "I can tell when someone is putting on an act. And it isn't to point out your flaws, (Y/N)," You paused at hearing your name escape his lips rather than your typical "potato" nickname he oh-so loved to attach to you.

"It's because I am worried for your health. Stop putting on an act." You felt your determination to hide your feelings crumble and tears form in your eyes, your arms trembling as you moved to give him a hesitant hug back.

"I know how hard it must be," He said with calmness and understanding in his voice, "to feel pressured to be okay. But around me, you do not need to pretend. Let me help you, as you have helped...us." He pulled away to see your tear-stained cheeks, tucking a hair behind your ear,

"As you have helped me. You do not need to struggle alone."

Malleus

"Child of man," Malleus called out to you, "Are you alright?" It was your typical meetup outside Ramshackle dorm, You sat down lazily at the garden table the two of you worked hard on, your head lay down on the table.

"I'm fine, Mal," You sighed, not looking up to see his gaze. You suddenly felt something soft wrap around your shoulders, recognizing it as His blazer. This caused you to finally raise your head, a gentle smile upon the lips of the tall black-haired fae.

"It's cold out, wouldn't you agree?" He took a seat next to you, "The flowers may wilt soon." You nodded, propping your head up with your hand.

"Sad, isn't it?" You grumbled, "they were so vibrant and colorful, and soon their leafs will wilt and turn brown. They will become weak and fall apart." Malleus eyed you curiously, noticing even in the dark the way your eyes were swollen and the frown that painted your features. Something that wasn't common to see, for you were typically so energetic to be engaging in conversation with him. He turned his gaze back to the flowers, leaning back in the chair and folding his arms.

"Yes...but when this harsh winter snow passes," He said, using green magic to grasp one of the blooms to twirl between two fingers, "Spring will come, and their vibrance will become apparent." You shifted your gaze over to him, tilting your head as his eyes lovingly inspected the flower.

"With seasons changing, so do these plants upon their own time. They will become weak and wither during the harshness of the seasons, yes, However...with the proper support..." the flower was suddenly wrapped in magical clouds, and when they dispersed the flower had grown in size and become a rose with large and healthy properties, a bright green stem and the reddest glow shining beneath the moonlight. Malleus looked back over to you with a smile, quickly de-thorning the rose and placing it behind your ear. Your eyes smiled for the first time in a while, letting out a breathy chuckle and a shake of your head. He really knew how to make his points come across without being direct, his poetic tongue becoming soothing for your tired heart.

"Thank you, Malleus."

Lilia

The ex-general fae was not unfamiliar with the signs of exhaustion and fatigue, and you were showing clear signs of such.

"Skipping lunch again, little bat?" A familiar voice called out to you, causing you to yelp in surprise, dropping your pen. How he managed to sneak inside of ramshackle dorm, much less your room, was far beyond you.

"Lilia! gosh.." You shook your head and picked your pen back up after glaring at him for startling you, shaking your head and continuing your studying endeavors.

"Playing catch up, I see? Take a break," The red eyed fae said, "I made you something~"

"No thank you, i'm fine," You quickly replied, almost panicking. Lilia pouted and pulled out a lunch box that was large and smelled...actually pretty good.

"It has many nutrients that are good for replenishing your health," He said proudly, "Seeing as you have been skipping meals, losing sleep, and your grades have been dropping presumably from your lack of self-care," He said bluntly. Your eyes widened as you looked at the fae with surprisingly good observation skills, curious how he was able to discern that information. You opened your mouth to reply that you were doing alright and that you just needed some time to catch up, however, his reflexes were far too fast for you. He pushed a spoonful of whatever food he had in his grasp, watching you with delight at your shock.

You almost choked at the suddenness, however the pleasant taste of whatever soup he had given you caused you to become almost entirely distracted.

"This...is actually really good. You didn't make it, did you?" Lilia huffed and closed his eyes with his signature look of disappointment, yet a smile not wavering from his lips.

"You wound me, but the others had convinced me the best way to help you would be by good-old chicken/veggie noodle soup!" he held out the rest of the bowl to you, pulling a seat next to you and clearing off your desk organized. You stopped protesting, for with this fae there was no getting around whatever he was doing.

"Now, take a break and allow your body some rest. You cannot learn nor function properly under these conditions. I understand how much it may mean to be accomplished, however, those accomplishments will mean nothing if you die from exhaustion," his smile never faded, yet you could tell his words were meant in seriousness as he chastised you. It was full of love and affection, though. He had the best of intentions, his ruby eyes

"Holding your issues inside is no good either, dearest. Now, confide in this old fae, perhaps I can be of assistance to your woes. And I hope this will be the last time I hear of your negligence to your health through your classmates, and next time you seek out help."

899 notes · View notes

anakin-skywalker-always · 1 year ago

Note

padawan/atoc era anakin x reader, they're in love with each other (both jedi) but obviously can't come forward. Anakin confides in Padmé, reader becomes convinced/jealous that anakin is with padme

(bonus points if you can make it angsty and fluffy)

As Easy As Breathing

Hi nonnie! Thank you so, so, so much for this rec! It’s my first one on this account and it’s really quite the christening. Hope its okay, I’m not the best at angst!

Pairing: Padawan!Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Reader (Star Wars)

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: none!! Should be all good, let me know if you caught anything I may have missed. Not beta read!

Words: 1.8k

Author’s Notes: Anakin is canonically 19 in AOTC, reader is the same, maybe a year younger. Clone Wars have not yet started in this fic, I’m just assuming Padmé and Anakin stayed besties after the whole nonsense in Phantom Menace.

The warm sun filtering through the windows fell upon Anakin’s face, in a soft moment of solitude, the sounds of the Coruscant cityscape provided him with a brief reprieve to Padmé’s chastising. He often thought that his ability to talk to Padmé about anything was his strength, but in this moment he couldn’t help to think of it as a weakness. Anakin cringed as Padmé continued to berate him; On a rare afternoon off the nineteen-year-old padawan found himself lounging on the senator’s couch.

“Seriously Anakin, you should just-” Padmé stilled, her slender hands finding her hips, huffing, she continued, “Are you even listening to me, Ani?” The forceful tone on his nickname got Anakin’s attention once again.

“I am!” Anakin raised his eyebrows in addition to his hands, in mock surrender. “I swear Padmé!”

The senator found it easy to roll her eyes at his antics, like always. But she could see the change in Anakin, could see how his emotions for his fellow padawan learner have caused conflict in him. Her friend wasn’t sleeping, he wasn’t eating. Padmé knew Anakin was an intense person, a strong personality, everyone knew that about him. But this, this was different. He seemed lost, like he was missing something he needed to operate. Padmé found her way to the couch, sitting beside Anakin, grabbing his tanned, calloused hands in her own.

“Anakin, if you do truely care this strongly for her, you must tell her.” Anakin’s eyes found Padmé’s own. “It would be cruel, to withhold this love.” There was a time in Anakin’s life where this is all he wanted, being with Padmé and he knew his nine-year-old self would be so excited by innocent hand holding. But his nineteen-year-old self was happier to have such a strong, nonjudgemental friend.

“How did you know that you loved Sabé?” Anakin asked gently, knowing how the senator safeguarded her relationship with her handmaiden fiercely.

Anakin noted how Padmé seemed to glow at the mention of her lover. A warm smile graced her pink lips, eyes crinkling at the sides, a faraway glaze coated her sparkling eyes. Her signature in the force felt warm, it wrapped around Anakin’s brain, made him feel safe. Padmé’s love for Sabé was so tangible it extended outside herself, adjusting her force signature.

“I realised I loved Sabé when being around her became a necessity, an honesty, a truth that I did not know I was constantly seeking out.” Padmé gushed, a light trail of pink lit itself over her high cheekbones and freckled nose. “I felt as if Sabé had breathed new life into me everytime I saw her, it was natural, it was right.”

Anakin was quiet for a moment, Padmé became worried that she had overstepped somehow, projected to far onto Anakin’s feelings.

“Loving y/n is as natural as breathing.” He replied.

Anakin rolled over on his hard, standard issue, Jedi temple bed. A sleepless night was not uncommon for him, but this felt inherently different. Padmé’s words from earlier in the day rattled around his brain, demanding to be dealt with. Anakin never saw love as a weakness, never saw attachment as weakness. How could he? Love was the basis of the light, the well of Jedi power that Anakin drew from was a labour of love, was purity, was peace, was built with empathy and centered by knowing himself. His love for you did not make him a bad person.

But he knew it would make him seem like a bad Jedi.

Not knowing your stance on him, on the rule of attachment was slowly eating away at Anakin’s peace.

Groaning aloud, Anakin ran his hands down his face.

Your head whipped around, anxiously. You knew it was embarrassing that you always looked for him in a crowded room, but you could not help it, you felt as if the force was electric until he calmed it. His signature singlehandedly smothering anything else it came in contact with. Being around Anakin, to you, felt as natural as breathing.

“Looking for young Skywalker, are you?” Your master, Mace Windu asks, a small smirk whispers across his face, lightly nudging you in the shoulder. The two of you stood in one of the reception rooms of the Republic building. The Senate was hosting a charity gala with the invite extending to the Jedi temple. So, there you stood, in your best robes, breaking your neck to catch a glimpse of The Chosen One.

“No Master.” You said, quietly. Turning your head away from the powerful Jedi Master to not embarrass yourself further with the luxury of him catching your furious blush. Your master excused himself, laughing, finding Master Plo Kloon.

So, you stood there, alone, foolishly searching the room for your fellow padawan, the one that consumed your mind and soul.

It wasn’t completely unlikely, you reasoned with yourself. You and Anakin were friends, were very well matched, sparring partners. But, Anakin was a good Jedi. A strong Jedi. Following orders wasn’t Anakin’s strongest suit, you’d admit. Pondering whether he would disregard the rules of attachment for you, however, was different.

Nonetheless, like a junkie craving death sticks, you craved Anakin’s presence, his force signature was all you needed to feel right. The anxiety of the gala was too much. Closing your eyes, tightly, you reached out into the force to find him. Anakin’s signature, golden like it always was flocked to your senses, like always.

Opening your eyes, you began to weave through the bustling crowd as quickly as one could who was masquerading as casual.

“I’m not going to say anything to her now, Padmé.” Anakin huffed, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms across his chest, defensively. “Not in front of all these people, you’ve got to be joking.” He scoffed.

Sabé giggled quietly, the two women joined their arms at the elbow. Padmé just rolled her eyes at Anakin’s supposed insoclence.

Your frame weaving through the crowd in his direction caught Anakin’s eye. He smiled, quikly raised a hand, and was delighted when your devastating smile echoed back.

“Anakin.” You greeted him, with a small bow of the head. His name sounded heavenly whenever you deigned to let it fall from your lips. Anakin was convinced he could breathe easier with you around, like he had been purged of something suffocating him.

“Y/N, this is Sen-” You quickly cut him off, not wanting to hear the name of your rival come from his beautiful mouth. Your jealousy that you held for Padmé reared its ugly head, and you couldn’t help to feel shame burn deep inside the space between ribs.

“Senator Amidala, a pleasure it is to finally meet you,” You stuck your hand out, awkwardly hoping for a handshake. “Anakin has told me so much.” Cordial. It was a good tactic. You were a good person, a good jedi. You would not succumb to jealousy. Besides, Padmé had other qualities you were far more jealous of than just her nonexistent romantic relationship that you deludedly conjured up in your mind when you tried to sleep at night.

“All good things I should hope.” She smiled, her soft hand finding your own, a small shake. You could empathise with Anakin for falling in love with someone like her. Someone so intelligent, powerful, beautiful.

It was not lost on you, the way the senator’s hand quickly found the one of the woman she stood beside.

“This is Sabé.” Anakin started, introducing Padmé’s guest. “Padmé’s hand-” For the second time tonight, but surely not the last, Anakin was cut off.

“My partner.” Senitor Amidala said firmly, though her eyes twinkled with pride. Sabé’s own shock manifested itself into a wide smile. The two looked eachother in the eyes and you couldn’t help but feel silly. Of course. Of course.

For whatever reason, the words you thought you had died swiftly in your mouth, “Oh.” was all you managed to get out. “A pleasure to meet you too, Sabé.” You tried quickly to save the situation, to save embarrassment. But Padmé’s slight smile, Sabé’s coy smirk. You felt like the two Naboo women knew you, saw you. They somehow, in this embarrassing blunder of a meeting had already clocked that you harboured feelings for Anakin Skywalker. It made you feel foolish, moreso than what you already did.

“If you’d excuse us, Jedi, we have futher business to attend to.” Sabé quipped strongly, leading her senator lover to the next group of politicians. The art of smalltalk was something else you could add to the list of Padmé’s items you were jealous of.

Anakin turned to you, chuckling. His standard-issue Jedi robes moving effortlessly with his chest. Running a hand through his cropped hair, you felt his eyes scanning your face. You knew your blood would betray you, like it so often did around your friend, rising to the surface of your cheeks, splattering down your neck and chest. Embarrassment clung to you like a rash.

“Don’t mind them, they like setting me up.” Anakin scoffed, shaking his head.

“Setting you up for what?” You asked, eyeing him micheviously. Chatting with Anakin felt natural; He was quick witted and liked challenging you, he was a tease.

And, more often than not, a flirt.

This was different though, Anakin had an air of nervousness about him. You noticed as your fellow padawan’s large, veiny hands found the way to the back of his neck, rubbing sheepishly.

“Oh you know…” He trailed off, looking everywhere except for your eyes, his own blue ones scanning the ornate ceiling of the reception room. “Setting us up to be alone together.” He admitted, squinting as if the words bought him some kind of physical pain.

You quirked a brow, your arms quickly crossing your chest - a defensive stance. “Would that be so bad? Being alone together?” The words meant to be teasing, non-serious. But it was too late, the seed was planted in Anakin’s brain.

To him, that felt like an admission of sorts, an admission that you wanted him as much as he wanted you. Well, if he squinted it seemed like that.

In a tender moment, something rare for Anakin, he reached out. Tucking stray hairs behind your ear, gently following your padawan braid around the cusp of it.

“You know, y/n, that I want nothing more,” He smiled. It was pure, and real. You felt the sincerity in the force, the truth within him. Moreso, you felt your ear burn from the brief contact, felt your heart swell in your chest at the mere thought of being alone in close quarters with him. “I want nothing more than to be alone with you.”

He retracted his hand, but you still felt alight with his closeness. His force signature felt palpable, you were enraptured in his warmth. He was golden. Your golden boy.

“Why don’t we go get lost then?” You whispered, scared anything too loud would betray your eagerness. Anakin’s smile split across his face, eyes crinkling and dimples showing. Smirking he placed a strategic hand at the low of your back. He was so incredibly tall, bending over you to whisper back,

“After you, my lady.”

—--

AN: Hehe all done! Left it open for more if you wanted, but teasing enough to be left as it is! Hope it’s alright and I hope you could enjoy at least some of it <3

P.S This is a side account, my main is @mayhemories, so I will be answering any comments with that account but rest assured it is still me :) <3

Much love, El.

2K notes · View notes

aphrogeneias · 1 year ago

Text

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫, 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 — body worship

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

warnings: steve is kind of a perv in this, but we love it. mentions of male masturbation.

Steve didn't mean to eavesdrop.

He really didn't. He just happened to be restocking the Horror shelves — which had been a mess with Halloween around the corner — while you and Robin were apparently gossiping on the other side of it.

That wasn't uncommon. The three of you were always gossiping like three old ladies at the country club, the only difference is that you were underpaid young adults with too much private information in your hands. Who knew working at a video store would give you that much of a window into people's lives?

That's what Steve assumed you were doing. What you were actually talking about was much, much better.

"Steve hasn't been giving me fuck me eyes. He wouldn't even fuck me in the first place." You were whisper-yelling at your friend, and Steve almost felt guilty about hearing you. Almost.

"What? He totally would." Robin raised her voice a little too much, which prompted a noise that could only be a groan from you. "If you gave him a chance!"

"Robbie, have you seen the last girl he went out with? What's her name again, Hannah? Heidi?"

"Don't expect me to keep up with Steve's love life. The homeric proportions it's taking are too much for me."

"Whatever. Have you seen his ex-girlfriend? C'mon." You huffed, and Steve's heart broke a little over hearing just how wrong you were. "I'm not his type."

"You are even more clueless than I thought."

"I'm not clueless. I'm realistic. No matter how much I'd love that to be true, it's not."

His hands trembled a little as he kept shelving and organizing the tapes. Something in the back of his mind kept telling him that he wasn't supposed to know all that, he wasn't supposed to be aware of your insecurities, but he couldn't bear to be the cause of them.

Despite all that, he had to agree with Robin. He could almost laugh, if he hadn't had to pretend he wasn't listening. It was almost unbelievable how oblivious you were.

He was giving you fuck me eyes, uncontrolably so. He was giving you fuck me eyes because all he could think about was fucking you.

In his defense, that's not totally true. He did think about taking you on dates, and holding your hand. He thought about telling you how beautiful he thought you were, and about making you smile — but all that faded away when he thought about your body.

Since the day you first walked through the doors of Family Video, his eyes couldn't look away. The way you moves your hips when you walked, how you looked with your hair up and your neck was left exposed, making him think of all the ways he could make your skin rise with his lips and teeth on it.

He craved for the times where you would take the night shift on Saturdays with him, when the store closed at midnight, because that meant he would take you home in his car and he would be able to see the way your thighs spread when you sat on his passenger seat. He yearned to run a hand over it and squeeze, feeling your soft flesh under his big hands. Getting to the sacred place between them, feeling you wet and wanting on his fingers.

It was worse when the weather was hot and you used to wear skirts. It made him completely lose his train of thought, instead thinking about bending you over the counter, pushing aside whatever cute little pair of panties you were wearing and drive his aching cock into you until you were both satisfied.

It wasn't much better when you wore jeans, though. Not when he kept picturing his hands hugging your curves, not the fabric that made your ass look like it was sculpted. He'd make sure to walk behind you, as closely as possible, just to run a hand over your waist, or guide you the other away with his hands on your hips, just to get a small taste of it.

Getting a whiff of your signature scent and trying not to get hard, thinking about running his tongue all over your skin.

And when he was in bed late at night, after standing uncomfortably in his jeans all day, finally able to stroke his cock at the thought of you, all he could think of was what he was going to do if he had you right there. All the ways he would worship your body, not leaving a single inch of it untouched.

You, in the middle of his bed, legs spread for him to feast. You, on your stomach, pretty ass perked up for him to grab and grope while he thrust into you until you couldn't hold back screaming his name. You, on your knees, your perfect lips even more perfect around his cock. Burying his face on your tits, on your tummy, kissing you in all the places he wishes he could see.

He just needed to find a way to prove it to you.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fanfic #kinktober 2023

808 notes · View notes

shinhoebakuhoekitten · 2 years ago

Note

Shinso as a roommate w spice 👀

I can talk about this guy for hours. 🥵

Also send me an ask with a person from MHA and I will say how they are as a roommate. Please advise if you want some spice

I know that some people are sick of the cat and Shinso comparison but I think it is the perfect comparison for him when it comes to being a roommate.

You do not see him often when you first become roommates (and honestly unless you heard him leave his room to go to the bathroom or kitchen you were sure that he just wasn’t there) and it wasn’t uncommon to just say hi in passing once a week or so.

Something changed though once you had been roommates for around 6 months and he was more comfortable around you.

You started seeing him more and more but he did it pretty subtly. It started with him joining you for whatever tv show you were watching- and it rally did not matter what. He watched your (in his words) “pointless reality trash” or “tame horror films” and though he wouldn’t admit he liked them he also watched your “over dramatic teenage shows”.

It got to the point that it was common for you to knock on his bedroom door with a “take out will be here in thirty, I ordered your favorite ramen. Hurry up so we can finish the series tonight.”

What you weren’t expecting was for him to open his door clad in only a towel that was tied lowely on his lean hips as he ran another towel through his shoulder length hair.

“You’re home a bit earlier then usual” he stated, his voice low in a way that you knew he had just been smoking a joint. Just as you thought that you were hit with the smell, making your nose scrunch slightly.

You weren’t against weed but your job did randomly drug test throughout the year so you had not partaken since your first year of college.

“Oh shit, sorry I forgot to spray something before opening the door. I wasn’t quite expecting you home so early.”

“Oh, no worries. I get it.” You felt your heart race as your cheeks flushed with heat. You had seen Shinso shirtless. It actually wasn’t uncommon to see him that way when you two were watching TV or when he was cooking throughout the week.

He said it was because he ran hot, but you swear he continued to do it only after he saw you no so subtly check him out the first time you had seen him shirtless.

“Extra spicy?” He questioned as he back into his room, spraying an air freshener to help combat the smell. It never quite worked but it was nice that he tried.

“What?” You questioned, completely caught off guard as he turned around to look at you, his signature soft smirk pulling at the corner of his pink lips before he bit his bottom lip to try and make it go away. You couldn’t help but notice the blood rush to his bottom lip, making it a bit redder.

“My ramen, did you by chance get it extra spicy?”

“Oh yeah, yes I did. No worries, I know how you like it.”

You could feel the air continue to thicken as your tried to stare anywhere but him but you couldn’t quite take your eyes off of him.

While you had been attracted to Shinso the second you saw him (you mean, you weren’t blind) it had really been the past few months that your crush had gone from a small school yard crush to a full fledged stomach lurching infatuation.

You had honestly couldn’t remember the amount of times that you had spaced out thinking about the indigo haired man and you had definitely lost count of the nights that had ended with your hand down your panties getting off to the thought to him.

“Um, I’m going to get the show ready and listen for the takeout person. I’ll see you when you are ready.” You said quickly, embarrassment an understatement at this point as you got out of his room as quick as possible and walked to the couch.

It wasn’t long before you heard the trill of your doorbell, signaling the delivery guy. As you got up from the couch to get the food you saw Shinso emerge from the small hallway.

“I got it.” He said as he walked passed you quickly, your living room wasn’t very big.

“Oh I haven’t paid the guy yet, let me get it.” You insisted as you stood at the edge of the couch.

“I got it this time, you can get it next week.” Shinso reasoned as he opened the door while also digging into his black sweats for his wallet. He pulled out enough yen to cover the meal with a generous tip before grabbing the bag of takeout and muttering a thanks as he shut the door.

“You know, you said the same thing last week about me paying this week.” You said softly after Shinso had untied the bag and handed you your cup of ramen.

“Did I?” He muttered “must have slipped my mind. No worries, I’ll make sure you don’t get out of it again.” He said with a wink as he handed you your chopsticks.

You couldn’t help the warmth that spread across your chest and neck at the wink, butterflies erupting in your stomach as you thanked him while taking the lid off your food before placing it on the coffee table in front of you as you grabbed the remote to put on the last few episodes of the show that you two had been watching.

Dinner was quite as you tried to pay attention to the show you were watching but try as you might, you couldn’t get your brain to shut off. You made a mental note of needing to watch these episodes alone sometime soon because before this you had been wrapped into the story.

It wasn’t until the finale, the fourth episode you both had watched tonight, that you were able to pay attention. You were completely lost at this point, confused why the main character was in an abandoned farm but you tried to catch up as you watched.

A particularly frightening scene involving a chainsaw man that was wearing body parts of his most recent victims made you a bit jumpy and of course Shinso noticed right away.

“Come here” he whispered as he opened his arms while also putting his feet on the coffee table. It wasn’t completely uncommon for you two to cuddle but it was usually reserved for nights that one you have had a awful day and it never happened after so much sexual tension had been prevalent just hours earlier.

But you also knew not to look a gift horse in the mouth and you were basically crawling to his side without a second thought as you made yourself comfortable by placing your face onto to the chest of his white plain t shirt as he wrapped a long arm around you.

“No scary chainsaw man can get you know” he whispered into your hair. You could hear the grin in his voice as you slapped a hand onto his chest before moving to get up.

“Oh where do you think you’re going? I finally get you in my arms and you think you can leave?” As Shinso said this his arm tightened around you as the other one grabbed onto himself, effectively cocooning you into his side. You couldn’t help the laugh that erupted from your lips as you looked up to his face.

What you weren’t expecting was for his face to be so close to yours. Frozen from shock you continued to stare at him as he stared down at you.

Shinso couldn’t help but look from your eyes to your lips and quickly back to your eyes.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” He whispered as his head began to lean down towards you, his lips quickly capturing yours.

You could feel as he undid his embrace on you while also placing both of his hands on either side of your cheeks.

It didn’t take long before he was deepening the kiss and placing one hand on your hip as his skilled fingers drew random small shapes on your hip.

You broke the kiss, needing to breath. As you stared at him for a second you noticed that your hands had had a mind of their own and we’re both at the edge of his skull, pulling gently on his purple locks.

“Woah” you exhaled.

“Good woah, or ‘oh shit what the fuck did we just do’ kind of Woah” Shinso questioned with a quirk of his eyebrows. You noticed that when Shinso got nervous he talked a lot more the he normally would.

“More like ‘why the hell have we not done that sooner’ kind of Woah” you corrected with a smile.

“I’ve been wanting to kiss you since you became my roommate, but I also didn’t want to fuck anything up.” Shinso confessed.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Sure there had been some sexual tension, but he had thought you were attractive since you had two met? Why the hell did it take so long then?

“Maybe we shouldn’t waste anymore time then” you said, trying to sound very nonchalant but you could hear the tremor in your voice.

Shinso didn’t need to hear anything else as he grabbed you by your hips and placed you onto his lap.

Where the hell did he get so strong? You wondered as you widened your stance to allow both of your legs be flush with his hips as you straddled him.

Shinso placed a hand behind your head as he guided you back to him while whispering “if you want to stop at any point, tell me and I will. I don’t want to do anything that you don’t want to.”

You couldn’t help but feel your heart melt at the words. There was just something about your roommate that made him very different then most guys your age.

“Same goes for you” you whispered back before kissing him.

It wasn’t long of him kissing you that he began testing the waters by allowing his fingers to inch up a few inches up your shirt as he felt the skin beneath. You gave him permission to do whatever he wanted by tugging harshly onto his hair and moaning.

He quickly made work of taking off your oversized shirt, a twing of a smirk gracing his lips as he realizes it’s one of his black shirts that you must have stole at some point. He made a mental note to tease you a bit later, but for now he had way more important things to do.

As the shirt fell to the floor he couldn’t help but grown at the sight in front of him. He hadn’t realized due to the bagginess of the shirt but you were wearing a bra and damn if you didn’t have the pretties tits he had ever seen.

“No bra” he quipped as he cupped them in his large pale hands, loving the way your soft supple skin felt in them as your back arched a bit at the sensation of him kneading them softly, testing the waters to see what kind of pressure you wanted.

“Almost never when I’m in a baggie top.” You admitted with a flush.

“I’ll have to remember that for the future” he said with a shit eating grin before he latched onto your left nipple, rolling a very expert tongue around it.

You let out a louder moan then you meant to but this only seemed to spur Shinso on as he suckled harder.

“Shin, fuck, Shin, can we take this to one of our bedrooms? Not that fucking on the couch doesn’t sound fun, I just think I would rather be in a bed.”

“So demanding” he teased as his lips popped off of your bud, but in that same breath he grabbed you and hoisted both of you up off of the couch, his hands digging into the fat of your thighs. “My room? I just washed my sheets today.”

“We’re you hoping something was going to happen, Hitoshi?” You teased as you kissed his nose.

“Only every fucking day, also please continue to call me that. It sounds so fucking sexy coming from you and I can’t wait to hear you moan my name.”

“Well, just know I don’t just moan to inflate a persons ego, I have to mean it.” You quipped back.

“Don’t worry, you will.” Shinso said with a wink as he slapped your ass, making you giggle before attaching his lips to your neck and walking you to his bedroom.

Also, don’t worry. You moaned his name all night long.

#this was supposed to be quick #but fuck this man #the things I would do to him #mha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #my hero acedamia #hitoshi shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso smut #shinsou smut #shinso x y/n #roomatesAU

1K notes · View notes

vivalabunbun · 2 years ago

Text

Overdue Books and Ghost Stories

Summary: If the scholars at the Akademiya are so smart, why can’t they remember a few due dates?

Word Count: 6.4K

Tags: Alhaithamx GN! Reader, Shy! Reader (you hate eye contact), Librarian! Reader, Fluff, SFW, attempts at humor, pure fluff, written before 3.6 so Alhaitham is still acting grand sage, slowish burn?, Akademiya setting, slight mutual pining, Sumeru boys drive the librarian insane, especially a certain gray-haired bookworm.

Authors note: I just wanted something light-hearted and fun to write as a reward for getting stuff done. Shy people who force themselves to be responsible and hate eye contact unite! Enjoy!

He’s being followed.

Alhaitham can feel the fleeting presence lingering just a few seconds behind him.

The warm late afternoon breeze caressing through his grey locks, his cape trailing behind, and belt clattering with each fluid step. Teal-orange eyes faced forward towards the hectic stall-lined streets, but his attention was focused on the ghost that trails him from behind.

Every merge into the crowded pathways lined with vendors, every sharp turn down hidden allies, every street he circles back on, the traces linger like a dream fleeting from the memories of deep sleep.

He can’t allow a ghost to accompany him home, lest it decides to haunt the house.

Alhaitham had wasted enough time walking in aimless circles, if he can’t throw off the ghost, he concludes he must exorcise it.

Long legs pivot into an alley confined by stone walls and empty of shouting merchants and haggling shoppers. One, two, three slow strides towards the pale dead end that faced him.

“I know you’re there. Might as well stop with the games.”

Ghosts don’t exist outside tales told to innocent children to keep them tucked tightly under the covers. However, the iniquitous villains that terrorize the plot do, and they’re known as humans.

Were they going to fight or flee?

The presence behind Alhaitham finally materialized into something more than a fleeting dream. He glanced over his shoulder, hand ready to summon his sword. Behind him stood an unassuming figure, with no sensible ill intentions, their hands up as a sign of surrender.

Eyes adverted elsewhere like a child caught trying to sneak one more piece of candied Ajilenakh Nut.

The viridescent robe that enveloped your figure paired with the matching barrette, there’s no mistaking your identity. Another scholar from the Akademiya, great.

With power comes prestige, two notions Alhaitham couldn’t care less for. He was more than satisfied as a simple Scribe filing away applications in the archives away from searching eyes.

Those days were a luxury stolen from him by the title of “Acting Grand Sage”.

Now it wasn’t an uncommon sight for some researcher to come floundering through the crowded halls of the institution towards the ashen-haired man. From time to time there would be the bold student, agglutinating to his side with their wasted attempts at a conversation.

With great power comes great inconveniences.

Inconveniences that unabashedly believed their polite smiles could divert his teal gaze away from the insincerity. That offering a cup of coffee along with a rehearsed elevator pitch could sow the seeds of a superficial bridge.

One where they’d walk across with forms awaiting a signature along dotted lines or a towards a potential high seat at the Akademiya.

Their desire for this absent bridge coerced them to shallow down their pride, spurring this fruitless endeavor despite the Acting Grand Sage’s indifference and unreturned interest in small talk.

First, he was pressured into taking a position he didn’t want, then he became the target of people’s irrelevant aspirations, and most damning of it all even his privacy’s being invaded. To put it frankly, Alhaitham’s tired of it all.

Surely, it couldn’t take this long for the great institution of wisdom to select another leader, when can he finally stop this sham act?

“I’m off the clock, come find me on the next working day.” He’d prefer it if you didn’t.

The frigidness of his words with their thinly veiled politeness didn’t cause a single muscle of yours to budge.

“The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has been overdue for 6 weeks now, please return it to the House of Daena immediately.” A hand extended out in front of you, open and expecting.

No introduction, no chivalrous greeting, no frivolous small talk. Alhaitham certainly wasn’t expecting this from the strange ghost that stalked him.

Oh, so that’s where your eyes were. Honing in solely on the book currently clutched by his hip. One of the many books he signed out of the House Daena on a whim, simple academic works to stimulate his mind during the respite between busybodies and paperwork.

One he then promptly cast to the side by the beckoning of a journal from the restricted access collection. Only after a pile of files was removed from his desk that his eyes rediscovered the title.

“I understand, I shall promptly return it by the end of the next work day.”

“No, a student has requested this title for a week now, after they’re done with it, you may sign it out again.” Voice firm and steady as you gestured for the book to be returned to your hand.

No. An unfamiliar word spoken in a tone now foreign to the towering man.

His keen eyes observed your homogeneous uniform of standard greens and gold, you must be a regular librarian employed by the Akademiya. The Akademiya currently under his jurisdiction.

How bold of you, or has this job already drained you of all sense of self-preservation?

Regardless, your statement wasn’t without merit. The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium doesn’t belong to him, and who was he to inconvenience a standard employee this Wednesday afternoon?

It wouldn’t serve him any benefit to be in the ire of a librarian, Alhaitham concludes it would be wise to just surrender the book. So he relinquished it.

From your pocket, your other hand produced a slip of parchment.

“Here is the late fee, please address the payment to the House of Daena by next Wednesday.”

Instead of offering the Acting Grand Sage a cup of coffee, you offered him a fine in exchange for confiscating his book.

With a slight bow, the ghost was exorcised, ambling back into the busy streets of Sumeru City until your back disappears from his teal eyes.

Alhaitham was left with no introduction, no coffee, and no book to spend the evening with. Even still, his mind has found something else to ponder about to pass the time.

Alhaitham slowly rejoins the buzzing city streets, the chattering voices carried by the cool breeze that rustled his cape and made his ash locks brush his cheeks.

‘How refreshing,’ he thought.

When the current Acting Grand Sage of the Akademiya was announced most people never heard his name before. Have they ever shared a class together? Were they ever in a group research project together? How could someone so brilliant escape the eyes of eager upstarts?

They could’ve had a prominent headstart in their careers if they’d built those bridges all those years back.

To be fair, you would’ve fallen into the clueless demographic as well. Were the two of you in the same graduating class? If your job didn’t require you to check the library ledgers every day, his name would’ve eluded you.

Even with a brisk thumbing through of the ledgers, it’s hard to miss the repetition printed on the pages.

Alhaitham was a regular name to be found in the library ledgers, you’d even argue he’s the biggest patron of the House of Daena.

However, it wasn’t the only pattern that would jump out to even the blindest man in Teyvat. What would be printed next to each book signed out by Alhaitham? Overdue.

Yes, you would think a man brilliant enough to plan the greatest insurrection in Sumeru’s history could remember a few due dates. But the ledgers refute that impression.

Before, the Scribe turned Grand Sage would simply return the books 1 or 2 weeks overdue and pay the fee at the same time.

Was it due to the increased responsibilities that now befell him or the increased financial freedom granted by a bigger paycheck that caused this pattern of extended tardiness?

Regardless, The Epistulae Morales ad Lucilium has returned back to the House of Daena, much to the delight of a hysterical student who pushed off a paper for a bit too long.

That Wednesday afternoon was the first time you spoke to the mysterious man of infamy, in an alleyway tucked away from prying eyes. He gave you the book without much of a fight and accepted the punishment without complaint.

If only it was always this easy.

First impression overall? The whispers in the halls were an inaccurate depiction of Alhaitham. To you at least, he was a rather tolerable man with a good sense of regulations, handsome hands too.

Was your first impression bad? Impudent even? Script rushed by the pounding metronome of your heart, skipping over a few key sentences, like an introduction.

Oh, you also forgot to call him Grand Sage… Surely he won’t hold such a petty grudge over that, he seems sensible.

You flipped through the library ledgers one last time before your duties ended for the day, stopping on a page as you pursed your lip at the familiar name next to The Critique of Pure Reason boldly stamped overdue.

If only the Grand Sage would fix this sloppy habit of his.

Alhaitham is very much aware of the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, the frequency illusion. The tendency to notice something more often after noticing it for the first time. It wasn’t hard to pinpoint the exact inception of this phenomenon he was experiencing, a certain meeting in an alleyway.

–

“General Mahamatra,” A distinct cadence enticed the Ashen-haired man’s focus away from the matra delivering his daily report.

There’s a hush that befell the halls of the Akademiya today, no reason to speculate, it’d obvious to even the dimmest of fools. Cyno, the General Mahamatra, returned today from the sandy wastelands.

In fact, Alhaitham had just concluded his brief discussion with the electro wielder a few moments prior. The General left the paperwork delivery to the woefully ignored matra currently in front of the dendro wielder.

The faint reverberation of the dreaded title paralyzed the few scholars and researchers that dared roam the in presence of the General. Intense scarlet eyes centered on the viridescent clad librarian that called, your eyes seemed occupied with the object encased by tan fingers.

“Law and Order of the Pursuit of Wisdom is overdue.” A steady cadence incited the General.

“By how long?” Spoke an authoritarian tone.

“8 weeks, General.” There wasn’t the slightest pause from you.

The dense tension within the enclosed space was palpable, many pairs of eyes fixed on the scene happening under these fluorescent lights.

The seconds counting down to the decisive moment, what will become of the incautious librarian after this show-down?

…

“My apologies, I should’ve returned the book before I embarked, may I pay the fee now?” The treacherous edge was absent from the general’s voice.

With a swift nod, you turned on your heel, leading the General Mahamatra toward the judgment awaiting him in the House of Daena. A sight so flipped on its head, the witnesses of this event couldn’t seem to decide which direction was up anymore.

–

“Mr. Kaveh.”

A librarian intercepted a certain famed architect’s search for a certain Grand Sage evading the responsibilities piling up on a polished desk.

A spectacle was certainly about to happen in the House of Daena, Alhaitham gathers from his position just covered by a towering bookshelf.

“Oh, yes?” The furrow between blond eyebrows dissipates in an instant, his fury distracted for now by the polite use of his name.

“Were you the one to sign out The Death and Life of Great Design, Mr. Kaveh?” You held out the title in question, holy text for every architecture, your impassive eyes trained on the cover.

“That’s correct, I’m certain I returned it in time, has anything arisen?” The light of Kshahrewar raised a brow at the sudden inquiry.

“Would you mind explaining this, Mr. Kaveh?”

The book was pried open, revealing to the world the chaotic collage of jumbled words and sketches haphazardly scribbled among the print with the faintest whiff of wine.

Even from this distance, the bold vandalism was observable to his teal eyes. So was the slackened jaw of the architect with his now saucer-sized eyes.

The closest equivalent Alhaitham could compare your current expression with was a parent’s gaze toward the discovery of a crayon mural on a wall. Three pairs of eyes observing the blatant defacement of literature.

“The replacement cost of this book is 141,471 mora, it was an antique print.” Your hands gingerly shut the covers, hiding the book’s shame away.

“H-how much??”

“I’ve written the amount down on this form, please address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of this month, Mr. Kaveh.” From your pocket, you presented the blonde with a fine that exacerbated his dreadful finances.

With this, your performance concluded, a mannered bow before swiveling back to your post at the library’s front desk. Leaving the famed Kaveh silent and color absent from his face, the slip of parchment pathetically pinched between ailing fingers.

Stepping back into the shadow of the shelves, Alhaitham reaches a hand up to enable the feature of his earphones that preserves his sanity. He already had a premonition of what was to greet him, might as well enjoy the fleeting moments of silence while it lasted.

–

The sky over Sumeru was a brilliant blue, tufts of fluffy clouds cushioned the earth from the harshest rays of the sun, but not enough to embargo the comforting warmth. It’d be a shame to throw away such beautiful weather in the confines of an office.

Enough justification for Alhaitham to enjoy a quiet reading session under a hidden pavilion, just to the side of a neglected pathway at the Akademiya.

Just because a place is neglected, it doesn’t mean it’s completely abandoned. The scurrying of two sets of steps made their presence known along the uneven path.

“Please return Handbook of Qualitative Research to the House of Daena,” your stony voice perked his ears.

Those words weren’t directed towards the unseen Acting Grand Sage, no, they were addressed towards the researcher whom you were just a few seconds behind. Impassive gaze concentrated on the overdue book in his arms.

The exasperated man huffed out a breath, bringing a hand up to rub at his dry eyes drooping under the weight of the discolored skin hanging under them. Alhaitham hypothesizes that this must have gone on for a while.

“Listen, I know it’s overdue, I promise to return it once this report is finished.” The researcher tries to quicken his strides.

“No, it’s late 4 weeks now, please hand over the book.” That signature gesture made its appearance, palms open and expecting, your pace never once faltering.

“Could you please make an exception, just this once?” Tired exasperation morphing into a sharper edge.

“There are three other patrons queuing for this book, I’ll add you to the list and notify you once the title is available again.” Indifferent eyes never once left the imprisoned book.

Ah, your words became the straw that broke the Sumpter Beast’s back.

“Three? THREE??! I don’t have the time! If they’re students they can wait, this project has dragged out for months, months! It’s only now drawing to a close, oh for the love of Lesser Lord Kusanali, just let me-”

Fatigue overboiled into raw frustration, the researcher now lively as ever, moved senselessly close to your face.

One boot-clad step makes its appearance from behind a pillar. It’d be best to de-escalate the situation now before the potential for a physical alteration manifests into reality.

Especially for a librarian that’s too focused on a book to recognize the looming threat. As Acting Grand Sage, maintaining order was the priority.

Instantaneously, a lone finger shot out towards the azure sky, with it followed the wearied eyes of a man mid-manifesto. The hypnotically soothing hue of the vast space momentarily ceased the researcher’s grievance, reminding him of the bigger picture, of the bigger world.

Bringing him comfort with the realization that these sleepless nights won’t be permanent, that this too shall pass.

Was that the goal of your diversion? Probably not. Regardless, the hostage has been rescued into your secure arms, back where the book belonged.

The view of the sky must’ve reminded the researcher’s body of its limit, as his movements faltered back sluggishly. Bloodshot eyes blinking at his now empty hands.

“Please address the payment to the House of Daena by next week.” A slip of parchment produced from your pocket fills that void for him.

Without another word, the librarian trekked back up the beaten path, leaving behind two very silent men. With only the researcher’s figure left in sight, Alhaitham’s mind quickly lost interest.

Withdrawing back behind the cover of the marble pillar, he couldn’t help but recount the details.

‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’. All names coined by the sleep-deprived minds of slouching students and destitute scholars awaiting the saving grace that was their paycheck.

Perhaps it’s that inorganic cadence of your voice. Or how one of your hands reaches out to demand the return of printed works while the other indited the transgressors with a note worth months of coffee.

Maybe it’s the focus of your catatonic gaze solely upon the books in question, denying wrongdoers a chance of mercy formed by eye contact.

An itch tickled the back of Alhaitham’s throat, the same sensation that tugged the corner of his lips upwards towards the brilliant sky.

How did such a fascinating individual slip away from under his nose for so long?

Almost there, just a little longer, the doors to the House of Daena came into view, you’re so close to reprieve. One hand still clutching the freshly recused book against your chest, you pried the door to the staff room open. Empty.

Thank the Archons.

Ducking into the sanctuary devoid of library patrons and chattering coworkers, sealing the solid wood behind your back, you could finally breathe.

Lungs burning for the taste of oxygen again, the pounding in your chest subsiding with each greedy gulp. Drained figure finding solstice against the sturdy door.

You achieved your goal, so why were you so defeated?

His eyes got close, dangerously close. In your peripheral, the puffiness of his eye bags were in full detail. Your lids shut firmly as if shutting out the intrusive thoughts that threatened to infiltrate your mind.

It’s fine, everything is fine, your eyes never met. There’s no arrow in the back of your heel, the script has not gone off course.

What a childish Achilles heel, eye contact, the most basic requirement for a conversation between peers and people. One you can’t fulfill. Even the briefest moment of connection will crumble the mask you dawn, exposing the puny coward to the world.

One look and you’ll be thrown off script, your career’s saving grace.

Book overdue?: “Please return [Title] and address the late fee payment to the House of Danea by next week.”

Damages?: “Please compensate the House of Daena for the damages done to [Title] by next month.”

Need a book that isn’t available?: “I’ll add your name to the waitlist for [Title] and inform you when it’s returned.”

Lines rehearsed time and time again, now ingrained into your tongue, spoken by instinct. It’s not a conversation, it’s merely a stage play, performed by a coward shielded by a crafted blanket of indifference.

‘The General Librarian’, ‘The Punisher of Fines’, ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’.

Better that they interpret your aversion to eye contact as malice instead of cowardice. After all, the world is not kind, especially not towards the meek. Papers and delegated responsibilities suddenly thrust upon those too shy to voice their dismay.

What could the meek do? Nothing. So they’ll silently grit their teeth and bare it all as a doormat trampled by those whose voices don’t stumble and shutter.

A scheme you’ve fell victim to time and time again within the walls of this hallow institute of knowledge. An experience under oath by oneself to never repeat again.

The intermission is over, the performer must return back to their positions. You unlatched the door, stepping back into the fluorescent lights of the House of Daena.

Alhaitham is aware of the frequency illusion, however, he’d argue that it’s no longer an illusion. The ghost has come back to haunt him. For what reason? Alhaitham’s not sure. Surely his books aren’t that overdue, and if they were then why hasn’t your hand appeared in front of him?

Instead, you left traces, whispers of your presence in the form of handkerchiefs and pressed flowers on slips of paper.

The evidence found beside the Acting Grande Sage’s lunches and piles of applications, his teal eyes always just catching the briefest viridescent wisp fleeing the scene of the crime.

The ashen-haired man finds great delight in abstruse books, the rare feeling of reading a line more than once to grasp the concepts formed on the page.

He enjoys the sporadic occurrences that challenge his sharp mind, it’s good to feel fresh thoughts run through.

Has Alhaitham found an archaic journal tucked away in some dusty corner? Perhaps he found a handwritten copy of a book, one with fewer than ten in existence. Was it a long-forgotten text that challenged contemporary beliefs?

Surely, to baffle the man known as Alhaitham, the scripts must have something reality-shattering. Like something saying that the azure sky, with its moon and sun, were nothing but mere imitations.

No. It wasn’t any print signed out from the restricted collection in the House of Daena that had Alhaitham’s mind pondering the slightest nuances. It was the librarian, currently penning his name down in the ledgers, that perplexed the towering man.

Humans are flawed in the sense that they’re uncomfortable with the concept of ‘unconditionality’. Everything has a fair price and equivalent exchange. One back was scratched in return for the same. So, what did you want?

Were you trying to form a bridge? One crafted from slips of paper and thin decorative fabric? If so, then why has your introduction yet to reach his ears?

The eyes are the window to the soul. Windows that offer indispensable insight into the other person’s agenda and convictions. For the Acting Grand Sage, it’s easier for him to gain access to the restricted vaults in the House of Daena than the librarian’s eyes.

Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is a menace? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?

Could it be the nagging of Kshahrewar students, whining over the unavailability of their holy text, that made you hypersensitive to the treatment of printed works?

The students should direct their grievances towards the ‘light’ of their Darshan, the one that defaced their holy text. You’re a librarian, not a magician you can’t make books appear from the abyss.

It was a coincidence to witness the Grand Sage, Alhaitham, enjoying a shawarma wrap under the shade of a stained-glass pavilion. There’s nothing wrong with a man just having his lunch. However, there was something very wrong with how his other hand held a book.

Paper becomes discolored in the stained area and transparent as molecules of oil fill the spaces between cellulose fibers. Over time, the parchment will become brown and brittle, the ink lifted by the fatty acids.

But what can you do? Interrupt the Grand Sage’s lunch? Lecture a superior on proper book care procedures?

You’re not dense.

Still, you could take some preventative measures. Done in the form of a handkerchief carefully folded just behind his right shoulder. He seemed too engrossed in the text to perceive your proximity to him. It was just for a few seconds anyways. You retreated.

The next incident happened within the wall of the House of Daena, where food and drinks were strictly forbidden. It was a slow day, with nothing much to do besides returning a few books back to their proper homes along the hundreds of shelves.

During one of the many trips pushing the cart back and forth along the path, a certain head of ashen hair with teal streaks fell into your peripheral. It must be a slow day for him too. The Grand Sage certainly made himself comfortable, desk piled with stacks of books strewn about.

The purse on your lips returns as one side of your cheek is sucked in. A few of the books were opened and placed paper-side down on the smooth table. You witnessed him losing interest in his current text, letting it join the spread bodies of its fellow brethren.

Laying a book face-down breaks the binding and weakens the hinges, where the covers attach to the pages. Some of those titles have existed for more than double your combined ages, think of their poor spines.

Out of pity for the aged scripts and for your own patience, while passing his table from a pocket you slipped out a clumsily made bookmark.

Fashioned from scrap paper, craft supplies, and one of the many Sumeru Roses that dotted the paths in this nation. A new hobby of yours that’s proven itself useful.

With your duty fulfilled you returned back among the towering shelves.

–

The job of a Grand Sage is demanding, much more demand than the job description of a librarian, you understood that. However, surely there are enough hours in the day for him to have lunch and read separately.

The position of Grand Sage means he often has to determine the best policies and actions. So why can’t he read one book at a time, close it properly, then pick up the next?

Being the Grand Sage must be time-consuming and hectic, but he could at least send someone to return his books before the due date.

How many handkerchiefs did you purchase in the last month alone? How many yards of decorative string? Is it possible to make the Sumeru Rose endangered? Would it be appropriate for you to itemize your purchases for reimbursement by the Akademiya?

For a person that enjoys reading printed works, it seems that he’s only concerned with the contents of the book and not its physical well-being. A menace to literature.

You were the unlucky sheep tasked with delivering the new budget proposal for the House of Daena. Stepping into the grand office after an unnecessarily long elevator ride, you wondered what violations will greet you this time, or if the elusive man was even here.

Ambling towards his desk, eyes focused on the budget in front of you, only switching position once the polished wood came into view.

Ah, he had another book face-down on the desk with one of your bookmarks just off to the side. He almost had it. Glancing up, your world momentarily stilled.

The Grand Sage was in his office after all. Chest gently rose and fell, face supported by the back of his knuckle, long lashes closed. Thank Archons, he’s asleep. Your heart restarts its tempo.

Your eyes quickly snapped back to the cover of the book, The Symposium, you recognized that title from this morning’s flip through the ledgers. It’s overdue.

There’s not even a point in sighing, you expected this. Flipping over the philosophical work you gingerly placed the bookmark in properly, then shut the covers closed.

Curious eyes wandered back to the sleeping figure in the board seat. His ashen hair looked soft as it fell across his face, lips slightly parted as quiet breaths exhaled.

From his lips, your greedy eyes began to trail down his covered arms, all the way down to the bare break that exposed his robust arm-

You stopped yourself, he’s asleep. You must be reading too many books from a certain island nation.

Is it unprofessional to think that the Grand Sage, the figurehead of the Akademiya, is attractive? If you kept these thoughts to yourself then it shouldn’t be a problem, right?

You left two pieces of parchment on his desk.

‘I’ll give a one-week extension, please return this title to the House of Daena before then.’

Alhaitham certainly didn’t expect to find this from ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ when waking from a nap, he wondered if it was conquered by the remnants of sleep.

Or perhaps it was their parting gift, one last lingering trace before the ghost that haunted him for these past few months retreated back into their world. No more handkerchiefs left by his lunches. No more pressed flowers to decorate his desk. His teal eyes were unable to catch a very specific hue of viridescences.

Did the ghost slip out from under his nose again?

–

There isn’t much of a reason for Alhaitham to be at the Pardis Dhyai, after all, he’s not a Amurta scholar. Just a chore from this temporary position. His boot-clad steps made their way up the stone path blooming with lush vegetation, the view was almost enough to make up for the troublesome journey.

Keen eyes honed in on familiar ebony ears from the doorway to the greenhouse. Oh, Tighnari is here? What a rare sight.

“Please pay the late fee by the end of the week.” A certain cadence seized his attention.

“Yes, yes, I get it,” Tighnari sighed, moving to place his closed pen where he left off in the book.

“Chief Forest Ranger, please use this instead.” From your pocket emerged an all too familiar violet.

“Oh? Did you make this yourself? Mm, a Sumeru Rose, on my way here I noticed that these plants don’t seem as plentiful recently.” The forest ranger observed the bookmark in his gloved hands.

“I wouldn’t know, sir.”

Oh, so you gave those bookmarks out to anyone indiscriminately. It made sense, you’re a librarian, employed to help the patrons of the House of Daena with their literary needs.

It didn’t mean much just to hand out a few slips of paper. Something annoying and greener than the foliage scratched at Alhaitham’s neck.

–

At the Pardis Dhyai, you had a duty to fulfill, as did he. Not an appropriate time to initiate a conversation.

Thus, the ashen-haired man can only mull over the situation in the stillness of his own home. A blond architect sent out to fetch groceries to account for a certain damages fee.

A lone finger taps rhythmically on solid oak while the opposite hand supports his pondering head. As quickly as you came, you left just as suddenly. As capricious as the wind, slipping through the gaps of his fingers just as easily.

How does one catch a ghost?

Beryl gaze travels the length of the workspace, over the scattered sheets and abandoned quills, landing upon negligently stacked covers. A scheme conquers itself into existence.

Throughout history, many methods and rituals have been used to summon beings from the great beyond. As a scholar, who was he not to test those hypotheses?

The Norton Anthology of World Literature; Overdue 5 weeks

Academic Charisma and the Origins of the Research; Overdue 5 weeks

Cases on Academic Rights and Justice; Overdue 5 weeks

The Symposium; Overdue 8 weeks

Patron: Alhaitham

Ah, you can’t let this continue. It’s time for ‘The Ghost of Due Dates Past’ to collect their dues. Even if you wanted to bash your head into the ledgers.

–

Just beyond the threshold of a pavilion offering shelter from the sun's rays stood a familiar caped frame. Unabashedly reading The Symposium, back resting against the pillar.

Plugging the title into your script your lungs muster up a deep inhale, it’s time for the coward to dance on stage.

“Grand Sage.” You stopped a few paces away.

There was the gentle clatter of his belt and cape, the weight of his gaze now resting upon your shoulders, but your eyes were honed in on the cover in his clutches. You got his title this time.

Alhaitham feels he should give bygone scholars and minds more merit, a ghost can be summoned, an incentive is needed for the ritual.

“Please return The Symposium immediately, and address the payment to the House of Daena by the end of the week.” Like rehearsed, your hand reached out, palms awaiting the smooth back of the book.

His half-gloved hand shut the pages together, rotating the book horizontally, it slowly travels the distance to your hands. Your eyes chaperoned every movement, legs eager to return backstage to the House of Daena.

Just as the smooth cover brushed against the clammy skin of your palms before your fingers could fully enclose around it, the title suddenly took a detour. With it followed your attentive eyes.

It’s a childish scheme really, like a schoolyard bully using his vertical advantage to hold the object of desire just out of reach. As the saying goes, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Such elementary actions hold some merit… because they worked.

Attentive eyes clashed with teal, stunned irises that dilated faster than the thump of your heart. You got to witness the Grand Sage’s features in all their glory for the first time, so his beryl eyes also held some citrine in them.

Instantly, your neck snapped to the side. But it’s already too late, the coward dropped their mask, shattering at their feet. Revealing to the world the scarlet face of the wimp whose sheet was stripped off their heads, there was never a ghost, only a performer.

You were standing in the shade, yet it felt as if you stumbled into the desert.

Alhaitham’s indebted to the fact you don’t look people in the eyes, such an event would prove disastrous for this institution of wisdom and rationality. Such a sight should have limited access he deems.

A sweet breeze blows through the pavilion, cooling his cheeks and yours the same, however, the ears hidden under his earphones still burned.

Throughout the House of Daena, the soft fluttering of pages turning and quills scribbling down notes could be heard. At the front, a librarian glances at the clock slowly ticking down to the hour of freedom.

“I would like to return these,” spoke a husky voice.

Your eyes traveled up from the freshly stacked books up toned forearms, reaching their final destination on a pair of impartial teal irises.

Opening up the ledger, you swiftly flipped to a familiar name. Scanning the titles you noted each one down.

The Uses of Literacy; due in 2 weeks

The Great Conversation; due in 2 weeks

Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity; due in 2 weeks

Patron: Alhaitham

“Thank you for returning the books before due, have a great evening.” You bowed a little at the Grand Sage. Gathering up the books into your hand and placing them in the return cart.

It’s past 5:30 pm, the Acting Grand Sage is now off the clock. Thus, he didn’t let one second go to waste. Long legs taking swift strides out of the grand doors of the Akademiya, skillfully dodging the searching eyes of ambitious scholars.

Ambling down the stone pathways to the bustling city center.

Entering the favored tavern of any famished local, Alhaitham places his order. Watching the clock as Lambad packed his two to-go bags.

Dropping the mora off on the counter, Alhaitham seized the freshly made dinners into his hands, exiting the tavern. Merging back into the crowded pathways until he reached his front door. Shifting the bags into one hand, he turns the silver key to his abode.

Placing the takeout bags onto the polished kitchen table, his teal eyes once again wander towards a clock, 6:10 pm.

He prepares two glasses and a bottle of wine from a secured cabinet. It’s the weekend now, there’s no risk in enjoying a few glasses tonight. Just as the ashen-haired man finished setting the table, the unlocked door lightly creaks ajar.

Your frame soon comes into view, arms stretched above your head to loosen the tension that comes with a desk job. A breathy yawn followed the release of tight muscles along your back, walking into the kitchen where Alhaitham stood.

“You’ve worked hard today.”

You hummed in agreement, hand gently rubbing the fatigue from your eyes as the delicious scent of tandoori roast chicken beckoned your nose.

Food and drinks were strictly forbidden in the House of Daena, and you’re quite ravenous. Advancing toward the paper bag located on your side of the table with an eager bounce in your step.

Only to be blocked by a toned arm.

“Aren’t you forgetting something, my librarian?” Inquired a low voice.

You glanced up at the hurdle that dare separate you from a delicious meal, lip pursed out just the slightest bit.

“I returned my books before due, desired behavior requires positive reinforcement.” There’s a glint in his beryl eyes.

You huffed, you should’ve known he was feeling a bit cheeky today from the moment he stepped foot into the library. Still, he’s right, good behavior deserves a reward.

Tenderly your hands clasped around his soft cheeks, guiding his face downwards as you straighten your back. His ashen locks tickled you as you awarded the towering man his prizes.

Your lips gingerly press themselves against his features, the warmth of your burning cheeks felt soothing to him, and you could feel the upward pull of his lips.

Once on the forehead, once under his eye, once on the nose, and… one final time against his soft lips.

Quickly pulling away, the slow blink followed by a slightly quirked eyebrow tells you enough about his thoughts.

“The last one was a thanks for the food.” You turned your flaming cheeks away, settling down and releasing your meal from the confines of the bag.

Your lover hums in understanding, a cheeky smirk ever so clear on his usually stoic face. Regardless, he moves to his side of the table and unpacks his dinner, filling two glasses with fragrant wine.

A clink signified the start of your dinner ritual, performed away from prying eyes.

Somewhere during the comfortably quiet dinner, Alhaitham’s hand by habit inched towards the book placed just off to the side, violet bookmark recording his last endeavor among the text.

Just as quickly as it started, his hand stopped. Like a stern swat, your eyes pierced into the back of his hand. A silent warning. He withdrew his hand back to his side, deciding to practice proper dining manners, for you of course.

Satisfied, your attention returns back to the seasoned meat and sauces on your plate, fork and knife quickly getting to work.

Alhaitham’s perfectly spiced food took a backseat in his mind, eyes more interested in observing the endearing fullness of your cheeks as you chewed.

Inquisitive irises returned his stare, he sees the teal that reflected off. How could the corners of his mouth not lift at the sight in front of him?

Please keep your eyes on him, so that he may continue to watch you for now and for the far future. His librarian.

Fin~

#alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x you #alhaitham x y/n #alhaitham x yn #genshin impact x you #genshin x you #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham x you #genshin x reader #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham fanfic #alhaitham fluff #genshin fanfic #genshin fluff #vivalabunbunfics #al haitham x reader #alhaitham scenarios #alhaitham imagines

2K notes · View notes

aspiringtrashpanda · 11 days ago

Text

Not @shootingstarrfish and I trying to come up with some sort of timeline for when Solomon first meets Diavolo like "It was before the fall, and the fall would be roughly around 1700 BCE as that's what Google refers to as "biblical times" and we know humans already existed because of the Lilith of it all, so it wasn't before the creation of Adam and Eve. We can assume Sol is going to be where it's bumpin', so if we look at Babylon in 1800-1700 BCE, we can get an idea of his outfit and what's going on in the world." ...And then we remember that this a fictional game about romancing immortal beings. Find the prompt list HERE.

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

DAY 31 Prompt: Diavolo 1.5k Solomon first meets the future King of the Devildom FEATURING ART BY @shootingstarrfish

Solomon took a deep breath, gazing up at the spectacle that was the Demon King’s castle. The marble steps were particularly elegant, a unique crimson color that Solomon assumed to be native to the Devildom. The Fountain of Knowledge promised an increased use of marble to demonstrate wealth and power, but he knew it would be a number of years before Egypt began to utilize the material in places of worship.

Solomon himself had planted the seed in Thebes, but his current home of Babylon relied primarily on brickl. Even the most impressive temples paled in comparison to the castle looming before him, three stories high and surrounded by deep green flora. Where the Babylonians compensated for detail with size, the demons contracted to erect the King’s abode had outdid themselves with the careful carvings on every visible surface, the elbarotate veins of gold inlaid on the columns and arches.

Despite the cool midnight breeze of the Devildom, a welcome relief from the scorching sun of the Mediterranean, Solomon felt his skin burn hot on the back of his hands, at the nape of his neck. Anticipation gnawed at his ankles, rendered his knuckles stiff and tight.

Did he knock? Did he summon Barbatos and…

The lacquered wooden door swung open, the Demon Prince’s newly appointed steward waiting in the doorway. Solomon offered him a cheery smile. Barbatos simply spun on his heel and marched into the building without a word, leaving Solomon to assume that his presence was welcome before the young lord.

His steps clapping through the ornate hall, all obsidian pillars leading to what had to be some sort of gathering chamber, Solomon rehearsed his greeting to the esteemed Demon Prince. The nerves that pricked his veins were uncommon, Solomon long-versed in meeting with various beings of note, reputation and power. He had shared demonus with the Demon King, had helped slay vampires on the shores of Mesopotamia, had walked through Cocytus to return to the human world. He was the guardian of the Fountain of Knowledge, the Witty Sorcerer!

And yet, his kneecaps rattled the closer he got to facing the demon who had–someway, somehow–convinced Barbatos to pledge his allegiance. Such a feat spoke of a powerful authority the likes Solomon wasn’t sure he had ever experienced.

The door at the end of the hall had been left ajar. The sliver of firelight seeping from the room beyond, casting dancing lights upon the ground, was the only invite Solomon supposed he was going to get from Barbatos. Why his old friend was so upset with him, he wasn’t sure, but he figured it would pass eventually.

Sure enough, he found Barbatos inside the large chamber, steeping tea by a roaring fireplace. A fresh loaf of his signature bread sat on a stone slab by two horns of demonus, and Solomon’s stomach gurgled in anticipation. He was hungrier than he thought, for the noise received a rather judgemental glare from the new Royal Butler.

Partially in an attempt to avoid the passive ire, Solomon glanced past Barbatos’s busy hands, his attention drawn towards the two large chairs in the center of the room. Ah, he had been correct to assume that he was being summoned to the throne room.

“Welcome, Solomon.” A large figure stood upon the dias, muscular arms outstretched as if to remind Solomon that he was impeding on the demons’ territory, that this room belonged to the young lord. If it was meant to be a threat, it was extremely successful, for the strength and power emanating from the demon before him was unrefined and wild. Dangerous, even.

Fangs glinting in the firelight, Diavolo smirked, “Or should I call you The Witty Sorcerer?”

Solomon wasn’t sure he had ever felt so small. Squaring his shoulders as subtly as possible, Solomon met the Prince of the Devildom’s piercing gold stare. Never once breaking eye contact, he bowed, insisting, “There is no need for formalities. It is an honor to be in your presence, Prince Diavolo. Barbatos has spoken–”

“I was under the impression that he hasn’t spoken to you recently at all,” Diavolo cut him off, his eyebrow lifted towards his hair, as bold as blood oozing around heavy horns decorated in gold.

“Ah, well…” Solomon cleared his throat, the tremble of his fingers threatening to disrupt his confident facade. “It is true that our relationship has been strained as of late.”

He could hear the slither of Barbatos’s tail lashing from the other side of the room.

“Indeed,” Diavolo cocked his head, and tapped long, black nails on the bare skin of his bicep as he crossed his arms over his chest. His aura demanded respect, exuding a heavy anticipation that had Solomon on the tips of his toes. The demon prince stepped from the dias, his size even more intimidating in close proximity. “Tell me, Solomon. I require the truth. Please, answer me this…”

“Is it true that you built a wooden boat and filled it with two of each animal?”

Just like that, the demon before him lit up like a child gifted a new toy. Clutching his hands to his chest, Diavolo looked at Solomon with stars in his eyes, gold depths glittering like the sun reflected on the sea. He rocked back and forth from his heels to the balls of his feet, any sort of composed image that he had been trying to maintain shattered by the excessive enthusiasm pulling at his lips. “One male, and one female, right? To survive the Great Flood!”

Solomon blinked, glanced at Barbatos for any sort of guidance. All he received in response was a squinted glare, adding further pressure to the situation.

He settled for grimacing, “That was said to be Ziusudra.”

“Though, the grapevine refers to a man with silver hair,” Diavolo winked.

Solomon’s brain was lagging, struggling to comprehend that the oh, so scary future king of the demons just winked at him. It was quite the contrast to Diavolo’s mouth, which moved a mile a minute, launching question after question towards his guest. At some point, he had marched over to the table by the fire, had plopped down on a stool and beckoned for Solomon to join him in between inquiries on the available materials for such a large boat, to the best way to clean up after living with so many creatures.

Dazed, Solomon took a seat, chancing a glance at Barbatos. The butler’s face was stonier than the very slab at which they sat.

Next thing he knew, a horn of demonus was thrust into Solomon’s hand, Diavolo beaming at him with such sincerity, it managed to snuff out any lingering fear. “So, which animals were the hardest to wrangle? Do you have dragons? I would imagine they’d put up quite the fight.”

“Ah, no, we don’t have dragons,” Solomon frowned, though the way Diavolo deflated had him adding, “But the hippopotamuses were surprisingly violent. I nearly lost my arm to that old girl.”

“Oh?” The prince’s enthusiasm returned tenfold, “Is it that easy for a human to lose an arm?”

For the next hour, Solomon sipped at his demonus, savoring the taste in between bites of fresh bread and answers to Diavolo’s endless barrage of questions. The initial threat that Solomon had felt upon entering the room melted into an easy atmosphere of laughter and genuine curiosity. There was something about the way that Diavolo yearned to understand humans that spoke to Solomon. It humanized the demon in a way that he hadn’t expected, the deep loneliness that shined through the desperation to connect a feeling that Solomon knew far too well.

By the time their meeting had come to a close, Solomon’s confidence had found itself once more. He was sure he had made a powerful ally that he could work with to ensure future protection of the human world.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Diavolo lowered his horn of demonus, golden eyes peering curiously into Solomon’s soul. Perhaps there was the briefest flash of guilt across his face, though Solomon felt it unwarranted. “Surely there must be knowledge of the Devildom not yet privy to you through the Fountain of Knowledge.”

And Solomon was certain there was, though it pained him to admit that the young prince could not give him what he sought. Quick on his feet, he thought up an alternative. “Hmmm, perhaps not the question you seek, but a question nonetheless.”

He brandished a scroll from thin air, summoned with magic from his home in Babylon. The long roll of papyrus nearly nudged his feet, the list plenty long and only growing. With a grin, Solomon pointed to Diavolo’s name, shining in bolded ink towards the top. “Could I interest you in a pact?”

── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──

I think it's safe to assume that the Demon Lord's castle has had facelifts throughout the years. Also did you know the first version of the Great Flood is actually in the Sumerian Eridu Genesis?

OBEY ME! MONTH MASTERLIST

HUGE THANKS TO @shootingstarrfish FOR THE ART FOR THIS <3 <3 <3

#obey me month #day 31 #obey me diavolo #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me nightbringer #poor barb

80 notes · View notes