#you’d explain all the paintings and history to me

[iwillneverforgiveyousunghanbin]

taedros tresdros

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part one: taedros taedros ☆ part two: taedros twodros wc: 2.2k reader: afab reader (pretty sure no specific gender mentioned but putting this disclaimer just in case!) warnings: smut 18+; MINORS DNI!!! -- specific warnings under the cut -- also some angst and some fluff :) summary: uh-oh... you fell for your best friend taerae. but was it all in vain after he's ghosted you the past two weeks? *ੈ✩‧₊˚ ITS DONEEE! you will notice i've went with "taedros tresdros" for the title. decided to keep all three parts with taedros as the first word lol. this is the finale for this little series and i really hope you like this ending i've made lol. i am so happy you've all enjoyed taedros taedros -- stay tuned for more works soon (hopefully) xx

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

warnings: 18+ explicit smut, fingering and oral (reader receiving), cumming in pants, eavesdropping/voyeurism by reader but it's only out of shock/anger, swearing, lots of innuendo in this one lmao... i think that's it!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

“so, the ring finger goes here?” you hear a feminine voice ask; ear pressed gently to taerae’s door to hear better. just a few moments ago, you’d been taking deep, steadying breaths as you walked through the entrance to your best friend’s dorm building on your way to finally confront him.

something that was so familiar now made your heart race with anxiety. 

but when you’d rounded the corner to taerae’s room, you were surprised to find the door shut almost all the way. usually taerae left his door wide open, even when he was playing the guitar or getting changed or sleeping. in fact, his dorm-mates told you one night when you were leaving that the only time taerae made an effort to close it was when you were over... you couldn’t hear any noise coming from his room, which made you all the more curious as to what was going on in there. 

walking up to his door, you’d seen it was propped open just a bit by one of taerae’s shoes. you couldn’t see through the gap in the door, but you’d heard quiet murmurings from inside and gently placed your ear to the door to listen closer. the sound of a girl’s voice had completely shocked you. especially considering what you’d come here to talk about with taerae.

“yeah, it might take a bit to find the sweet spot,” taerae answers with a chuckle; his answer causing your jaw to drop. fingers? sweet spots? what the fuck is going on in there!?

“mmm, thank you again for teaching me, taerae,” the voice responds. upon closer listening, you realize you know this voice. it belongs to your world history classmate, jinah-- the girl who sits behind you and doodles the entire period. she’s very nice-- pretty and athletic, too, but...

you didn’t really think taerae was her type.

you hadn’t spoken to taerae much in the last couple weeks. ever since you’d actually slept together... things had changed. it felt like your best friend was avoiding you. when you’d texted to ask about movie night the past two fridays, taerae had said he was busy with homework both times. normally taerae would meet you for lunch in the student union every other day in between his music theory class, but he hadn’t come by since then. he’d barely said two words to you at choir practice last night.

was this why? he’d decided he liked jinah instead? he couldn’t face you after... using you? 

taerae would never do that. not to you. probably not to anyone.

then again, you’d never talked about whether what was going on between you was exclusive or not. and what it meant to you; what he meant to you. had you completely misinterpreted this whole situation?

“and the middle finger...” jinah trails off and the mental picture you have unfortunately painted in your head of the scene taking place is enough to make you gag.

“that one’s gonna reach as far up as possible,” taerae explains. if you had known your best friend was offering masturbation classes out of his dorm room, you probably would’ve been more careful about where you were sitting on his bed.

“i don’t think i can reach that far,” jinah huffs with a frustrated sigh. “it kind of hurts.”

“relax,” taerae soothes. “it’ll feel better if you relax.”

your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sound of the audible gasp that escapes you, but your elbow hitting the door blows your cover. you stand up quickly as taerae’s door swings open-- revealing you in the doorway to taerae and jinah.

... and revealing jinah sitting on taerae’s bed and holding a guitar (quite clumsily, if you may be so brazen) in her hands; taerae sitting next to her and seemingly offering some sort of instruction.

“you--...” you stutter, surprised and also incredibly relieved to find that the lessons taerae was giving were much more wholesome than you’d been forced to imagine for the past few minutes. “oh thank fuck holy shit.”

as the uncontrollable string of grateful curse words leaves your mouth, jinah clears her throat awkwardly and stands up; removing the guitar strap from around her neck and handing the instrument to its owner.

“sorry for interrupting,” you mumble, bottom lip finding its way between your teeth as taerae glares at you. 

“no, it’s okay! i have to finish an essay for tomorrow anyway,” jinah replies, picking up her bag and walking towards the door. you step to the side for her to get by, awkwardly smiling as she calls behind her, “thank you, taerae! see you next week!”

jinah retreats down the hallway, leaving just you and taerae alone in a tense silence.

“what are you doing here?” taerae asks, rather unceremoniously. “it’s a thursday night. you have tutoring on thursday nights. that's why we have movie night on fridays.”

you nod, still leaning against the doorframe. “my last appointment cancelled so i--... i wanted to come talk to you.”

“oh,” taerae replies with a nod. “okay.”

you frown. “okay?”

“yeah,” he says, looking down at his guitar in his hands; starting to strum it lightly. “okay.”

your eyebrows raise in shock as your best friend seemingly shrugs you off. you walk over to him and snatch the guitar from his hands by its neck.

“HEY!” he protests as you bring the instrument over to its stand and place it there annoyedly (but carefully; you’re not an asshole). “i was playing that.”

“what the fuck is the matter with you!?” you snap, turning back around to face him. “you’ve been avoiding me for two weeks!”

taerae visibly gulps; eyes falling to the floor. 

“and this is how you’re gonna act?” you scold, folding your arms across your chest. “after we...”

for some reason you’re unable to say it. taerae is silent-- seemingly holding his breath as he waits for you to continue. coward.

“i came here to talk to you about everything and--... and then i heard you through the door giving jinah a fucking guitar lesson,” you explain while rolling your eyes. “better than the lesson i thought you were giving her, but...”

taerae looks up at you now; brow furrowed as his head tilts to the side confusedly. “w--... what kind of a lesson did you think i was giving her?”

you blink back at him; unsure of whether to tell the truth or not. but taerae catches on before you can commit to a lie.

his jaw drops in shock. “you thought--... did you think--”

you look down at your feet: embarrassed, anxious, and just plain sad after the events of the last couple weeks. this mixture of emotions forms a lump in your throat that you are now hopelessly trying to suppress. “i’m really sorry for interrupting. and for listening a bit. i just don't know what happened. i thought we were--... i thought you felt the same way that i did, but... you just must be really upset with me and i don’t know what i did but i’m so sorry and i really miss you so i wanted to talk to you and i just was... i dunno, i thought--”

taerae cuts off your rambling by standing up and wrapping his arms around you tightly. against your neck, he soothes, “ssh, baby. it’s okay-- it’s all okay. i promise.”

“i like you,” you confess into taerae’s sweatshirt. “i’m sorry, i didn’t know this would happen. but i really like you, tae.”

"fuck-- i like you, too. of course i like you, too,” he says, pulling back to look at you. “and this is all my fault.”

you sniffle as you ask, “what did you do this time?”

“something really, really stupid,” he replies with a sad smile.

mirroring his expression, you quip, “what else is new?” 

“yeah, yeah,” he accepts with a laugh. cupping your cheek in his hand, he runs his thumb across the skin sweetly. “i thought i was the one who fucked up... by falling for you.”

“... oh,” is all you can manage to say.

“oh is right,” he says, leaning in and kissing your lips gently. “i honestly wasn’t sure what to do about it. i didn’t want to hurt you and i thought maybe just... avoiding you for a bit would make it easier for me to stop having feelings for you. but it didn’t. it just hurt you and me more-- and it was really immature. i’m so sorry.”

you wrap your arms around his neck, having forgiven your idiot of a best friend before he even apologized. “i missed you so much.”

“i missed you more,” taerae says, peppering your cheeks with kisses. you giggle; taerae grinning before attaching his lips to yours again.

“but, um,” you say quickly, pulling back to meet his gaze. “i’d love to put in a request for no more guitar lessons with the door closed, if the suggestion box is still open.”

“it is,” taerae says with a laugh. “suggestion accepted, approved and implemented.”

“and, uh, maybe they don’t have to take place on your bed,” you say, biting your bottom lip and hiding your face in his chest.

“i will have you know my conduct is strictly professional at all times,” taerae replies and you can hear the smirk in his voice. “but you’re completely right. not to mention, it was probably rude of me to let her sit on my bed... without telling her what it’s covered in.”

“TAERAE-YA!” you shout, hitting his chest as he pulls you toward his bed-- pushing you down gently onto the mattress and climbing between your legs with ease. “you do wash your sheets, don’t you?”

he just laughs.

“tae, that’s gross,” you reply, shaking your head as he cups your center over your jeans. your protesting starts to waiver as he applies more pressure to where you need him most. “you--... you really should--”

“enough, enough, baby-- of course i wash them,” he replies, hooking his fingers around the belt loops of your jeans and shimmying them along with your underwear down your legs before discarding them on the floor. then he smirks at you, adding, “but sometimes i do wonder what the point is when you’re just gonna get them dirty again.”

“fuck,” you whine as taerae admires you. he’s licking his lips like he hasn’t eaten in days-- and he hasn’t. you wonder how he’s survived this long without you.

“so,” he says, starting to circle your clit with two fingers. his rhythm isn’t steady though; it’s intoxicatingly teasing. “what did you think i was teaching in these ‘lessons’?”

you feel your face heat up again at the mention of your faux pas. “don’t make fun of me.”

“never, baby,” he says; a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “i’m just curious what you think i’m enough of an expert in to be qualified to teach.”

“i--... oh my god,” you say, shaking your head with embarrassment. “i thought you were teaching her how to finger herself!"

“hmm, i guess i can understand the confusion,” taerae runs his fingers through your folds, gathering some of your slick and painting it across your stomach. “since playing guitar requires so much skill with your fingers.”

“shut up,” you reply, pouting at him.

“no, really,” he insists with a nod. as he pushes his middle finger into you gently, you gasp at the sensation. “like, to play a chord; each of your fingers needs to hold down the correct string and in the correct spot. like, to play a d chord for example.”

taerae strokes up into your walls with his middle finger, causing you to whimper. “see this middle finger needs to be on that ‘high e’ string. and then the ring finger...”

plunging another finger into you, your hand reaches to grab onto taerae to steady yourself. he smiles at you, pressing both fingers firmly against your walls now. “will sit nicely on that ‘b’ string right here.”

as he works his fingers against your walls lazily, you whine-- desperate for more friction and soon. your prayers are answered when taerae inserts a third finger, stretching you carefully until he’s able to push it all the way in.

“and finally, the index finger is going to go...” he laughs lightly before pushing his index finger into the spongy, firm spot in your walls that only he has ever been able to find. as you cry out in pleasure, taerae presses kisses to your thighs. “you might’ve guessed, but that one’s on the ‘g’ string. and listen to that beautiful sound it's making.”

“did you--... did you plan that g-spot joke?” you ask breathlessly in between pleading moans as taerae picks up the pace of his fingers. “you’re the--*hic!*... worst person i know.”

the little hiccup from pleasure that separates your insult sends taerae reeling. “fucking perfect, huh? every inch of you.”

“baby, please,” you beg, self-control low after two weeks without taerae. “wanna cum. please, wanna cum for you.”

taerae moans and, from the way he’s looking at you, you know he’s just as desperate as you are. he falls to his stomach now between your legs as he says, “was gonna try to... keep my mouth off of you. show you i really like you. you-- not just your pussy but...”

“fuck it,” you both say at the same time.

lips attaching to your clit, taerae wastes no time in pushing you closer to the edge as he laps, sucks, eats at you-- one leg of yours hooked over his back as he continues to work you with his left hand. 

“tae,” you whimper, hands in his hair as you grind your hips into his touch. “g’nna cum... please, gonna cum.”

taerae whines and, with the state you’re in, you don’t even notice how feverishly he’s grinding into the bed. he switches to sucking, lips tugging perfectly on your clit and it’s all over for you.

“fuck, i--... i--... m’cumming,” you moan, taerae’s name falling from your lips a few dozen times as you come down from your high. “oh my god.”

taerae is noticeably quiet; removing his fingers from inside of you, he laps at the juices that drip out of you with his eyes closed. you know he really likes you... but it’s very possible he likes your pussy just as much. you’re not complaining.

“tae,” you call sweetly, sitting up on your elbows. “baby? come here-- want you to fuck me.”

he opens his eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he sits up a bit. “um... so, about that.”

his gaze trails down to the crotch of his jeans and you follow it to find a nice, big wet spot soaking through the denim. 

“are you serious!?” you whine in frustration; sighing as taerae smiles at you sheepishly.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes with a cute little pout. “will you forgive me if i say it’s because you’re just too hot?”

you roll your eyes-- grinning at him. “i’ll consider it.”

“thank god, because i think i can probably make it up to you...” he says, sitting up and grabbing your jeans from the floor. “after some dinner.”

you laugh. “are you asking me out?”

“i totally am,” he answers with a smile.

“you’re sure you’re not too... full?” you joke, grabbing his hand in yours. “you did just eat.”

taerae shakes his head, smirking at you:

“trust me-- i’m never full when i’m with you.”

#zb1 #zb1 smut #zerobaseone #zerobaseone smut #zb1 fics #zb1 imagines #zb1 x reader #zerobaseone fics #zerobaseone imagines #zb1 taerae #zb1 kim taerae #zerobaseone kim taerae #zerobaseone taerae #zerobaseone x reader #kim taerae imagines #kim taerae fics #kim taerae x reader #kim taerae smut #kim taerae #taerae smut #taerae #taerae x reader #taerae imagines #taerae fics #kim taerae angst #zb1 angst #zerobaseone angst #boys planet #boys planet smut

[chrollohearttags]

goth and nerdy mikasa w/ a baddie yn just simply in love wit a slight spicy scene😋😋

y’all must’ve known I’ve been itching to write about my baby again! bc I’ve actually had this in the back of my mind for a couple days.

cw: fem x fem, !black fem reader, nipple play, pussy eating, fingering, tribbing, just them being simps for each other

so imagine !goth nerdy mikasa who works at a bookstore downtown..a quaint little place with a coffee shop attached to it. It was her favorite place..quiet, cozy and surrounded by literature of every variety. She’d spend her days aimlessly thumbing through books to add to her own collection and helping customers find their next big read. The girl who always wore silver plated rings on her fingers..nails painted jet black at all times. Her pretty little pixie cut underneath a unique headband every day. Dressed in the prettiest lace, corsets and pleated skirts that never had any color to them, down to the six inch Demonia boots on her feet. Her makeup always flawless and featuring a Smokey eye and red lipstick. She was breathtaking..but one day, along would come someone that brightened her world beyond comprehension. “Excuse me..do you think you could help me find something?” the voice coming from possibly the most gorgeous person she’d ever seen. In comes walking this literal goddess: a girl dressed akin to that of a Bratz doll. Her curvy frame perfectly modeling the pink mini skirt and matching top. Thirty inches of frost white platinum blonde coming down her back in perfect contrast with that pretty brown complexion. Plump lips stained with glistening gloss as well as chocolate liner and nude lipstick. It was the first time in her life that she had been completely awestruck..as anyone rarely captured her attention outside of the characters in the works she read. You explained that you were looking for something pertaining to the history of fashion for an upcoming course you were taking. She was more than thrilled to assist you and even walked around the store to help you find what it was you were searching for. Maybe it was an excuse to get close but it didn’t matter..she enjoyed every bit of that interaction. As did you, stealing glances and smiles of the goth girl with the cutest face you’d ever seen. By the time you’d go to leave, she couldn’t help but ask: “what’s your name?” being met with a sweet reply. “..(y/n) and yours?” Naturally, she replied and you couldn’t help but smirk because her name was as beautiful as she was. “Well thank you for your help, Mikasa. I’m sure I’ll be back..see you later!” And she’d patiently await that day when you did. Luckily for her, it wasn’t long before you’d not only pay her another visit but begin frequenting her workplace. Stopping in to study, grab a delicious Frappuccino from the coffee shop..any excuse to see her again. The two of you eventually and inevitably struck up a conversation, which led to a fast friendship and soon…much more. Although polar opposites in every essence of the word, you were equally smitten with one another! That infatuation soon blossomed in to the most beautiful of love stories that not even Sparks or Roberts themselves could pen down. Six months came and went since that day you first stepped foot through the door and you fell deeper and deeper each day. You’d bring her flowers or her favorite food and she’d show up to your college campus, doing the exact same. Every second you got to spend with your lady was a win. And trust, she never thought she’d fall so hard for someone yet here she was..head over heels for the little hottie that changed her life. Her cheeks burning bright red and her breath catching each time you came around.

tonight though..was for a whole other reason. As it was closing time and you had stopped by to see her. It was then that the two of you began flirting heavily; as the outfit you wore that day just looked too damn good on you and the tension became too much to bare or wait until she got home. As soon as those entrance doors locked, Mikasa snatched you up to a back room where she put you against a wall and began sliding her tongue between your jaws..the steel ball of her tongue ring thrashing around in your mouth as her fingertips made home on the seat of your panties. Rubbing on that clothed clit as you moaned out for her. “Ah-ha! Fuck!..baby..” the words spilling in a choked moan but they were music to her ears. The sweetest sound she had ever heard and she wanted to keep it going. Sliding that thin pink thong to the side, she’d slip a digit into that tightness and work it around as she pulled your little tube top down and suckled on those pretty titties. Flicking that jewelry around your cocoa colored nipples to make you shudder. “Mmm…you’re so wet right now. All this for me?” clear as day that she had caused you to whimper and fall apart so pathetically. The two of you made out as you rode her fingers to a climax. That sweet honey trickling down her knuckles until she pulled them out and let you lick them clean. You couldn’t let her go that easily and in a matter of seconds, you found yourselves lying atop a pile of discarded cushions. Her back to the floor and you on top of her as you tugged her panties down. She too was dripping like a faucet but you’d make haste in lapping it up. Bending down to flick your tongue across her breasts before making a trail down her exposed stomach until you reached that aching center and those fat, plump lips of hers rested against your mouth. If walls could talk, they’d tell about the very sexy scene that was taking place there. Two gorgeous girls licking and lapping on one another, trying to bring the other to a mind numbing climax. Glaring right into those dark eyes of hers, you’d go down, tasting and devouring her pretty pussy to your hearts content. “Mmm! (Y/N)…baby…” unaware that those sweet little moans and high pitched cries were only pushing you further. “What’s the matter, you gonna come for me?” Sucking on her aching bud and shoving the only short nail on her full set of acrylics into her tight little hole. She was losing her mind and eventually couldn’t hold back any longer. That’s when she became completely unraveled and filled your mouth with her cum. So sweet as always. You’d finish out this little impromptu session with legs intertwined, tribbing and grinding those cute little clits against each other until you both collapsed in climax. Once you came to, you’d both laugh and realized that all those months of tension had exploded into this. Even still, right there on the floor of her employer, Mikasa turned to you and kissed you once more. “I love you, (y/n).” and best believe that you felt the exact same!

#black fem reader #fem x fem #mikasa x fem reader #mikasa x black reader #aot x black reader #mikasa ackerman #mikasa x reader #attack on titan mikasa #black fanfiction #black y/n #black reader insert #smut fanfiction #black reader smut #black reader #cherry’s asks #aot mikasa #aot imagines #aot fanfiction #aot smut #aot au #x black reader #black writer

[flowersandbigteeth]

Meeting your Changeling Boyfriend: Pt 2

Changeling (Clark) x f flower nymph reader

Word Count: 3k

General Plot: You embark on a journey with your Changeling Boyfriend

TW: isekai, yandere, nsfw smut, p in v sex, oral sex, slight mind control

Find the other parts here

You woke to the squawking of seagulls. Blinking, it took a moment for you to remember where you were. Glancing around, you found yourself alone in the carriage, Clark’s heavy coat draped over you. 

The sun was up, the sky a pretty clear blue. You peeked out of the window to find a bustling port. Massive ships bobbed in the water while workers carried loads on and off them. You were still flabbergasted by the variety of creatures around you. Curious, you slipped out of the carriage and walked along the dock. 

The boats were the sort of massive ships with sails you saw in history books. You gasped as you watched one rise from the ocean and drift through the sky to wherever it was destined. 

“Out of the way, nymph! Don’t stand about gawking!” a centaur carrying a massive barrel on his shoulder barked at you, and you stumbled out of his way. 

“Watch it!” another man who looked like some kind of goblin huffed when you stepped on his shoe. 

It was dizzying the speed at which people were rushing around you. You found yourself being pushed around by annoyed workers until you’d lost sight of the carriage. Your heart pounded, trying to shove against the crowd to go back the way you’d come, but no one paid much attention to your smaller body attempting to move against much larger ones. 

“Ahh!” you shouted as a firm hand latched onto your arm. 

You whirled around to slap your captor when you glanced up to find Clark looking down at you. 

“It’s dangerous to wander off,” he warned, frowning at you. 

“Sorry, I got curious,” you said. 

He grunted, pulling you under his arm and making his way through the dock. 

“I bought our tickets,” he explained to you as he led you to a big white ship. 

He nudged you on board and a uniformed sailor checked your tickets, giving you a practiced smile. 

"This is beautiful," you gasped. 

The hallways of the great ship were lined with glossy hard wood. Framed paintings of captains and sailors lined the walls leading to the suites. Clark opened the door for you, guiding you inside. 

You hurried across the room, peering out of a large circular window. The people looked small from so far up. 

Someone knocked and Clark greeted a uniformed naga carrying in a large boxy bit of luggage. He slipped him some odd coins and the man tipped his hat before he slithered out.

"I bought you some things this morning," he said, waving at the luggage. "Some dresses and hygiene items. You can buy what you like when we reach Ilirion." 

You sat heavily on the bed, head spinning. You had so many questions, so much curiosity. Everything was fantastic and new, it was hard to wrap your head around. You knew consciously you should be sad for the life you left, but this world was a massive distraction. You were just trying to get through each hour at a time. 

"Thank you, Clark," you gasped, your eyes tearing up. "You've been so kind to me.You abandoned your home for me. I don't know how to repay you." 

He sat on the bed next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. 

"This is how things should have always been," he hummed quietly. "Just you and I. It's no hardship to care for you (Y/N). It's my greatest honor." 

You looked at him, trying to read his face. You were following a complete stranger to who knows where. In your previous life, you’d been a careful, measured person, always meeting dates in public places and not giving out your address. But that was all out the window now. 

"You hardly know me," you murmured and he smiled. 

"All of your souls in all of the universes are the same," he sighed, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip. "Only circumstances create different behaviors. Your experiences mold you. Underneath it all, you are (Y/N). Kind, sweet, loving. I can't help but adore you just as I adored the other one. Yes, you are different, but the essence of you is very much the same. I’m thrilled to grow to know you and for you to know me.” 

Your eyes widened and his irises drifted down your face, to your lips. A hand cupped the nape of your neck and his head dipped until his mouth brushed yours. Your lips sparkled from the gentle pressure and you hummed, your eyes closing. His delicious scent filled you and you sighed into his mouth.  You felt his fingers twine with yours, warm digits enveloping your smaller ones. It felt like your heart was trying to flutter out of your chest. 

He pulled away, searching your face for any sign of discomfort. 

“I’m…I’m sorry, I can’t resist when you look at me that way,” he said, his cheeks darkening. 

You shook your head, your own cheeks burning as you looked down at your laced fingers. 

“I…I don’t mind,” you said, your voice breathy. 

Maybe it was unwise getting so close to your only guide in the world, but in reality you were frightened and overwhelmed. You could hardly help becoming helplessly attached to him. He nodded at you, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“There’s a bath in this suite,” he said, “would you like to take one?”

You’d forgotten you were wearing the same clothes from the day before. 

“That’s a good idea,” you said. 

Before you could get up yourself he scooped you in his arms and brought you into the bathroom. 

“There’s a tap,” you noted, seeing that the bathtub was very much like the ones you were used to. 

Clark chuckled. 

“The pipes here are enchanted to move water around,” he explained. “It’s an expensive spell.” 

You blinked up at him. 

“I hope you didn’t spend too much on our tickets,” you said, but he shook his head, setting you down on a small chair. 

He turned the tap on, letting steaming water into the tub. 

“Money is not something I worry about,” he said. “Don’t let it trouble you.” 

He left the room and you assumed he was going to leave you to bathe on your own, but he came right back holding a sea sponge, a few bottles, and a large purple silk scarf. Sitting right down behind you he nimbly wrapped your hair up and twisted the scarf ends so they were secure. Then he started gingerly unbuttoning the buttons that closed your dress. 

You stiffened under his touch, so he paused. Not able to see his face you weren’t sure of his expression. You felt his lips against the bare skin of your back. 

“Don’t be alarmed,” he assured you. “We bathed together as children. I only want to help. I wont do anything you don’t want me to do. Relax and let me make you feel good.” 

Pleasure shot down your spine from his kiss and something about his voice immediately made your tightened muscles loosen. Any anxiety melted away and he slipped the dress over your shoulders and slid it past your hips. Kneeling in front of you, he tugged your panties down, eyes moving over your body with reverent interest. 

After a long moment of looking you over, he picked you up and placed you carefully in the bathtub. 

“That feels nice, doesn’t it?” he asked and you nodded, your eyelashes fluttering. 

You felt spacey, but blissful. Assuming you were simply affected by the novelty of the trip, you leaned back in the bath, enjoying the peace you felt. You’d almost dozed when you felt the sponge slide over your skin. Flicking your eyes open, you found Clark gingerly washing you. He met your gaze and smiled. 

“I taught you to bathe properly,” he said with a wistful smile. “You’d been left to wander the old wood as all nymphs are and had only splashed around in streams. I showed you soap and a sponge. There were so many things to teach you when you came to the village…it almost feels like that time again. Those were the happiest days of my life. Before-” 

You tipped your head to him as he didn’t continue. 

“Before what?” you asked. 

He shook his head. 

“Nothing…I was spoiled before you came to trust Neia with all of your attention,” he said, but you felt like he was leaving something out. 

As curious as you were, you also realized that the old (Y/N)’s life had little to do with you. You didn’t know or feel an attachment to those people and the way they spoke of her felt alienating. You didn’t want to be compared to some other version of yourself. 

“Can we…” you started and Clark looked up at you. “Can we stop talking about the other me so much?” 

His eyebrows bounced up. 

“It’s just…” you muttered. “I don’t know any of the people you’re talking about. I’m sure the other me loved them very much, but for me it’s a little uncomfortable to hear about her life.” 

He gave you a bright smile and nodded. 

“Yes, of course,” he said. “The past should be left there. You are your own woman. I will try to refrain from bringing her up.” 

He methodically scrubbed your body and when he was satisfied you were all clean, helped you up and dried you off with a big fluffy towel. 

"Would you like to rest or go to the deck to see the view?" he asked, opening your luggage and pulling out a purple, satin dress and some underthings. 

"I think I've rested enough," you said as he helped you dress. 

You felt very comfortable around Clark. The way he looked at you was appreciative, but not lecherous and he handled you like fine china. Even naked you didn't feel preyed upon. It was oddly natural. After he'd buttoned the many buttons on the back of the frock, he unwrapped your hair and draped it daintily over your shoulder. 

You slipped your feet into comfortable leather booties, happy to replace the filthy flats you'd run to Clark's house in and he helped you to lace them. 

When you were presentable the two of you made your way to the deck. Couples and families were also enjoying the sunshine, scattered throughout the open area. Many of them nodded politely to you so you did the same. 

"We're about to take off," Clark said, finding an empty spot at the balustrade so you could look over. 

"Take off?" you asked and he smiled. 

"There are dangerous monsters in the sea between provinces. The safest way is to sail by air," he explained. 

The sailors on the deck began shouting to one another and rushing around, adjusting ropes as thick as Clark's arm. 

Suddenly there was a lurch and your stomach dropped. You immediately clung to Clark, peeking over the edge of the ship to see the blue water of the ocean getting further and further away. 

"It's okay," he cooed, stroking your back. "Look." 

He pointed to the clouds now at eye level, forming their own ethereal landscape stretching as far as they eye could see. A flock of birds that was disturbed by the take off flew so close you could touch them if you held out your hand.

"Beautiful," you gasped at the puffy white tops. 

When you glanced back Clark wasn't looking at the clouds, but at you. His slate gray eyes were warm and a bit glossy. 

"Are you okay?" you asked. 

"I'm wonderful," he murmured as your eyes hung on one another for a long moment. 

His head dipped and his lips brushed yours. You felt a sort of magnetism between you, pressing your mouth into his. This was an entirely new sensation. On, you'd had a few boyfriends, but those connections felt superficial compared to the way your heart pounded in Clark's arms. He was incredibly handsome, his eyes sharp and his chin perfectly sculpted. 

You felt his thumb brush your cheek as his palm cupped your chin. Your lips parted for him and his tongue explored the cave of your mouth. He tasted spicy, almost like cardamom but a bit different. 

"Mind the children!" a fussy fairy barked and you both glanced over to see two smaller fairies watching you with wide eyes. 

Your cheeks burned with embarrassment, but Clark only laughed, pulling you away from the crowd. 

He found a hidden spot where three walls made a small indentation out of sight and pressed your back into the cool wood paneling. His hands were suddenly all over you. You gasped for breath as his hot kisses bruised your lips. 

"Clark," you murmured on a breath and he paused for a moment. 

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked quietly. 

You could have stopped things there, not opened a door that could never be closed again, but his scent filled your lungs and your face was sparkling from his attention. His heavy hands felt amazing on your skin.

"No," you said and before you'd finished the word he was kissing you again. 

Your tongues slid past one another in a sensual dance, while he squeezed every curve of your body. His fingers slid up your thigh, lifting the hem of your dress until they cupped your sex. 

Two thick fingers parted your lips and he pulled away from you grinning. 

"Stay quiet for me," he purred, sinking to his knees. 

You weren't sure what he was planning until your panties slipped to your ankles and his tongue started circling your clit. 

You covered your mouth with your hands, almost crying out at the first stroke. He toyed with your sensitive pearl, circling it then flicking it with the stiff point of his tongue. You shuddered, hardly able to hold yourself up as pleasure shot around your nerves like a pinball. 

Two thick fingers entered your dripping pussy, touching the most sensitive spot. Your body quaked, your legs felt like rubber, and all the while you were trying to hold in whimpers and cries of approval. 

Your fingers dug into his hair, trying to keep yourself upright, but all at once your body exploded into a wave of bliss. You felt light headed, your eyelashes fluttering and your legs losing the ability to hold yourself up. 

Clark looked up at you with a smug smirk, opening his fly with one hand while he held you against the wall with the other. 

"I need you. I can’t wait any longer," he whispered, his nose tracing the shell of your ear as he fisted himself. "Let me have you." 

You mewled something close to "yes" and a moment later he lifted you by your thighs, wrapping your legs around his waist. 

A lusty moan forced its way past your lips as he thrust inside. He muffled the sound with his mouth crashing into yours. His cock was thick, stretching your channel to the brink as he drove into you. Resting your forehead in the crook of his neck, you could only hold on as he slammed into you over and over again. His rough pants made your ear tingle and he whispered half coherent promises and praises to you. 

"You're perfect, so tight, you're so beautiful, you're mine. No one else can have you…I'll do anything…" 

Perhaps the last ones should have been of some concern, but you were too lost in rapture to make anything of it. His body felt perfect for you, his scent acting like some sort of aphrodisiac, filling your lungs. Every inch of your skin was sparkling and his Adonis belt ground against your clit, tugging you further and further towards your end. 

"Aaah," he grunted as your channel clamped down on his cock. 

A long, languid orgasm had you biting his collar bone so that you didn't scream out loud. 

"Fuck, yesss," he hissed at the little bite of pain. 

As you came together you looked up to see he was completely different. His face had become a smooth mask, split by a red slash of a mouth. Large, sharp teeth clenched in his jaw. The hands holding you became sharp claws, the tips poking your skin. He'd become the creature that had attacked Harri. The sudden transformation paired with his jerking hips threw you into another sharp orgasm, your eyes rolling back in your head. 

You clung to his neck, trying to hold your cry in. As your body tensed around him, soaring to its final height, you felt his hot cum filling your cunt with a few ragged thrusts.

“Mine,” a deep growl floated to your ears.

When you finally went slack from exhaustion, Clark morphed back to the more human shape. You looked up, examining him. 

"Why…why did you change like that?" you gasped. 

He pressed his sweat damp forehead to yours. 

"That's my true form. I can't hold this form when I'm…overwhelmed," he panted. "Did it scare you?" 

"No," you murmured, surprised at how hot his sharp claws got you. "Why don't you look like that all the time?" 

He twisted his lip as if slightly embarrassed. 

"People are scared of me," he whispered. "It's best to look more humanoid. They only see a monster in that form." 

"I'm not scared of you," you assured him. "You can be who you want with me." 

He smiled at you gently, setting you on the ground so he could fasten his pants and help you straighten your dress. 

"It's about time for dinner," he said, brushing a lock of hair off of your shoulder and cupping your neck with his hot hand. "Would you like to have a meal?"

The gesture reminded you of what you'd just done and a shudder rumbled through you. 

"Yes," you breathed. "Food would be good." 

He tucked your hand in the bend of his elbow and led you politely to the dining room.

#isekai #monster boyfriend #monster boy #changeling #monster x reader #x reader #yandere x reader #male yandere #yandere male #tw yandere #yandere oc x reader #yandere fluff #monster fluff #monster lover #monster romance #monster x girl #yandere smut #yandere #female reader #fem reader #x female reader #x reader smut #tw smut

[welikeimagines-andfandoms]

Tongue Piercing- Legolas x Alternative!Reader

Summary: Legolas is very interested in readers tongue piercing. They show him what it feels like

Word Count: 1, 262

The portraits that adorned the walls of the Mirkwood library could only be described as perfection. Legolas had wanted to show you all of his home, and had spent the past few hours walking with you and talking about its history and beauties.

As you walk along, viewing the regal art, you discover one that looks like your elvish tour guide.

“Legolas is this one you?” You ask smirking at the handsome elf.

“Um well, yes, yes that’s me. I didn’t have many portraits as a child, so last spring my father wanted a more important looking portrait done of me.” He explains bashfully.

Though Legolas was a prince and warrior, he could tend to get quite flustered when his status was mentioned. Legolas was quite a humble prince and he didn’t really like to be fawned over.

Looking up at the large portrait, you couldn’t help but marvel, not just at the quality of the art, but how the painting captured Legolas’ beauty; a beauty that was both strong and sweet. Taking in the art for so long, you began to become so enthralled that you hadn’t noticed you’d been playing with your tongue piercing, flicking it up and down and lightly running it through your mouth.

In your world, piercings weren’t all that odd and people didn’t really think twice or react too amazed at them, but in this world they were an abnormality. Being so used to your piercings normality, you were confused to hear Legolas’ light gasp beside you. Turning your head from the portrait, you look over to see Legolas’ eyes wide in both wonder and concern.

“Legolas, what’s the matter?” You turn to your new friend, concern now etched into your face as you lightly take his hand and shoulder.

Looking into his eyes and seeing his own flicking down to your lips, you began to understand. Seeing his worried expression about something you considered so mundane, you couldn’t help but giggle a bit.

“It’s my piercing isn’t it?” You smirk up at him.

“Yes, well, you, you have many piercings on your face but-I-I was unaware of your tongue. I mean your face is pierced and your tongue is um…” Legolas began to ramble, obviously not quite sure what to say, his flustered state making you laugh again.

“Legolas, it’s okay. It’s a tongue piercing. I have piercings on my face and tongue because they’re jewellery that I like the style of. I know it’s not common here so I understand your worry. Where I’m from they’re quite common.” You explain calmly to him, both of your hands now soothingly intertwined with his.

“May, may I ask you a question?” He says timidly, his eyes meeting yours shyly.

“Of course, Legolas. You don’t have to worry about offending me.” You reassure him with a sweet smile and a squeeze of his hands.

“Well, how, how does it feel?” He quietly asked.

“To have done or how does it feel in my mouth?” You genuinely asked.

“Bo-both I suppose.”

“Well it obviously hurts because it’s something being stabbed through my flesh,” you laugh jokingly, “but the pain was relatively quick and the healing wasn’t too bad.” You reassured your new friend.

“A-and in your mouth? I mean um..” he awkwardly questioned.

With the cute blush that now covered his cheeks and his awkward wording, you couldn’t help but laugh at his flustered state.

Since the moment you laid eyes on Legolas, you found him extremely attractive. As you got to know him, you found yourself craving the way he blushed and the friendly touches you gave each other. You hadn’t really done anything to properly flirt with him yet, but the way he was blushing and staring at your mouth, you couldn’t help but take up the opportunity to play with the sweet prince.

“Would you like to feel?” You asked him, your voice now dropping seductively as you moved slightly closer to him, your chests now almost touching.

“Ye- I mean if yo- you’re comf..”

Cutting him off, you take one of his fingers in your hand as you bring it to your open mouth. Keeping your eyes locked on his, you begin to swirl his long finger along your tongue. He can’t help but stare at you with desperate eyes, as if begging for something more but not knowing fully what he needs.

Seeing that Legolas was definitely into the little game you were playing, you decide to close your mouth around his finger and suck up and down, putting on a provocative show for the young prince. Legolas can’t help but let his eyes flutter slightly and moan at the show before him.

Releasing his finger with an exaggerated pop, Legolas lets out a quiet breathy moan. Smirking and biting your lip at the prince, you place his hand on your waist as you lean in close to his ear.

“Would you like to know how it feels against other things, Legolas?” You whisper seductively, your tongue coming out to lick along his neck, as your hand lightly strokes his hardening bulge.

“Mmm, y/n, pl-please.” He pathetically moaned out, head dropping back slightly.

“Please what, Legolas? What do you need, sweet prince?” You continue to tease him, your pierced tongue making its way up his neck and over his jaw.

“I-I- I need to feel you! Please make me feel good.” His moans growing louder as you rubbed his bulge faster.

“What a good boy.” You smirk against his neck.

Grabbing onto the back of his head you crash your mouth against his in a heated kiss. As your tongue slipped into his mouth and began exploring his, he gasped out at feeling the cool metal in his mouth. Continuing your heated assault on his mouth, your hand begins to pull down his trousers, his cock springing free and bobbing.

Breaking the kiss, you rest your forehead against his as you begin to stroke his hard cock. Your light strokes cause him to let out a whining moan, loving the feeling of your touch but needing more. Smirking and staring into his desperate eyes, you push him against the wall and drop to your knees in front of him.

Continuing to rub his length, you lick up the underside of his tip, making sure to dig your piercing into the sensitive skin. The delicious sensation causing his eyes to close and his head to lightly thud against the wall.

“You ready, Legolas?” You ask him, staring up at him sweetly.

“Please…” he begs sweetly, looking down at you with pleading eyes.

Smirking up at him, you lick the underside of his cock once again, before taking his whole head in your mouth. Starting to suck lightly, you begin to work him further into your mouth. The sweet moans and gasps from the elf prince above you sounded like heaven, and it only made you work faster with your hand and lick and stuck him harder.

It didn’t take long of your talented and studded tongue working Legolas before he started to lightly grind into your mouth, whimpering how good it felt and how close he was. With a sweet and breathy moan, Legolas released into your mouth. Tasting him on your tongue, you swallowed everything he gave you. Taking him out of your mouth, saliva and a small amount of cum on your lips, you smirk up at him as you give him one last little lick with your stud on his head, a small last little whimper leaving his sweet parted lips.

#legolas x reader #alternative!reader #legolas x alternative!reader #legolas imagine #lotr #lord of the rings #lotr imagine #lord of the rings imagine

[writerlyhabits]

Shine and Polish

Pairing: Din Djarin x reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Request: "Din catches you cleaning/polishing his armor for him (something usually only done between courting Mandos) and gets all shy explaining the implications to you send tweet"

Warnings: mild language, mature themes, Din in sweatpants, I think that's it?? Idk it's a short one

AN: I want to formally apologize to all of you who sent Din requests to my inbox that have been sitting there for a while, I promise I see you, I just had such a hard time finding the right motivation and inspiration for these pieces. Hopefully I can get the others pumped out in a decent timeline as well 🤞 Thanks @deceiverofgodss for bullying me into working on this, ily 💛 I hope you guys enjoy!

The beskar armor was a large part of his intimidation. It widened his frame – which was admittedly big enough without it – making him bulkier, heavier, a force to be reckoned with. It represented the history of warriors before him, Mandalorians through generations maintaining their reputation of being a people you don’t come back from a fight with. The dark visors and emotionless helmets only helped on that front, he couldn’t even count how many people had tried to back their way out of trouble with one silent look from him. 

Each beskar’gam was unique to the Mandalorian wearing it, and they take special care to make sure it looks as intimidating as wearing it makes them feel. Some go out of their way to paint their beskar, symbolizing their journey with specific colors and designs of their heritage. For Din, it’s keeping the pure metal shined and polished – it turns heads and sends a whisper through the crowd at the mere sight of him. 

It takes a lot to keep it that way. 

He’d had to get his new armor after the Mud horn, but getting out the mud caked into the rest of it had taken much longer than he cared to admit. Being swallowed by the Krayt Dragon and then walking through the Tatooine desert had left him scrubbing the dried goo from crevices he didn’t know existed for hours after you and the kid had fallen asleep. And now, he could only imagine the hassle it would be getting all the blood that kriffing Nexu had gotten all over his armor. 

Din was damn near ready to collapse when you all had gotten back to your room at the inn, but he could feel the dirt and grime that was building up underneath his flight suit. He watched you launch Grogu into the air a few times, hugging him close as you flopped down onto one of the small beds, and sending a wink Din’s way. 

You were a saint. With the kid nestled into your arms and properly distracted, he began stripping off his Beskar and setting it down on the caf table. He’d have to get to it after he got out of the ‘fresher. One more glance over at you, smiling to himself as little green hands grabbed your cheeks to try and escape your barrage of kisses, and he slipped into the bathroom. 

The reflection looking back at him in the mirror was rough, to say the least, but when the hot water pounded into his skin the rest of the galaxy faded away. 

It felt like heaven. He let it run across his face as he tried to revive his hair, though he didn’t know what difference it would make, it would be flattened under the helmet again once he stepped out. The pressure of the water worked wonders on the knots in his shoulders. He’d have to find a way to get those out sooner rather than later. Maybe he could sweet talk you into helping… He could just imagine how your nimble fingers would feel gliding across his skin, easing his muscles, gripping his shoulders while he-

No. That was enough of that. Dangerous territory Djarin, keep it together. 

You’d been traveling with Din for… well, it had been a long time now. You’d been with him through thick and thin, been there well before he’d picked up a strange bounty from an imperial imp, and fallen in love with the little green bounty just as much as he had. And after having lost the kid and gotten him back, a handful of times Din had still yet to tell you how he felt. At least, not in a way you’d be able to pick up on. 

Each day that passed where he would choke on his words, he watched you instead. He knew what would catch your eye as you walked through the markets on rural planets, he knew your favorite foods and could tell what you would get for yourself – often before you did. He knew how to read your body language as well as you had come to read his, and you were so in tune with each other that it felt as if you’d known each other your whole lives. 

So why couldn’t he just fucking say what he meant? Instead, he stood by your side and watched as that pretty smile formed on your cheeks, watched your eyes sparkle in the starlight, watched you smother Grogu in loving affection… All he ever did was watch. 

He wanted to take your hand for more reasons than pulling you along behind him, he wanted to do it for no reason. He wanted to stand too close and put his hand at the small of your back, brush his bare thumb across your cheek to comfort you, hold you close to keep you warm late at night. He wanted to run his hands over all your curves, see your pupils blown wide as you looked up at him, feel you quiver beneath him as he-

Dank farrik, cut it out. Din turned the water ice cold to shake himself of the thoughts, pushing them back into the corners of his mind where they belonged. He couldn’t afford to think of you like that, not while he kept watching without saying a damn word about how he felt. 

He took his time leaving the room that was now filled with humid air and steam from his shower. It had made it easier to clean the blood that had splattered on his helmet, polishing it to look as clean as he felt. He dressed in a fresh set of lounge clothes – an investment he’d made at your insistence, and one he’d thanked you for every time the soft clothes draped against his skin – and placed the helmet back on his head, ready to face the rest of his party once again. 

With you, he was prepared for anything. He loved your wild spirit, a shining beacon of your warmth in a galaxy that was otherwise cold and unkind. What he wasn’t prepared for was to see you sitting on the floor with his beskar in your hands, half of the pieces on the caf table having been cleaned and polished. 

It was times like these he was thankful he was hidden behind the helmet, because his cheeks were burning in an incriminating shade of red. 

“I like your pants, Din,” you smiled, only looking up from his shoulder piece to give him a playful smirk. And was that..? Of fucking course it was the one with his signet. Cause that’s what he needed right now. “Those the really soft ones I convinced you to get on Naboo?”

“I- yeah… they’re uh, nice,” he managed, feet rooted to the spot, unable to take his eyes off of the way you were being so delicate with his armor. 

“Oh, they’re nice. Well, aren’t you chatty.” Any other time, he might’ve laughed. Currently, his brain was rewiring itself. His lack of response must have been noticeable because now you were setting your rag aside and giving him a concerned look. “Is everything okay?” 

If ever there was a loaded question, that would be it. 

“Yeah, just fine.” A cock of your eyebrow told him that you didn’t believe him, but he couldn’t seem to get any words of consolation out of his mouth. A few more beats of silence passed, Din tried swallowing the lump in his throat a few times, and then he saw something in your expression shift. You were figuring it out… Your focus shifted back down to the shoulder piece in your hand, drifted to the others on the caf table beside you, and found his again with worry in your eyes. 

“Have I done something wrong?”

“No,” he was quick to assure you. “No, you haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Are you sure? I haven’t broken some sacred bond between you and your armor?” His heart was hammering in his chest, but you were still able to get an amused huff out of him, which you had told him were barely audible outside of the helmet. He shook his head to answer your question, and in response, you set the now shining shoulder piece back with the rest of his armor. “Will you tell me what’s going on then? You’re freaking me out.”

Maker, where would he start? 

He took a deep breath and decided to take a seat on the floor across from you, leaning against the side of the table. He bent his knees so his feet were flat – grounding him, in a way – his arms rested on top of them. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back, possibly giving the appearance that he was relaxing, giving his body a rest. It couldn’t have been farther from the truth. 

“When a Mandalorian cleans another’s armor, it’s a representation of trust,” he started, figuring it would be better if he led with an explanation instead of a blunt answer. “The one removing their armor becomes vulnerable, unprotected by their beskar; they are trusting the other with that vulnerability. And as the other polishes the armor they’ve been trusted with, they help prepare them for battle.”

“That’s beautiful,” you whispered, and only then did he dare look at you. A soft smile graced your cheeks, very visibly put at ease at not having made some great offense to his creed. 

“It’s… a very common courting ritual.” Your eyes widened, and your lips parted in realization. Din didn’t know if he wanted to grab you, pull you into his lap and tell you exactly what had been on his mind the second he saw you with his armor… or if he wanted to run from the room until you could both forget about this entirely. 

He was on the verge of opening his mouth to take it back, to assure you it didn’t always have to mean something that significant – even if that would be a lie – but you beat him to the punch. 

“Tell me more,” you lilted, head tilted in curiosity. “What else do courting Mandos do?” His nerves would have done well with a very large glass of spotchka to have this conversation, though having a sober judgment was probably in his best interest. 

“Mandalorians are big on hidden meanings, a lot of what we do tends to symbolize something bigger.” 

“I’ve noticed,” you smiled, easing his nerves enough to get another small laugh out of him. 

“In a way, it’s somewhat similar to any other relationship. Building trust, getting to know each other, spending time together. The difference is in that underlying meaning, our rituals intended to show how together you both will honor the Resol'nare.” He paused to give you a minute to take it in, stop him if you needed further explanation, but your evident eagerness prompted him forward. “They usually represent how you will contribute to the community together, how you will provide for one another. How you will rear children together.” 

That last statement made his heart skip and sent an electric shot through his body – and to a part of him that didn’t need to be present in this conversation. 

“I guess that makes sense, there’s no Resol’nare in a non-mando relationship, but you still try to figure out how a life together is going to look,” you agreed. “Are most of your rituals like this one? Providing acts of service to your partner?”

“A good many of them, yes. Polishing armor, cleaning weapons…” You were too clever for him to get away with this, he saw the slight tilt of your lips as the same realization hit you both; he always cleaned your weapons for you. Even after he’d taught you how to clean your blaster, he would hold out his hand and make some kind of excuse about it being easier since he was already cleaning his own. 

He could recover from this. “Some gift handcrafted weapons, and if their bond is strong enough, those weapons will bear the other’s signet.” He’d yet to give you a mudhorn, that one was easy. Given, there weren’t very many items that had a mudhorn on them in passing, otherwise he might not have been able to resist the temptation. But while he was in the clear, he watched the slight drop in your demeanor. 

“Are you allowed to so openly wear someone else’s signet?” 

“Not on your armor. But with a weapon, it is a gift that you may carry the other’s signet while courting, not necessarily that you may wear it as your own.” You nodded in understanding, and he waited for that slight knowing smile to come back to your cheeks, and was surprised at his disappointment when it didn’t. He was in the clear, you wouldn’t suspect him… 

And maybe he didn’t want that anymore. 

“That one is more formal, but there are others to do with hunting and providing,” he said quickly, acting on instinct to try and reel you back in. “A basic, instinctive display of protection; bringing meats and hides from your hunt, preparing their favorite foods…” He couldn’t find the words to continue anymore when your gaze met his visor and softened. You figured him out, and his heart may have been beating in his ears, but he was no less confident in his quiet admission. 

“Din?” you asked gently, and he said your name in acknowledgement. “Have you been flirting with me?” 

“Yes.” The sparkling smile that spread across your cheeks sent a warm feeling through his body. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“I needed time. That was the only way I knew how to do anything about it without making a fool of myself, or ruining one of the few good things that I have,” he smiled, and you turned away from him to hide your own flustered expression. 

“That’s not fair! I didn’t know that’s what you were doing,” you laughed. 

“That was the point,” he smiled, and you shook your head exasperatedly as your gaze settled back out into the room. He followed your line of sight, landing on the child as he sat happily in the cocoon of blankets and toys you had crafted for him on one of the beds. 

Din felt a familiar ache as he watched his foundling, one that longed for these little domestic routines with your mis-matched family. He tried to ignore them because of the desire for you they had a tendency to inspire, despite the fact that no matter what he liked to call you, the three of you were a family in your own way. And yet, this time felt different. It felt comfortable. 

He caught your movement in his peripherals, turning his head slightly to find you grinning curiously at him. “Now that I know… how do you feel?” He took a second to inhale before he responded, steadying himself. 

“That depends. Other than your piqued interest, I still don’t have an answer to how you feel.” He was sure you saw right through him; he wasn’t an ignorant man, he could assume how you felt based on your response. But he’d done enough of that. Besides, it was your turn to be the one spilling your guts.  

“Well… I’ll tell you that now I know where I’ll pick up dinner tonight.”

“That’s not what I-” 

“The cantina we passed in town, they have that soup I know you love,” you started, quick to cut him off and make him see your damn point. “I don’t know if it counts because I didn’t prepare it, but that’s the best I can do for now. You’re just gonna have to read between the lines, Mandalorian.” He only stared at you for a few moments, taking in your growing smile, warm and mischievous in a way that was so unique to you. 

You were flirting back at him. 

You liked him. 

Instead of finding words to reply, having used up his usual quota, Din shifted in his place on the floor to reach out for you. Your soft laughter lit up his entire body as he pulled you closer, and you slid into his lap with ease. He could no longer deny himself with your half-spoken admission, giving in to the part of him that needed to have you close as often as he could manage.

Thanks for reading!! If you’d like to be notified when I post a new fic, be sure to follow @writerlyhabits-library + turn on post notifications! 💛

Speaking of, if you wouldn’t mind answering my survey about what you think of my library/taglist system? It’d help me figure out how to reach you guys best. I’d really appreciate it!

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #anonymous #anonymous request #din djarin fluff #kam takes forever to do shit #kam writes #my writing

[tahliafox]

Focus on only me.

Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Your mommys always there to make you feel better.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Older!Natasha, parents best friend!Natasha, kissing, fluff, comfort, mommy!Natasha, innocent!reader, heavy praise, fingering, soft!smut

Words: 1107

Pearly, white snowflakes danced through the frosty air of a picture perfect winter in New York City. The orange glow that was being emitted from the slowly dying-out fireplace glowed across Natasha's face. Your stomach fluttered at the sight and a soft blush caressed your cheeks.

It was almost midnight when you gave up trying to sleep and opted to explore Natashas new apartment instead. She had promised your mom she would take care of you whilst they were away.

After around 10 minutes of looking around, you found her library. Dark, spruce bookshelves climbed the way up the emerald-painted walls. Each shelf was lined with a matching coloured velvet, then filled to the brim with books and decorations. A ladder was set on each set of bookcases’ so the books on the top shelves did not get neglected. Vintage lamps were dotted around the room strategically, each one glowing a golden-brown light. The roof was lined with old, derelict, wooden beams that blankets hung from.

Your eyes lit up, this was your in-person heaven. 

You ran on the wooden floor to a little laminated piece of paper (on your tiptoes so the noise was minimal) which explained which genre of books were where. Knowing exactly what you were looking for, you ran over to the far bookcase, tucked into the left corner. Your finger caressed the spines of each book until you snatched one.

‘The secret history. Donna Tartt.’

You were unsure of how long you sat there alone, reading that book. However, when you got to page 139- smooth, pale, bare legs caught the corner of your eye. 

Standing there with her arms crossed, lent against a bookcase and one leg slightly crossing the other was the older woman that you craved to be with. She had a sly smirk resting on her face and one eyebrow was slightly raised. How long had she been standing there?

“Enjoying your book, sweetheart?” 

Your face immediately went bright pink, even the tips of your ears. You hid your face in your hands (your strangely large sweater really) slightly as a reflex. “I- uhm. I struggle sleeping in new places.”

Natasha stared at you blankly for a second before coming and sitting down next to you, her shoulder bumping against yours. “Why didn’t you tell me this before we went to bed?” she looked concerned and you squirmed under the attention.

“Didn’t want to be a nuisance.” You said quietly, the words being muffled by your sleeve. Natasha frowned and took the side of your face in her hand, forcing you to look at her. Completely melting into her touch, your mouth dropped on slightly and her thumb came to rest just underneath your bottom lip.

“You could never be a nuisance, honey. Please, please let me know when something is wrong. I always want to make you feel comfortable and good.” her voice was cracked and husky from sleep. Honestly, it was the sexiest thing you’d ever heard. “C’mere.” she turned her body and pulled you to straddle her lap. 

You wrapped your arms around her neck and put your face in the crook of her neck. She smelt like vanilla. Her big hands encompassed your waist and her lips came to your hair. For some reason, this made you start to cry. Your body shook with silent sobs and Natasha held you tighter.

“Just like that, sweetheart. Let it all out. It's ok, I'm right here.” She kept whispering sweet nothings in your ear whilst you sobbed. After you started to calm down, Natasha pulled you face out her shoulder and held it in her hands and wiped your tears with her thumbs. “What’s going on in that pretty mind of yours?”

“Feel like my parents don’t want me. Don’t know why they left me for the whole of the holidays.” You whimpered. Natasha kissed your nose then nuzzled hers against yours. She didn’t move her face away and rested her forehead against yours. 

“You don’t need them, baby.” she smiled. “Not when you have your mommy right here.” it was the first time she had called herself that outloud and your mind went empty and numb. Nervous to see your reaction, she pressed her lips against your slightly damp ones and started peking them. 

You parted your lips again to let her start kissing you properly and dug your fingernails into the firm muscles on her shoulders. The kisses started to get hotter, until she got impatient and sucked your bottom lip into her mouth. Your tongue unconsciously darted out between her parted lips. 

Whilst you were making out, her hands moved down from your face to underneath your sweater. Her stiletto acrylics scratched against your sensitive skin, causing red marks to appear in the path up to your boobs. She gently groped you and moaned at the feeling of your whole chest fitting into the palm of her hand. 

Her other hand kept on the side of your face, nails slightly sinking into your skin. Half moon shapes temporarily marked your skin. 

She pulled back and swallowed, looking into your eyes. “Can you focus on your mommy for me? Keep focusing on how I make you feel, baby. All this hurt is going to go away. Mommy can always make her sweet, little girl happy, can't she?” her sickenly sweet words echoed in your brain and you nodded. Always.

Her hand that was one groping your tits moved to palm you inside your loose shorts. “That's it, princess. Keep looking at mommy.” your eyes didn't leave hers as your mouth parted and faint gasps of air were pulled through them. She kept on rolling her middle finger directly over your clit.

Moans started to fill the library as she rubbed her fingers over your underwear. “Mommy loves it when you're all sweet for her. Always so eager to please. You’re doing so well, baby. Making mommy very proud of you. Such a good girl. Are you getting close for me?

You nodded and fluttered your eyes shut. She took this as an opportunity to start kissing your lips again but you struggled to kiss back, moans slipping out of your lips every time she touched you. The knot in your stomach got tighter and tighter and she kept using your mouth. Breath’s were getting pulled in quicker and your hips started to twitch against her hand, until finally the knot released. You squealed and Natasha smiled against you, feeling the sweet, wetness seep through your underwear.

“That’s it, my good girl. You’ve doing so well cumming for me. I'm so proud of you baby.”

#natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #older!nat #mommy!nat #mommy natasha #mommy k!nk #soft natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff fluff #older natasha romanoff #older!natasha romanoff #mommy natasha romanoff #tahliesfics

[wisteria-cherry]

forty days and forty nights (day thirty-six) (part one) (bonus)

hello my lovely cherry blossoms <3 as promised, i’ve decided to write this particular part from katsuki’s perspective :) i do keep my (y/n) pretty feminine, so i will be writing this with she/her pronouns. however, if you do go by other pronouns, please just message me, and i will gladly repost it with your desired pronouns!

katsuki, despite what the public said about him, was a very cautious person. each punch, each explosion when fighting a villain was planned and executed with deadly detail and precision, which is part of why he’d risen through the ranks so quickly to become the youngest number one hero in the history of japan. this meant that in almost every situation, katsuki knew what he had to do.

almost.

when katsuki had realized that he liked you— in a more-than-a-friend way— he had no idea what to do. he tried to act normal, which for the most part was pretty easy. however, there were some moments— like when you were acting all awkward for those couple days— where he couldn’t help but feel concerned.

you’d been weird for the past day and a half, too. you kept glancing out the window and at your one coworker’s weird ass boyfriend. your coworker wasn’t even there, why would he be there? katsuki doubted that the man was actually your coworker’s boyfriend. and even if he was, he was a shitty, creepy-ass boyfriend.

katsuki knew you thought he didn’t notice, but he was a hero; he’s trained to notice. he noticed the way your eyes had barely noticeable bags under them. the way you looked around more often. the way you seemed distracted. more distant. it pissed him off because he couldn’t get himself to confront you— even though he never had any trouble doing it before. he just couldn’t explain it.

katsuki was also pretty damn annoyed when some dumbfuck secretary of his had scheduled his patrol in such a stupid way. he had to leave you and the shop abruptly so he could start when he needed to; after all, katsuki was a stickler for schedules. so, he was not at all opposed when you called him during patrol. but you didn’t need to know that.

katsuki glanced in the direction of the noise as he heard his phone ring. clicking his tongue, he took off one of his heavily padded gloves and shoved his hand in his pocket, pulling out his phone.

“i’m on patrol, make it quick, dumbass.” he grunted. he heard shuffling, like something on the sidewalk. not shoes— something softer. fabric? in the background of the call, he heard footsteps, too. weird.

“flower house—“ came your voice, and katsuki was immediately on high alert. you sounded like you were terrified, and out of breath. your voice rose to a shrill cry as you gasped out, “flower- flower house— no!” katsuki watched the screen as the call disconnected, and that’s when it all clicked.

something was wrong.

flower house. that was what you’d called that obnoxiously painted house on the corner, the one you’d pointed out when he was illustrating the streets he’d take every day to you early in your friendship— the one right up ahead on his patrol route.

katsuki immediately picked up the pace.

this was not gonna slide. fuck no.

katsuki found himself getting impatient with his damn legs, despite the fact that he was running. katsuki leaped, and immediately blew himself into the air.

katsuki caught a visual on you almost immediately. there was some loser moving towards you. you were on the ground. this wasn’t going to slide, no way in hell. as soon as he was close enough, he dropped down behind the asshole, stalking towards him. katsuki’s hands sparked involuntarily, something that hadn’t happened in years due to meticulous training to gain the most precise control over his quirk possible. katsuki didn’t mind. he knew he looked scary; that was the whole point of his costume design. he knew that his size contributed damn well to his cause: easily over 6 feet and well over 200 lbs of pure muscle.

“absolutely not.” katsuki snarled, his eyes dead focused on the man. dead like this guy was going to be in a matter of minutes. “absolutely the fuck not.” the guy tried to babble out some shitty excuse, but katsuki didn’t care. you were clearly not familiar with this guy, and you very clearly didn’t like the situation you were in. then he tried to touch you. there was no way katsuki was letting that happen.

katsuki was by your side as soon as the man’s hand moved to grab your wrist.

“i said,” katsuki repeated, lower, slower. “absolutely. the fuck. not.” the man’s nose twitched. disdain. under all that cowardice, this asshole still had the nerve to think lowly of him.

that’s when katsuki snapped. his infamous right hook got the guy right in the face. katsuki heard a crunch. katsuki might’ve broken his nose, but who cared? he was down, and it felt good.

katsuki pulled out quirk suppressors from his belt and secured them around the guy’s wrists, all but satisfied, but knowing they any more might end up badly; an abuse of power. so, katsuki focused on you. he forced himself to relax, letting his lungs take on deep breaths of the night air, and making sure the snarl he knew was there was wiped off his face so you wouldn’t be so scared when he turned to look at you. katsuki popped a squat, immediately looking for signs of head trauma. you seemed alright.

“oi. you call the police yet?” katsuki grunted. you shook your head and pointed at a shattered phone on the sidewalk next to you. your phone. he’d have to buy you a new one sometime.

“tch.” katsuki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. isn’t that the first thing civilians do? call for help? so, what gives? “that explains it.” katsuki stood back up so he could call them himself.

“just gimme a second, sweetheart, ‘m gonna call the police for ya.” katsuki reassured you. he didn’t know why he called you sweetheart, but it felt remarkably comfortable given the situation. he’s content with your nod and dials the hotline, listening to their usual spiel before speaking.

“it’s dynamight.” katsuki stated.

“ah, dynamight, sir. do you need assistance in cleanup?”

“yeah.”

“do you require backup?”

“no, civilian almost got attacked by some fuckwad-“ katsuki gets interrupted. asshole.

“sir, we ask that you use professional language whilst on call. please refer to the ‘fuckwad’ as a civilian, similar to the victim..”

“no, i'm not gonna refer to him as a civilian too, he's a goddamn asshole.” katsuki snapped, already losing his patience with this lady.

“sir, it’s imperative that we use professional terminology so that—“

“goddammit, will you shut the hell up and send some damn police?” katsuki groaned. “someone's gotta take this fuck away, i can't do it right now, i got shit to do.”

“yes, dynamight, but please take into consideration what has been said.”

“yeah, yeah, whatever. fuck you. you got my location or what?”

“yes, we do,” said the dispatcher slightly irritably. tch. if she was getting irritated by this, then they need to get a new dispatcher. “we’ll have the police to you shortly.”

"yeah, okay."

“is the victim alright?”

"yeah, she's fine, just some scrapes from fallin’.”

“so there is not a need for emergency medical services, is that correct?”

"yeah."

“alright. we will have the police with you in upwards to fifteen minutes.”

"yeah, okay." katsuki hung up, then turned back to you, crouching down on the pavement.

“can ya stand up?” katsuki asked, then frowned. you were crying. it just have just begun to set in. “…you’re crying.” you bring a hand to your face, feeling your cheeks for tears blankly.

“oh.” you murmur, your voice cracking slightly. “i can stand up.” you brace yourself on the sidewalk and move to stand up, and you pretty much succeed, but then you collapse almost immediately before you do. katsuki instantly caught you, his hands fitting securely on your waist. his hands. your waist.

fuck.

katsuki immediately shook away the feeling. this was absolutely not the time for this shit.

“hey, easy.” katsuki warned. he figured you were in shock. just to confirm, he eased you down back onto the ground, nice and close to him, and slid his thick, padded gloves off his hands. he wiped his sweaty palms on his pants before holding your face. dilated pupils. definitely in shock. katsuki told himself that checking for shock was indeed the only reason he was holding your face like that.

“you’re in shock, dumbass,” katsuki told you. “don’t move yet.”

“okay,” you agree easily, then turn your head slightly to look at the man. you shudder and look back at katsuki, mortified. your breathing quickens and quickens. katsuki’s frown deepens.

“can ya breathe f’me?” katsuki did his best to ground you. “c’mon, deep breaths.”

you nod, and you slowly start to match the pace katsuki had set with his own breathing pattern.

katsuki and you continued to breathe together as the cops arrived. finally. katsuki easily lifted you up, telling himself that the hand he kept on your back was so he could continue to monitor your breathing as he talked to them.

god, he was selfish.

regardless, though, you seemed to like it, so he didn’t stop, even after the cops left.

"you gonna tell me what happened?" he asked finally, seeing that you seemed to be recovering a little bit, at least from the initial shock. he began to walk towards his agency, figuring he’d have to do the report, or at least tell one of those shitty sidekicks to do it.

"yeah." you answered, your voice scratchy as hell. you pause for a moment, then tell him probably the shittiest explanation he’d ever heard for an assault. "he'd been stalking me for days. then i confronted him then ran. he chased me. that's it.”

stalking.

he’d been stalking you.

katsuki was going to murder that man.

but not yet. right now, you needed him. and he couldn’t get angry right now because another pissed off guy is not what you need.

“stalking?” katsuki asked, his voice trembling with fury despite his attempts to keep it level. “why didn’t you tell me? that asshole's being arrested for attempted assault. stalking's a whole other charge to be added." you shrug. katsuki just didn’t get it. didn’t you want the guy to get locked up for as long as he could? katsuki took a deep breath to calm himself.

"well, whatever." he grumbled. "listen... you probably don't wanna be alone tonight, do you? lotta people don't after this kind of thing." you shook your head. katsuki had figured that would be the answer.

“you want me to call up pinky?” katsuki asked as he walked, dry leaves crunching under his boots. “she’ll let you crash if you—“

“you.” you interrupted. katsuki stopped and tensed. were you saying what he thought you were saying?

“…you wanna crash at my place.” he confirmed. you nod.

“if i can.” you add, almost silently. katsuki considered. there wasn’t anything that would prevent you from doing so. katsuki exhaled slowly, trying to calm his pounding heart (and head).

“yeah,” katsuki said, trying to feign nonchalance as he continued walking. “whatever, dumbass. you need to get anything from my place?”

“no.” bullshit. you had nothing but the clothes on your back and a smashed phone. katsuki looked at you skeptically.

guess she’ll just borrow my shit, katsuki concluded. he bet you’d look cute in his shirt. he knew exactly which one he’d loan to you if you asked.

goddammit. katsuki cursed. what the fuck am i doing? acting like this when she’s probably just been fucking traumatized.

what an asshole.

katsuki stopped in his tracks. you know what? fuck the report. he was gonna prove to himself that he’s doing this because he fucking cares about you, not just because he likes you or whatever.

“i’m gonna blast us back, got it?” katsuki looked up, surveying the sky. nice and clear. katsuki shifted you to one arm easily, feeling you adjust your grip on him. “it’s gonna be loud, so cover your damn ears. ready?”

“you.”

(feel free to comment + lmk what you think :)

tags: @k0z3me @cherryblossomclarity @jazzafayesworld @failingstudents-blog @stevenknightmarc @faerikitty @deathsmajestysworld

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bakugou #bnha #mha #bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo oneshot #coffee shop au #pro hero bakugo x reader #pro hero dynamight #bakugo pov

[ladamedusoif]

Visiting - Chapter One: The Visitor

(moodboard by the wonderful @cutesyscreenname)

Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)

Summary: Seeking a change of scenery after her life falls apart, Lydia crosses the Atlantic and arrives in a small New England town, to spend a year expanding her intellectual horizons as a visiting professor of art history at a small liberal arts college. Her growing friendship with Ben Morales, professor of Hispanic literature, forces Lydia to confront the fallout from her past - and raises unexpected questions about the future.

Chapter Summary: It's late August, and Lydia has arrived in the US from Europe to take up her position as visiting professor of art history at Barrow College. Enter Prof. Benjamin E. Morales, literature scholar and (as he puts it) 'your very own welcome wagon'.

Word Count: 5.2k

Rating: Mature; will become Explicit in later chapters.

Content: Professor Ben College AU; smaller-than-usual-for-this-fandom age gap (she is 41 and Ben 47 when the story begins); canon is not a thing here; slow burn; discussion of infidelity and emotional abuse; discussion of self-esteem issues and body insecurity; strong language.

A/N: Meet Lydia as she meets Ben. See the Series Masterlist for an outline of Lydia's story and background. Pure, nerdy fluff as dork meets dork in a New England college town.

(One for the Big Night nerds, as it's referenced in the chapter: I literally only realised the name of the rival restaurant when I went to check that I'd got the descriptions right for this chapter... IYKYK.

A complete and utter coincidence, I promise.)

Taglist: @cutesyscreenname; @lunapascal; @fuckyeahdindjarin; @julesonrecord; @tieronecrush; @perennialdoll247; @vermillionwinter; @iamskyereads; @imaswellkid

The large, red-brick building is quiet, walls freshly painted and linoleum gleaming in the late August sunshine in anticipation of the impending start of the academic year at Barrow College. In the administration office for the Faculty of Arts, the faculty secretary - Susan, a woman in her late fifties, and the very image of seasoned efficiency - is preparing your new staff ID card, office key, and a plastic folder full of welcome documents and essential information. 

While you wait, you survey the gallery of staff photographs on the wall, trying to quell the nerves in the pit of your stomach. The first day anywhere was never easy. First day as a visiting professor in a liberal arts college on the other side of the Atlantic? Ramp that difficulty level all the way up to eleven.

Susan emerges from behind the counter and hands you your ID card, ensconced in a dark green Barrow-branded lanyard, and the pack of documents. “Okay, Lydia. Normally this is the point where I’d bring you to see the head of the Literature Department,” she explains. “I know you’re an art historian, but Literature runs the visiting program. Always have, always will.” She shrugs and rolls her eyes. “This is the Barrow way.” 

“So you’re not bringing me to see the head of the Literature Department?” you ask. 

“Professor Arden is at a conference, unfortunately. But you’ll meet her next week,” Susan gestures towards the door, and you dutifully move into the main corridor. “In her absence, Professor Morales is going to run through the essentials with you. Don’t worry - Ben’s great, you’re in good hands. Can’t work a copier for love nor money, of course, but a real sweetheart.”

She points out some of the main teaching rooms in the building occupied by the various departments in the faculty, and you can’t help but be amused at how it all feels like a TV or movie set to your eyes. You’d grown up watching American high school and college shows and movies, and now, here you were: Green chalkboards! Those seats with the folding armrests! All that was missing were the standard-issue yellow pencils and those yellow legal pads everyone seemed to use. 

Susan leads the way into a classroom, encouraging you to take a seat. Whereas the other rooms had been notable for their pristine uniformity, this seemed to be in use as a kind of temporary office. A laptop sits on the main desk unit, surrounded by piles of books and papers, covered in coloured tabs.

“This isn’t Professor Morales’ usual office, of course,” Susan explains, pointing to the ceiling. “Leak. His ceiling is being repaired so he’s working here for the moment. Usually he’s just round the corner in 315 - a couple of doors down from your office, in fact. Anyway: he’s running a little behind schedule, though that’s nothing unusual with Ben…I’ll go remind him you have an appointment!” Her voice fades with her footsteps as you take in your surroundings. You notice the chunky volume on the desk: War and Peace. You roll your eyes, thinking about all the times over the years that you’d seen Tolstoy’s masterpiece “casually” left in full view by academics keen to impress, not to mention the assholes you’d encountered as a graduate student, keen to get you into bed by convincing you of their intellectual ability. Whereas their copies were always a little too clean, though, this one was a bit dog-eared and worn at the corners. Maybe Ben Morales was that rare thing: someone who’d actually read it.

You never thought you were the kind of person who would even apply for a year-long visiting professorship at a New England liberal arts college thousands of miles from home, let alone actually take it up. A combination of impostor syndrome and pressure from your then-partner to stay put - “but baby, what about my career?” - had conspired to convince you such a thing would be impossible. 

That was then. This was now. Things had changed, and so had you.

You couldn’t not be changed by the brutal end, a couple of years before, to a fifteen-year relationship: a sudden departure, revelations of infidelity, endless days and nights of tears and numbness, feelings of worthlessness compounding a lifelong lack of self-esteem. It was bad enough without the various accusatory “explanations” offered by your ex-partner for their actions, all designed to make you feel like this was your fault, the consequence of your having been “too much”, too dull, too unattractive now, too stressed-out (never mind that you carried the can for everything). 

Time and many, many hours of therapy helped you to move on. You knew now that you now had a kind of freedom and joy that had never been fully present in your relationship. You were proud to embrace your authentic self. Your friends and family remarked on how happy you seemed, how bright, how confident. They praised your achievements and growing academic profile, even as you never felt quite good enough - professionally or personally.

What they couldn’t see were the metaphorical defences you had built up around yourself: treacherous ramparts surrounding a huge wall of emotional stone, protecting the broken heart and fragile soul within. Your friends and family were enough, as were occasional hook-ups and one night stands as and when the opportunity arose. Even as you left the past for dust, you refused to countenance anything more. 

You believed that you didn’t need anything more - and in a lot of ways, that was true. You liked your life now. You could do as you pleased. Better to have freedom and self-preservation than exposing yourself to the risks that come with emotional connections. You were nearing forty-two. Who’d want a forty-something art historian with too much baggage - emotional and physical, bearing in mind the body you’d come to feel increasingly unhappy with, all scars and stretch marks and aching joints and general discomfort? 

More than that, and to your grim fascination, you never really…felt anything for anyone anymore. At times, you wondered if that part of your brain had been switched off. Sex without attachment or meaning was one thing; real attraction and feelings another thing entirely. Hell, you never even crushed on musicians or actors any more. You’d kind of made peace with it. Maybe this was your destiny. 

You were ‘living your best life’, as your best friend put it. You were hailed for your strength and your optimism. You knew you were better off in this not-so-brave new world, unexpectedly single as you stared down the barrel of middle age. You embraced new opportunities. “You’re still young,” your mother had counselled. “Take the chances life presents, Lyd. See the world! Share that big beautiful brain of yours.”

Now you actually had to do it. Visiting Professor of Art History in a small college with a great reputation. A whole year at Barrow in which to try new things, expand your horizons, and enjoy your freedom.  

Bring it on.

Nervous energy had kept you awake prior to your long-haul flight, and the time difference was starting to kick your ass. You were just on the verge of going in search of a weapons-grade energy drink when he sauntered into the room, wrangling a messy pile of freshly-printed course handbooks.

You suppress a giggle at the sight of him: not because he looked funny, but because he could have walked straight from the pages of a cheesy teen magazine story about unrequited love for a favourite professor. He’s tall, broad, dark, dressed in a pale blue Oxford button-down worn untucked over slightly faded black jeans, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms. A pair of well-loved but evidently well cared-for black Doc Marten shoes. You guessed he might be a couple of years older than you, but not very many. Wavy dark hair that looks like it would turn into curls if left to grow out, streaked through with silver. Moustache, and what you guess you might call a sort-of beard - more of a scruff, really, and greying in places. Glasses - but of course! - and behind them what looked (because you were never great with direct eye contact, especially when first meeting) to be dark brown eyes. You’d almost think an unseen costume director had added the pencil he was gripping with his teeth as a final touch, for maximum Hot Professor Cliché effect.

He plonks the pile of handbooks on the desk and does an exaggerated exhalation of breath as he turns to face you, removing the pencil from his mouth and offering a wide smile. He advances towards you, hand outstretched, and you stand up to shake his (rather large, you notice) hand. 

“Welcome to the department! I’m Ben Morales, comparative literature prof and your very own welcome wagon.” He smiles brightly, eyes crinkling. “You must be Lydia.”

You return his smile, albeit shyly. “That’s me - though most people usually end up just calling me Lyd after a while. On rare occasions it becomes Lyddie, though that’s not much shorter than my actual name. My sister used to call me Lydularity but thankfully that didn’t stick.”

Shuuuuuut up, Lydia.

He grins. “Lydia, Lyd,” he turns your name over, as if becoming accustomed to saying it. “Your mom a Jane Austen fan?”

You huff a laugh and shake your head. “I wish it was that cultured, but sadly no. As my mother never fails to remind me: I’m named after a 1970s pop song. And not a very good one, at that. My view - not hers.”

“Well, at least it’s a nice name,” he laughs. “I’m guessing Susan has covered almost everything but I should make sure you have all the essential information you need before school starts - timetables, IT stuff, where the only drinkable coffee on campus is - actually, wait.” He picks up a blue coffee mug from the desk. “You want some coffee?”

You’d take anything at this stage to keep you even a little perkier. “Uh, sure. Yes please. With milk - I mean, creamer. Whatever it is. Half and half, is that what it’s called?”

He nods as he heads out of the classroom in search of coffee. “I normally take mine black, so I’m not up to speed on the creamer situation. It might just be some off-brand stuff. But hopefully you aren’t a connoisseur. Yet.”

You shake your head with a smile, watching him jog lightly out the door, mug in hand.

He has what your friends would describe as ‘chaotic energy’ - somehow both put-together and messy, with a million different thoughts presumably bouncing around in his head at any given moment. It was a relief. From what you’d read on the college website - there was no profile photo, you remembered - he had an exceptional track record as a scholar of European literature, recognised with any number of awards from peers and students alike. You’d even made a mental note to read some of his articles on magical realism and adaptation. 

Because of his impressive profile, you were prepared for the possibility of him being in the mode of some of the more obnoxious men you’d worked with over your years in academia: intimidating, serious, keen to remind you that they were a ‘genius’, and rather vain. Ben, at least judging by your first impressions, seemed to be the complete opposite. 

He swings back into the room with a mug in each hand: his own blue one and, to your surprise, a retro Sesame Street mug for you. You take the coffee from him at the desk, settling back into a front-row seat and smiling with bemusement at the beaming faces of characters you’d loved since childhood. As he sits down on the desk he notices your reaction and looks sheepish. 

“Sorry, I hope you don’t mind the choice of mug-”

“My mom always says these guys taught me to read and count. Feels right to have my first real American college coffee in a Sesame Street mug”, you say quickly, raising the mug. 

He grins. “Well, that’s a relief. That’s my favourite one.” He raises his own mug, reciprocating your gesture. “Uh… to the Children’s Television Workshop?”

You’ve sat through enough briefings and orientation sessions in your time to know how dull they could be. This, though, is less like a meeting and more like an overdue catch-up between old pals. The conversation takes various turns and digressions as Ben explains Barrow’s various quirks, traditions, and regulations. He’s expressive and demonstrative: a match for you in both talking with your hands and in unintentionally pulling silly faces. The longer you talk, the more relaxed you feel: here was one of your hosts, warm and funny, and already like a friend. Your residual anxiety about the visiting post fades. 

It’s going to be a good year. 

“And, in conclusion, that’s why you don’t buy filter coffee from the cafeteria after midday,” Ben says. “I think that’s everything? I’ll walk you to your new office. Oh, and - dinner at seven thirty?”

His invitation takes you by surprise, and it shows on your face. Ben looks a little confused. “I mean, if you want to have dinner with me. We normally take the new visiting professor out, just as a welcome gesture - you’re stuck with just me this evening, though.” 

He shrugs apologetically. “Of course, maybe you’ve got plans with your family or partn-“

“Dinner would be great!” you interrupt, keen to avoid any discussion of partners and inevitable explanations. “Shall I just meet you here, or…?”

He begins to scoop up the course handbooks. “I can pick you up, if you want? The restaurant is in the next town over. Unless you’d rather I not pick you up. Because-“

You come up to the desk to help him gather the print-outs, shuffling them quickly into orderly piles. “No, that would be great. I mean, I still think it’s Tuesday of last week, I wouldn’t trust myself with following out-of-town directions just yet.”

He beams and leans over to pick up the rest of the handbooks, and you get a slight, sweet hint of his scent: clean soap, a cologne with top notes of bergamot, and an underlying warmth. Maybe even a touch of paper, of all things. 

He smells good. 

You step back and your eyes meet for a moment. Unthinkingly, you breathe in sharply as you look properly into his dark eyes for the first time. 

Holy moly, those are quite something.

And that’s when it happens. A tiny flicker of electricity crackling across your brain. It’s so fleeting that you don’t even register it, not immediately. It’s only much later on, alone and thinking about the first time you met, that you find yourself conjuring up the memory of his scent and of those beautiful brown eyes.

“They just love the colouring books you left for them, Lyddie!” Your mother is talking to you via FaceTime, recounting the latest adventures of your little nieces in loving detail.

You aren’t really listening. It’s past 7.30 and you’re deeply conscious of not being late for your dinner invitation, keen to hide your usual chaotic inability to be ready on time for anything from your new colleagues for as long as possible.

You crane your head to look out the front window of your apartment, just in time to see a car pull up outside. Your mother is still narrating exactly what your older niece drew at preschool in the 48 hours since you’d left for the US.

“I gotta go, Mom! The dinner, remember? I love you -“

“Call me when you get in!”

“I won’t, because time zones? Okay I have to go byebyebye -“ and you end the FaceTime call as you close your front door and skip lightly down the stairs to the entrance hall of the building. 

It was difficult to know what to wear to something like this. Academic welcome dinners and events were often relatively informal, and Ben had not struck you as the kind of man who’d be gravely offended if you turned up in jeans and a long-sleeved tee. But you didn’t know a lot about the restaurant, so you erred on the side of caution: a mid-length, indigo chambray button-down dress that you’d made yourself, fitted around the waist with a v-shaped neckline; rose gold vintage-style flat sandals in the late summer heat; and - just in case it got chilly - a red cropped cardigan that was another of your creations, hand knitted a couple of years before. 

Ben is leaning against his car when you appear at the main door of the apartment building. He’s changed, too: a soft-looking white shirt has replaced the blue Oxford he was wearing earlier. His sleeves are rolled up, and this time the shirt is tucked into his dark jeans. He’s wearing light-coloured suede desert boots and sunglasses. He gives you a little wave as you walk down the path to meet him, moving to open the passenger door for you before settling in on the driver’s side.

“Hope the apartment is okay?” he asks as you adjust your seatbelt and tuck your purse at your feet. “I think they’ve been putting visiting profs there for years. God knows what secrets it holds by now,” he adds dramatically.

You put on your own pair of sunglasses to shield your eyes from the evening sun. “It’s pretty nice, honestly. I’m still waiting on a lot of stuff to arrive, but I’ve got the essentials and working wifi. What more could you want?”

He smiles as he pulls away from the kerb. “Good to hear. So you’re on your own, or is your-” 

“Just me!!” you chirrup, slightly too enthusiastically. “Free and easy.”

Uh, cringe much, Lydia?

It’s quiet for a few moments and you start to wonder if you should start talking again before it gets even more awkward. You’re just about to open your mouth when he starts tapping the touchscreen on the dash.

“Do you mind if I put on some music? Not to halt conversation, don’t worry! I just usually have a soundtrack for most things: driving, writing, grading…”

You grin. “Music would be great - I’m a fellow playlist curator. My writing ones are fickle, though.”

At the next red light he taps and swipes before selecting a playlist. “Hope you are okay with middle-aged dad tracks for driving.”

Ah, he’s a dad. You hadn’t noticed a ring but that obviously didn’t mean anything.

“How old do you think I am? I’m middle-aged, I’ll have you know. And my musical tastes have been middle-aged since I was a teenager.” You feign being affronted and he huffs a laugh. 

“In that case, I can subject you to the full rigours of the playlist.” He taps play, and a smile spreads across your face as you recognise the steady opening bass riff of ‘Fortunate Son’ and start to nod along.

“Oh, man - Creedence? Okay, I see what you mean about the dad tracks,” you admit, bobbing your head to the rhythm as John Fogerty’s voice rasps through the speakers. “In a good way, though!”

Ben taps the fingers of one hand on the steering wheel as he drives. “Plenty more where that came from. Unfortunately, this is only a twenty minute trip, and this playlist is at least five hours long, but I can email you over the link if you’d like?” You nod, watching the surroundings change as you travel out of town, trying to take it all in: the neat houses, the tall trees and woodland that line either side of the route, the road signs pointing out local tourist spots. 

You’re heading for the next town over - a bit larger than Barrow and, as Ben explained on the drive, better appointed when it came to options for a nice dinner out. 

“Perils of a college town,” he’d added, “we have a great diner, a couple of good cafés and takeout places, but the main clientele are students looking for a sort of Man Vs Food experience. And we usually don’t want to hit the visiting prof with that right away.”

You chuckle, watching as the green of the trees gives way to painted timber houses, brick, and stone as you enter the town. It’s not long before Ben is pulling up near a small restaurant whose hand-painted sign reads LINO - RISTORANTE.

“This place is always worth the drive over,” he explains as you step into the restaurant’s small porch and open the door. Lino’s is small but beautiful: dark, vintage-style wooden furniture and white linen tablecloths; wood panelling on the walls; a candle in those old-style chianti bottles with the little wicker baskets on each table. It’s almost full on that weeknight evening, the gentle hum of conversation and cutlery accompanied by a soft soundtrack of Italian classics.

It’s weirdly familiar, and it takes you a moment to realise why. Settled at your table, you look around with a grin. Ben raises an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“This place, it’s - it’s just like the restaurant in…”

“Big Night.” He chimes in with you and does a little air punch, unable to hide his delight at the reference. “Someone else gets it! Finally!!”

You laugh and take a sip of your water. “I’m pleased. But clearly more people need to be introduced to that movie, huh?”  “Fuck yeah!” He looks a little embarrassed at how excited he is, pinking around the ears and dropping his head to look at the menu. “Sorry, I’m getting carried away. Just so thrilled that someone else had that reaction, too. You’re the first to get it!” He looks back up at you and offers a shy smile.

Here’s the thing about notionally professional academic dinners, especially with people you don’t know that well: they are almost always like an hours-long conference presentation, with the added complication of having to eat while discussing your current research. You’d lost count of the amount of times you’d ended up aimlessly stirring your coffee after several hours listening to other people drone on about their praxis and theoretical grounding late into the evening, sure that they’d written you off when you tried to swerve the conversation around to lowbrow topics like music or (heaven forfend) television. Because serious intellectuals don’t watch television, unless it’s important and worthy programming (in other words: dull). 

Ben had left a good impression from earlier in the day, but you were still a little nervous in case dinner was where you were expected to ‘prove yourself’. As it turned out, you didn’t really talk about work at all. Instead, you’d spent the best part of two hours eating astonishingly good Italian food while letting your inner film and music nerd run riot, in the company of a man who had rapidly revealed himself to be just as much of a geek as you were. The topics of conversation shifted organically as you ate, changing as if scheduled to coincide with each course. 

Antipasti: favourite movies. Top fives compared and debated across various categories. You’d established a shared love of international cinema, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (“You have to read Bob Balaban’s book about being on set with Truffaut!” you’d exclaimed, sending chunks of tomato flying off your bruschetta in your enthusiasm), and Indiana Jones (“I do feel increasingly icky about Temple of Doom”, he’d confided). And unanimously agreed that the Muppet Christmas Carol is, in fact, the best adaptation of Dickens’ story yet made.

Main courses: music. He talks about his collection of vinyl records, built around a core of albums that had belonged to his dad. You swap tales of favourite live music experiences, from stadiums to tiny basement venues. He is far too impressed when you let slip that you can play guitar and sing. (Of course he’s impressed now. After all, he hasn’t heard you yet.)

It’s been a while since you felt so at ease with someone you’d only just met, and the sense of safety reassures you that coming here was the right thing to do. As you finish your tiramisu and sip on espresso to round out the meal, you chat casually about yourselves and your careers.

“So what made you go for the visiting gig?” 

You thoughtfully sucked the last bit of mascarpone cream off your spoon. “I’ve never lived in the US - I was here for a couple of conferences but only for a few days, and I always wanted to spend more time here. And I needed a change of scenery and a new challenge. I guess I’d needed it for a while, but then after everything that went down it felt much more urgent, you know?” 

He looks a little puzzled. “Everything that went down?”

“What I mean is, it’s been a shitty couple of years,” you clarify. A deep breath. It’s still weird telling people about this. “Long story short: my partner basically walked out on me, they were having an affair, blah blah blah. Fifteen years together, I never saw it coming, left on my own. But that’s done now. In the past.” You wave your hand lightly through the air, as if swatting away a particularly irritating insect.

He looks genuinely sorry for you. You brace yourself for the inevitable expression of sympathy, the “plenty more fish” lines, or just the awkward silence that comes when you’ve shared too much, too soon.

“And how are you, now?” he asks. That’s all he says. Emphasis on the “you”. 

“I’m… well, I’m a lot happier, I guess? I think I’m much more myself. I don’t want to ladle more of this on you but I’ve realised there were things there that weren’t right. And that I carried a lot of, well, stuff that I shouldn’t have. So I feel…free?”

You do not tell him about the ramparts and solid walls that you’ve built around your emotional core, the crumbled blocks and shards of your past all too ready to trip and pierce anyone who tries to get too close.

“And I’m free to do cool shit like come here for a year, and watch whatever the hell I want on TV and not be judged for it.” You grin and pull a silly face, hoping an injection of levity into proceedings will help move the conversation on. 

He leans in conspiratorially, a cheeky smile dancing across his lips. “So we should be grateful to them for being a dick, because we got you here as a result?”

You arch an eyebrow and look at him in mock seriousness. “Let’s not give them any credit, shall we?”

He laughs and drains the last of his coffee. “On a nicer topic,” he proposes, “is there anything you really want to do while you’re here? And I don’t mean courses or sections you want to teach. Stuff you want to do while you’ve got your year on this side of the pond.”

“Once I’ve settled in a bit, I want to explore. See some places. Add to my tacky snowglobe collection from places I’ve been,” you grin. “There’s so much, though - New York, Boston, DC…” You suck on the inside of your cheek as you think. “What I really want, though, is to go west. Even just for a week.”

He nods, raising his eyebrows. “Some kind of manifest destiny thing, or…?”

You roll your eyes. “Thankfully, no. A combination of my own film nerdery and growing up on a regular diet of old-school Westerns on rotation in the house, thanks to my dad. It’s got this allure, you know? The West. Especially California. So yeah, that’s on my bucket list for next summer, before I go back.”

“I’ll give you some recommendations, if you’d like?” Ben looks a little shy. “That’s where I’m from - the Bay Area, specifically.” 

“No way! Tell me everything. So how did a Bay Area boy end up in the dreaming spires of a New England college town?”

This is how you find out that Ben Morales is 47, came to work at Barrow over a decade ago after a couple of postdocs and short-term posts, and is the eldest of three siblings. His younger brother and sister both live in their hometown, close to their mother who has lived alone since his father died a few years ago. You get a sense that their proximity helps alleviate some of his eldest child guilt about being on the other side of the country. He dotes on his niblings, showing you photos of them from time spent out west during the summer and speaking about them with evident pride and amusement. 

He is not, as it turns out, a dad.

He listens attentively as you talk about your family: your parents, your little nieces, your sister and her partner, and the relatively tight-knit little unit that exists between you. “It’s not like we see each other all the time, not since I had to move for my job,” you explain. “But I don’t know how I would have got through everything without them. And being so close helped me be independent, on some level.”

He nods. “I get that. I mean, when I went on my year abroad to Málaga I was the first person in the family to go anywhere outside the US or parts of Mexico, and this was huge.” He smiles at the memory. “I know that my mom was freaking out. The whole neighbourhood knew she was freaking out. Until I moved to the east coast the furthest she’d ever been was to visit her family in Texas or just over the border.” His expression shifts, more thoughtful. “But she and my dad never wanted to let me feel I couldn’t do it. You know?”

He’s so genuine and earnest. It makes perfect sense why he would be such a good professor, and why his students have been so keen to nominate him for award after award.

The server comes over to take the empty dessert plates and espresso cups, and Ben asks for the check.

You fire off a message to your mom as you’re heading to bed: 

Just letting you know I’m home. Dinner was great. Made the right choice coming here - already met some lovely people and they’re so welcoming. Talk to you over the next couple of days. Love to Dad x

You plug your phone in to charge and lie back on the pillows, feeling content and excited for the year ahead. You’re on the cusp of sleep when your screen lights up again, and you reach for your phone. If it’s your mom, it’s a weird time to be replying.

It’s not your mom. It’s a message from Ben Morales. 

You’d asked to swap numbers when he dropped you home earlier. After all, he was the only colleague you’d met, and if you had some sort of major emergency it couldn’t hurt to have someone to call.

BEN MORALES: Hi Lydia, it’s Ben. Just wanted to say it was really great to meet you and we’re so lucky to have you with us for the year. And thank you for the book recommendation! Just give me a yell if you need anything. See you tomorrow - get some sleep! B

There’s a picture attached - a screenshot of the order he’d just placed for a second-hand copy of Bob Balaban’s Spielberg, Truffaut and Me, his diary from the making of Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

You can’t help but smile.

(bookshelf divider by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more)

#visiting fic #visiting masterlist #mr ben snl #professor ben x OFC #mr ben #pedro pascal character fanfic #mr ben x ofc #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

[Sans x Female!Reader]

6: Whaaat? Nooo! Things are Definitely NOT Getting Suspicious!

A/N: So, Sans is a skeleton monster. Yes, he doesn’t have “muscles or skin”, but he’s still a monster. So it’s less that he’s a skeleton, and more so that he’s a monster that looks like a skeleton. That being said, every time I want to write “he raised an eyebrow,” or “his muscles twitched,” I REALLY don’t want to have to clarify “not actual muscles because he’s a skeleton, but he’s still a monster so the same logic still applies to him” EVERY TIME 😭 So please hold those comments and let me make my life a little easier 😭 thank you and Gesundheit!!

Anyway, thank you for reading, and please enjoy this chapter!

♪───✿⁠(⁠✧◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕✧⁠)✿⁠────♪

THIS SHIT IS HARD!!!

Tears pool in your eyes, agony reflects in pools of [e/c] and frustration colors your expression.

“TORIELLL!!”

“Yes, my child?”

“THIS SHIT HARD!!”

She smiles in amusement, holding in a chuckle, “It’s not so bad. It’s your second attempt and it already looks like a Froggit…. If… If you squint…”

You sigh with a defeated smile, “You’re right, you’re right. It’s just… One of my toxic traits is thinking I can do anything without any prior practice or skill.”

“That must be difficult to cope with.”

“Oh, dude. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

So, crocheting isn’t going as well as you’d hoped. You would think that your desire to become a Surgeon would mean that your hands are pretty steady. They’re… steady enough, you suppose. It could just be a major case of Skill Issue™ that is holding you back. Your spirits are beginning to be affected by this, though.

This is the third time Toriel has tried introducing you to a new hobby just for you to fail miserably. Six days ago, you two were trying out knitting. Then three days ago, you two tried clay sculpting. And today? It’s crocheting.

You’re not actually complaining though, you’re having a lot of fun despite your failed attempts! More accurately, you’re having fun hanging out with the goat mom so it doesn’t matter if you were bad at this stuff. You understand that the reason why she’s doing this is because she wants you to have fun and not be bored having to stay inside all the time. You really appreciate the effort she’s putting in, so the most you can do is try to give each of these activities a genuine shot.

You shake your head to get back in the game, “Okay, okay. Let me try again, I think I can do it right this time.”

────

You flip to the next page of a random history book you’ve been reading. “Trapped behind the barrier and fearful of further human attacks, we retreated. Far, far into the earth we walked, until we reached the cavern's end. This was our new home, which we named… “Home.” As great as our king is, he is pretty lousy at names.”

“Oh shit, it’s this book!” You perk up with a smile, “I’ve been looking for this damn book. It only took me two and a half weeks of being here and going through the whole shelf. Why is it all the way down here?”

With Toriel out of the house yet again, you decided to take up reading once more. Toriel leaves the house for a few hours every day, she always goes to the very beginning of the Ruins (where you fell in) to check if another human has fallen down. You wonder if one of these days Toriel will come home with that child. Would Frisk be thrown off by your presence? Or will they, for some reason, find you as a threat and try to Reset in the hopes of getting rid of you?

Nah, Frisk isn’t that type of person. They have jerk dialogue options in the Pacifist route, but you never consider them to be true to Frisk. The possibility still makes you nervous.

The history book isn’t very long, and before long you reached the last page. You’re about to put it back but decide to move it to the middle of the shelf instead. You can’t explain it, but it feels better in that spot instead.

Hm…

You put your hands on your hips. Well, you guess you can try painting before Toriel gets back for lunch.

────

It’s been three and a half weeks, and Toriel is running out of options for you. She’s considering getting you a job in the small city in the Ruins so you have something to do. In your boredom, you’ve read most of the books in her home, you cook for her now all of the time, and you clean all the time, too. You only seem to like doing the other hobbies if Toriel is there to do it with you.

She knows, though, that you really need to get out of the house. You’re young, energetic, and adventurous; despite your resolve to understand that if you’re not careful, you could be killed, she knows that you can’t stay inside all the time.

So, she goes to a friend for help.

“Actually, before I must go,” Toriel says a little hesitantly, “There is something I’d like to ask of you. I-I’d like a favor.”

Sans’ smile becomes a little strained, though he supposes it doesn’t matter if he keeps up that facade since there isn’t anyone around. But it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. And yeah, he’s a skeleton and thus does not have any muscles, but he’s still a monster, so there’s a possibility for anything.

“a favor? well, i can’t say i’m all powerful and knowing, but if you tell me what it is, i might be able to help out,” The comic replies.

“You’ve mentioned going to the Waterfalls and Hotlands a few times, correct? Do you perhaps know a handful of people?”

“uh, i guess i do. why?”

“Would you happen to know any ghost monsters? Particularly, a sad-looking ghost who pretends to sleep a lot. He was here a few weeks ago, but has not returned,” Toriel thinks back to you expressing wanting to be friends with that ghost, “There is no way for me to reach out to him, so I was wondering if it would be at all possible for you to find him somehow, and send him my way.”

…

…

HUH?

Toriel is talking about Napstablook, Sans knows him the same way he knows almost everyone in the Underground (after so many Resets, he took it upon himself to know the different people, especially those who have a connection with Frisk). He lives in Waterfall, alone and generally keeps to himself. He sometimes goes to the Ruins just to hang out by himself as well.

Why… Why does Toriel want to know about him all of a sudden?

“uh, i think i know who you’re talking about. did he do something wrong?”

“Oh, heavens no! There’s just… something I’m curious about, that’s all. I see him often, but I never go out of my way to say hello.”

“oh… kay?” This is so weird, “yeah, i can find him and let him know you’re looking for him.”

Toriel smiles in relief, “Thank you so much, friend. I should really get going now. Until next time.”

“yeah, ‘till next time.”

Sans hears Toriel walk away in a hurry, scratching his skull in confusion as he also begins his walk to Snowdin. What the fuck was that? Even before the kid came and ruined everything, Toriel had not once expressed being curious about other monsters. She’s under the assumption that monsters still fight humans out of malice, and not because they just feel like they have to at this point.

Why is this suddenly different? It can’t really be because this is the natural development Toriel goes through, right? Nothing in Sans’ past experience hints at this kind of development in Toriel, or that it could be capable on her own-

…

‘it can’t be possible on her own.’

Sans stops walking.

No… Could it really be…?

Frisk is back in the Underground, and is staying in the Ruins?

────

The sussy skeleton knocks his knuckles against a door (albeit he had to knock harder than anyone usually has since he’s wearing pink gloves at the moment), huffing slightly while waiting for an answer. He’s tapping his foot impatiently on the ground, looking around aimlessly at nothing in particular. To Napstablook’s credit, he doesn’t make the other wait for too long. Instead of opening the door, the ghost just phases through it.

Napstablook is looking at the other in confusion, which is completely understandable.

“oh… hi, sans…”

“hey, buddy. how are ya?”

Napstablook’s headphones slowly fade away into nothingness. Wow, impressive skill. Sans has no idea how he did that.

“i’m doing alright, i guess… i was just working on a new remix…” Napstablook avoids eye contact, “um, sans…”

“yeah?”

“not that i don’t mind that you’re here, but… you never come here and we never really talk… did you need something…?”

Sans sighs a short laugh, “heh. you’re straightforward, huh? yeah, there is something i need to tell you.”

“oh. wh-what is it?”

“you were in the ruins a few weeks ago, right?”

“how-how did you know…?”

Sans shrugs, “heard it from that monster lady who takes care of the ruins. she was wondering why you stopped showing up, and wants to see you as soon as it’s convenient for you.”

“oh…” Napstablook doesn’t have eyebrows, but his big ‘ol eyes are expressive enough to show some confusion, “that lady…? i thought she didn’t want me there anymore because of that human…”

Shit, so Frisk is in the Ruins! Sans forces himself to stay calm. Sans raises a brow and leans forward a bit.

“a human, huh? now, that’s somethin’. you remember how they look like?”

At this, the ghost smiles softly and meekly, “yeah… i didn’t get a good look ‘caues i was laying down, but she was wearing a striped brown dress, and had kind, [e/c] eyes. must be a kid that the lady is looking after…”

…So it’s not Frisk. As far as Sans is aware, Frisk has always been androgynous, and he knows the ghost monster isn’t an asshole to misgender them purposely. (Ignore that Sans at that moment forgot Napstablook wouldn’t have any memory of Frisk.) Not only that but a striped, brown dress? Unless Frisk decided to get a new look, then Napstablook was describing someone else.

“really now? you don’t think this could be an evil human, do you?”

“oh, no way… she was really nice to me and had a lot of faith in my fake sleep… no one has ever given me that much encouragement in my fake sleep before.”

…That’s nice, Blooky.

“if only i could remember her name… the big monster lady said it once…”

Sans widens his eye sockets slightly, “come on now, bud. i know you can remember it.”

Napstablook squeezes his eyes, “mmnn… it was… it was… s… sa… mm… de… ehhh…”

The skeleton tenses up, his fists being held in front of himself like a child overfilled with anticipation.

“i think it was… uh…”

“…?”

“...i got nothing. sorry…”

Sans sighs heavily in disappointment, “it’s fine, buddy. it was a long shot, anyway.”

“well, i can tell you when i find out… if you want…”

“hey, not a bad idea,” Sans holds his gloved hand to his chin in thought, “try to be discrete though, yeah? we don’t wanna scare the human thinking that a lot of monsters are after her.”

“…actually, why do you wanna know about the human?” Napstablook shrinks back slightly, “you don’t wanna take her soul, do you…?”

Hey! Sans may not like humans (and Frisk certainly didn’t help with that), but he’s not a heartless monster (hah). Granted, if this new human that’s with Toriel is a jerk, and Toriel doesn’t make him also promise to keep her safe, then he might do something drastic and violent. He knows that it’s rash and rather harsh, but can the blame really be on him after all he’s had to endure?

“nah, i’m not interested in capturing any human,” Sans said, you know, like a liar, “you can’t blame a skeleton for being worried though, right? it’s been so long since the last human was down here, ya know?”

“yeah, i guess that’s true…” Napstablook resummons his headphones with, presumably, magic, “i should get going then… i’ll see you later, sans…”

“see ya later, bud.”

Napstablook at least has the manners to not pass through Sans, and instead takes the time to float around him to make his way to the Ruins.

Sans watches him leave for a moment before taking a shortcut home. More specifically, he takes a shortcut to his bedroom. He sighs in relief, ditching his pink slippers by the door to drag his feet to his bed.

On the way, he nabs a notebook from his self-sustaining tornado made of trash. By his command, the bunched up, weird, creasy ball of his covers unravels itself to lay out on his worn mattress.

With a sigh, the skeleton flops down face first on his bed.

Clink.

Ouch.

Sans lifts his head with a wince, not appreciating the sans-ation of his forgotten pen falling out of his eye socket. Huh. He’s been looking for this pen, guess it’s been lost in his covers all this time. He takes it and rolls over to his back, opening up his notebook and flipping through the pages until he reaches a blank one. The monster clicks his pen and scribbles on the top corner until the ink starts to flow out of the ball point.

——

thursday, january 17th, 20XX

RESET #43: Post-Flowey (207 days since the last reset)

there’s a new human in the underground. napstablook was describing a girl, presumably a child. what’s with all the children falling to the underground? anyway, he swears up and down that she’s not evil or harmful, but i doubt it. how long as she been in the ruins? why did toriel hide this information from me?

it might have to do with the fact we’ve been drifting apart lately. about two months ago i noticed she’s been more reclusive and less willing to talk for long. i think she can pick up that i haven’t been putting in my all lately. i can’t bring myself to really care that much anymore, which is probably why she doesn’t enjoy talking to me anymore. i don’t blame her.

it’s been worse recently though. about a month ago, she’s been really different. she’s a lot more energetic, but i can tell when she talks to me that she would rather be somewhere else. maybe that’s when the human girl showed up. she has to be a pro at manipulating if toriel is enjoying this human’s company.

or maybe all these resets are getting to me, and the human isn’t that bad after all.

only time will tell.

…

luckily (or maybe not) napstablook is going to the ruins and will check out the human. hopefully he remembers to ask for the girl’s name, and tell me anything else that can be relevant. maybe the human has something to do with toriel asking for him. i can’t think of another reason why.

it makes me wonder… if frisk never had shown up at all, would this be the natural order of what was to happen? that another human would eventually fall in anyway?

whatever. i’ll learn more once napstablook comes back from the ruins.

i hope he comes back from the ruins…

——

Whelp, that’s enough thinking for today. Sans has no idea when that ghost will come back, so he might as well take a nap. It’s been a long 40 minutes, he’s earned it.

────────────

Tag List (There's only one person lmao)

@lemonboy011 I don't know if I did this right whoops

#fanfiction #reader insert #female reader #don't forget fanfiction #sans undertale #sans x reader #undertale #sans #toriel #napstablook

[coldhndss]

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. Anon Hiori matchup story - Event 2A

Protagonist is named Rina.

Side notes/me yapping:

I also think I made your matchup a bit too short, so, again, I hope I can make up for it with this!

I couldn’t think of a profile pic for Hiori so I made it Yakult since he canonically really likes it!

𝜗𝜚 A moment in History ft. Hiori. Y

“Ugh..” Rina momentarily groans and stretches her arms, cracking her finger joints.

“My hands are so tired..” She says, lifting her head from in front of her books, and glancing outside of the window facing her desk. The weather was beautiful. It was sunny and warm, but not too warm. Though nice enough to go walking and have an ice-cream with a friend.  

“But I gotta keep working”. She glances behind at her bed. “I’m home because I’m studying. But remind me what you’re doing here again?”. 

Hiori is slumped over, laying on his stomach and focusing on a video game. “Training was cancelled, you’d know if you checked ya phone”. He absentmindedly murmurs.

Turning on your phone, you find 6 unread messages from him, all from half an hour ago.

Oops.. looks like she lost herself in her books again..

“No!! Again?” Hiori groans, having lost once more at the shooter game he was engaged in. 

“Looks like someone’s lost their flair..” Rina teases.

Hiori clicks his tongue in frustration, sitting up and straightening his back. 

“Alright" He pauses, stretching his arms out. "Lets go”. 

“Huh? But I'm busy”

“You’re always busy, all you do is study”. He complains. “Let’s do something just this once. I promise you’ll be happy”.

Looking into pleading eyes, she can't help but say yes. "Fine.. I guess I can take one day off.."

It's not often that he and her have time to go places together. He's always wrapped up in a match, game, interview, ads or whatnot, while she keeps herself occupied with her studies, working extra hard to maintain her top ranking in all her classes.

And so, two of them walk out of the door together with Rina unsure of what he has in mind.

"How about a museum?" He suggested out of the blue. Rina's eyes widened at the idea, though something slightly weighed on her shoulders.

"But you don't even like going to museums" She retorted.

True, Hiori would much prefer the two of them to stay home, playing games, watching a show or even baking. Though, it'd be even harder to persuade her to do something like that. She'd probably say something like; "Home is for studying. Why would I waste my time doing anything else while I'm here?".

Hiori took her in his car, and she looked online for a guide to that particular museum. Rina excitedly explained what she'll take him to see as she read through the guide. Hiori listened, smiling; with one hand on the wheel and the other on her thigh.

Once the two of them eventually arrived, they grabbed a drink from the cafe nearby since they'll be doing a lot of walking, with Rina doing most of the talking.

They made their way through the museum with her guiding the way. He listened to the things she had to say and added his own opinion at times. Hiori slowly began to worry that we wasn't doing enough, and didn't want her to think that he felt annoyed from her talking.

Snapping candid photos of her staring at paintings, historical items and the like, he realised how happy he was that she had agreed to come with him. Though, if his training hadn't been cancelled, this probably wouldn't have happened at all. He kept it in mind to thank her.

He found it interesting how every piece seemed to have more than a decade worth of history, and a person who curated it. It's obvious, of course, but seeing it at such a large scale really opened his eyes up to the partial beauty of such things.

The two of them browsed the small scale items, Rina taking a glance or more at each piece; she suddenly stopped and pointed

"Do you see what I'm seeing?" She asked

"Well, it looks like a purple ball made of.. clay?".

Rina was pointing at just that. A purple coloured clay ball within a glass square. The container covered the ball entirely, with the exception of a large circular hole that was almost exactly big enough for the ball to fit through. Next to it, was a larger yellow sphere within a different square box, except this sphere filled this enclosed box entirely, with the exception of the corners that it was unable to squeeze into.

"It reminds me of you and I" She comments.

He looks at her, puzzled "How so?"

"Well, for me, I always feel like I'm doing a lot. Though it just never seems to be the right amount. And for you.." She points towards the larger circle. "You have so much potential that it's practically overflowing with nowhere else to go". She remains silent after this, hoping she didn't offend him in any way.

He looks back at the box with a large sphere in it, enclosed from the top rather than having a small opening.

Once more, it surprised him how much meaning a seemingly simple piece can hold.

He began to feel somewhat confronted by it; no words yet a vast meaning. Seeing that even she noticed such an intricate flaw about him.. he really needs to put effort into not letting her down anymore.

"Rina.. I hope I haven't been letting you down". Lowering his head, he murmured just loud enough for her to face him in response, worry shrouding her.

"Letting me down? Hiori, why on earth would you say that?" she responds, slightly dumbfounded yet smiling. "I just want to see you recognise your own talent on the field, thats all!"

"I promise I won't let you down anymore" He says, hoping to let her see the truth in his words through his actions.

He never thought that this would be such an eye opener for him; such a simple outing that he thought of just for her. Even when she's doing the thing she likes most, she still manages to think of others, and make them feel seen at all times.

that's my rendition of the art piece :)!!

#coldhandsss #writing #blue lock #fluff #blue lock x reader #anime #bllk #manga #yo hiori #hiori yo #hiori x reader #hiori yo x reader #blue lock hiori #hiori blue lock #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff

[diorgirl444]

hi flo!! 💗 could i get a matchup for newsies please? thank you <333

neige, female • she/her, straight.

i have long brown hair, i usually wear it down or in a high ponytail. i have brown eyes, freckles hmm and i’m also like 5’4. my aesthetic is pretty casual? i like wearing flare jeans and simple tops and lots of jewellery. like feminine, casual + ‘90s-2000s. i wear lots of brown but i love bright colours (esp red, pink & blue). sundresses in the summer >>

i’m really shy, quiet, and reserved. it takes me a while to open up to people, but once i do i’m definitely more talkative and expressive. i love to read. i’d say my love language is physical touch and words of affirmation! i can be pretty stubborn and pessimistic sometimes, but i always try my best to be kind and have an open heart. i’m normally really anxious or nervous. i love to bake, listen to music, watch films and learn about mythology and folklore! i rlly like researching about random stuff, i love information lol.

i love the arts, even thought i’m not the best at them. i’m a homebody 100%, but i do enjoy going on small adventures, especially with someone i’m close too. i love nature!!

likes: baby pink. nature. jazz. animals. poetry. paintings. obscure history. science. museums. chocolate cheesecake. laying in bed all day. jellycats. cooking. adventure parks. quiet libraries. dusty blue skies. old hollywood films. collaging.

dislikes: people with no manners. people who are arrogant and talk down to others. bigots. anyone who hates on someone else for their interests. lasagna. melted cheese. white chocolate.

hi neige i’m so happy that your one of my first requests! and newsies no less!!! i hope i can make this as lovely and historically accurate as you deserve it to be.

your perfect matchup is 𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐚 💌

𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 <3

𝐡𝐨𝐰 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝟐 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 <3

so i literally had to show your my request to my irl friend who also likes newsies in order to choose your newsies bf because you literally could of had so many of them. but the minute she mentioned albert it dawned on me. like he would literally be so perfect for you.

i’m obsessed with the “she fell first but he fell harder” trope and i cannot explain it but i just know it’d be how your relationship would develop. i think you’d probably be working in a bakery and come rain or shine he’d always be outside hawking his newspapers so naturally you start to develop a little crush on him. nothing serious you just think he’s cute that’s all.

but that all changes on one day when it’s bitterly cold and you see him outside shivering, his pretty cheeks flushed from the cold and even his voice as he hollers out lacks it’s normal confident charamisa. because of the weather your business is slow too so you are sure your mother won’t mind if you hand out one simple steaming hot bagel fresh from the oven just to warm him up. and when he sees you he’s drawling out in that thick manhattan accent of his “you’re real sweet miss but i couldn’t take that from you” though he’s eyeing the bagel hungrily and you know full well he survives on a diet of very little so you shake your head and gently force it into his hand. your fingers brushing as you do, making your face smile shyly at him your cheeks turning pink and are you imaging it or his cold cheeks suddenly more red then they were a minute ago? but then your disappointment your mother calls you in before you can say anything else and the moment’s over. :(

the next time you see him out there you’re a bit more confident. the sun’s shining and though your palms are sweating from nerves you smile brightly at him and pass him another bagel this time filled with cream cheese and wrapped in brown parchment as maybe you prepared it with the hope that he’d come back not that you’d ever admit that. either way it’s worth it because his whole face lights up as he takes it and he calls you “his angel”. not just “an” angel but “his” which sends an immediate excited stream of butterflies in your tummy that you do your best to repress.

and after he’s long left and you’re packing up shop he returns with a beautiful posy of little flowers as a gift for you. he tells you that he can’t afford to pay you for the food but he hopes to repay you in pretty trinkets and items that he finds on his walks. you of course insist that he doesn’t have to but he tells you that it’s the least he can do - that he only wishes he could bring you more expensive things. this quickly becomes your pattern - you bring him treats, strawberry tarts, lavender cream puffs and lemon meringues, various sweet experiments that you’ve tested and he in turn gifts posies of flowers, pretty ribbons and shiny pebbles. you teasingly call him a magpie and he just retorts with calling you his angel again.

albert is easy to love - he’s kind and charming and funny and a bit of troublmaker so it doesn’t surprise you when you realise that silly little crush has blossomed into a deep rooted affection for him. it hurts though, feeling so deeply for him and convinced he doesn’t feel the same, hurts so much that sometimes you think it would be better to push him away but you know you couldn’t one glance at that lopsided grin and you’re stuck like glue. so you suppose it’ll be this way forever, this endless dance of hopeless adoration - you can live with that you tell yourself. it pains you but you can live with that. if only you knew it hurts him even more.

he tells you when the two of you are out at coney island, the two of you had saved up your wages, you had packed lunches, he had paid for the train tickets - just like a real couple would of done. and you spend the day eating so much candy floss that you feel queasy, childish laughter spilling from your lips on daring rides and eagerly trying to beat each other in western themed shooting games. it’s so close to be a perfect day and honestly you feel horribly selfish for wanting more. you ought to be satisfied but oh god you’re not.

it’s dark when he tells you, the two of you sat in the compact third class carriage of the train, not the most romantic setting but you hardly mind. nor particularly do you mind the undignified way that he tells you, there’s no fancy words or flowery gestures, just good honest affection when he turns to you and quietly asks “you don’t know i love you do you neige?” tearfully you shake your head. you can’t manage anything more and matter of factly he says “well i do. i ain’t never loved anybody in my whole life the way i love you. won’t you be my girl, angel?” and god you’re a mess after that. sobbing as you feverishly nod and he’s gently kissing your tears away before kissing you softly on the lips. and the rest as they say is history.

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 <3

ok i actually think it’s not that different from when your friends because both of you were just friends with repressed feelings anyways so like it’s a very similar vibe as how you two got together just now you have the added bonus of being able to kiss or hug each other whenever you want.

he loves watching you bake, not in a creepy way he just thinks you look so cute when your eyebrows furrow and your lips part in concentration - god how he loves you. tried to do it with you once but the pair of you just ended up covered in flour and the cookies got burn so it’s better for you to bake and him to watch. sometimes as you wait for the desserts to cool, he’ll slow dance with you to sweet love songs on the gramophone.

he also knows how to braid your hair. this is because i feel that he taught himself how so that originally he could look after the little girl newsies but now he has you he uses them to learn complex braids and then does them on you which of course you adore.

i feel like albert, because he grew up with only brothers and his father, he’s incredibly touchstarved so he’s constantly lavishing you with physical affection but the minute you give him any he’s absolutely melting at your touch it’s so sweet.:( the first time you kiss him i bet he literally tears up a little bit.

he’s soo nervous for you to meet the other newsies at first as he’s convinced when you do they’ll tell you all the stupid things he’s done in the past and you won’t wanna be with him anymore but actually it’s the opposite. of course racetrack regales you with a few embarrassing stories but mainly they just tell you how happy they are that you walked into albert’s life they also want to know if you’ll bake them anything as they’ve heard a lot about your baking.

also don’t worry the little gifts that he used to bring you don’t stop it’s just that now their more clearly romantic like oh it’s not just a pretty stone- it’s now a pretty stone thats heart shaped because you’re his heart or something sweet like that.

and now his wages are going towards saving up to buy an apartment for the two of you. he hopes that one day the pair of you can live together with the laughter of children, smells of sweet treats and filled to the very brim with love. whenever he’s feeling down working on his feet all day he just has to remind himself of this and then he’s fine. all he has to find now is a ring!

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 <3

hope you like it! xoxo, flo <3

#diorgirl444 #flo answers #mutuals <3 #neige <3 #matchups open #matchup request #albert dasilva #newsies #albert dasilva x reader #newsies x reader

[robertdowneyjjr]

Congrats on graduating grad school!

Picture Tony bursting into Steve’s room/place of business to announce his finishing of grad school feeling what you are feeling now. How would they celebrate? Maybe Tony has been waiting to confess his feelings until he was done and has time now and he better use this moments and it’s energy before he wimps out!!!

ahh i’m so sorry it’s taken me a while to respond, but thank you so much!!

now, i’ve given this a lot of thought and i wanted to give it a bit of a canon spin. imagine a post-avengers timeline where everything is domestic and beautiful and we never had to worry about ultron or thanos or magic rocks or any of that. imagine.

——

Steve’s in his studio, putting the finishing touches on a painting he’s been working on for the last two weeks when Tony comes in quietly. He’s holding his hands behind his back, shuffling his feet as if he’s nervous about something. He kind of looks the way he does whenever he’s got something for the team, like surprise gear upgrades or invitations to events. So Steve puts his paintbrush down, wipes off the stray paint from his hands the best he can, and stands up to greet his friend.

“Hey Tony. Whatcha got there?”

Tony smiles and presents Steve with a dark purple envelope. The paper is of good quality, and when he opens it, the contents inside are printed on thick card stock.

It’s an invitation to New York University’s commencement ceremony in May.

“Oh, this is nice! Are you speaking at their graduation this year?” Steve asks.

“Not quite.” Tony chews on his lip a bit before he continues. “I’ll actually be one of the graduates. And I was hoping you’d like to come and watch me cross that stage.”

Oh. Steve had no idea that Tony had been spending his time on another degree. He was busy a lot, true, but he always just assumed that he was working on projects for SI when he wasn’t doing anything Avengers-related. Steve can’t imagine how Tony managed to juggle what basically amounts to two full time jobs and a full time degree. But they don’t call Tony Stark a genius for nothing, and if anyone was going to pull off something like this, it would be Tony.

“Oh wow! Tony, that’s amazing. Congratulations! Of course I’ll be there to cheer you on. We all will.”

“Ah, well, I’d be glad to see the rest of the team there too, obviously.” Tony’s eyes crinkle as he smiles at Steve, and a slight flush crosses his cheeks as he sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck. “But see, the one person I really want to be there is you. Because you’re kinda the one who inspired me to apply for this program.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you. I didn’t get another doctorate. I went for a master’s this time. A dual one in art and science, and it’s all because of you,” Tony explains. “You see, when we became friends, like, really became friends, I got to see the side of you beyond the master tactician. Your passion for art is incredible, Steve. Not just the way you talk about it, but the way you always try to refine your craft whenever you have the time.” He gestures around the room. “I mean, look at everything you’ve created in the last few years alone.”

Now it’s Steve’s turn to blush. To this day, he still finds it hard to accept any compliments on his art.

“These are just doodles and experiments, Tony. They’re nothing like the art you see in museums.”

“That’s not true at all, and one day I’ll finally get you to believe me.”

Steve kind of wants to kiss Tony right now, but he brushes the urge away.

“So a dual master’s in art and science?” he asks instead.

“That’s right. It’s the art conservation program at NYU. The perfect blend of art and science. I studied art history and also the science behind the preservation of art. I never thought about how much technical work goes into art conservation and it’s been a blast getting to learn all of this. They let me fast track the program and get my degree within two years instead of four. And I ended up choosing time-based media as my specialty since it involves a lot more technology than more traditional art like paintings and photography, because, well, you know me.”

Before Steve could cut in and ask some more questions, Tony steps forward to take his hand and keeps talking.

“But yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing in my down time for the last couple of years and I’m hoping that one day, if you’d like, we could work together to make sure every single piece of art you create stands the test of time. Because you are so talented, Steve, and your legacy deserves to be more than just Captain America.”

Steve really wants to kiss Tony now.

So he does.

Tony responds immediately, his lips moving in tandem with Steve’s like they’ve been doing this for years instead of seconds. He doesn’t know how long they stand there in each other’s arms, but when they finally pull back for air, the invitation lays on the floor in a crumpled heap, having fallen at some point when Steve let it go in favour of grabbing Tony by his hips.

He picks it back up and smooths it against his chest the best he can, and grins at Tony.

“I’d be honoured to go to your graduation ceremony, sweetheart. I’ll be there cheering louder than anyone else. And afterwards, I’m taking you to dinner to celebrate, then we’re coming home to celebrate some more.”

He leans down to capture Tony’s lips again.

All the while, he thinks about all the paintings he’s done of Tony, hidden away behind other canvases. He wonders what Tony would think when Steve finally shows them to him, if they could match Tony’s grand gesture that was two years in the making. Because Tony may believe that his art is worth conserving, but as far as Steve’s concerned, it’s Tony—his smiles, his genius…his everything—whose beauty should be preserved for the world to see.

#i did like 10 whole minutes of research for this lmao #that program sounds SO fascinating but dear lord it’s so LONG #personally i would not do another four whole years after undergrad lol #anyway this was fun! #thank you again anon you’re so sweet #stevetony #stony #kay writes things #anonymous #ask

[heymrspatel]

✨Macy's Tag Game Tuesday ✨

i was tagged by @celestialmickey @creepkinginc @lingy910y @squidyyy23 & @sleepyfacetoughguy thank you, cuties!

name: julissa 🩵

sun sign: taurus ♉️

what day of the week were you born? thursday (this makes sense to me and idk how to explain it)

first app you open in the morning: i usually scroll through my notifications and then choose. it's usually discord 🥰✨

last song you listened to: "sunshine baby" by the japanese house ☀️

what type of phone do you have? a forest green iphone 13 which i only got because my pretty teal iphone 11's camera got ruined 🙃

something you’d like to learn how to do: i've actually been thinking of taking some programming classes! 🤓

art gallery or history museum? art gallery! also macy i'm going to scream. ok? thanks. -> “take me to the art museum, kiss me by the paintings” 🥺😭

your least favorite chore: ugh cleaning the floors

do you believe in fate? i guess not in the traditional sense. but, more in the "wow wtf! who would've thought? not me!" way of making choices that lead you to a certain outcome. like, i chose to do this thing one day and now i'm here!

if offered immortality, would you take it? no thank you. next. 🙅🏻‍♀️

how are you feeling right now? tired, crampy, and sleepy. but also hopeful, light, and giddy. i want to hug and kiss! 😚

finally, tell me something you’re looking forward to: my nephew is graduating high school! i can't wait to ugly sob in the audience. 👨🏽‍🎓

i'll tag @whatthebodygraspsnot @whatwouldmickeydo @metalheadmickey @gallawitchxx @gardenerian @howlinchickhowl @mishervellous @deedala @y0itsbri @rereadanon @sickness-health-all-that-shit @too-schoolforcool @vintagelacerosette @surviving-maybe if you would like! if not i'm just giving you some berries 🍓🫐🍒

#crazy aunt julissa losing it in some high school bleachers… more likely than you think. #macy’s tag game tuesday

[artzychic27]

Ooh, here's a fun request. Nath of Hearts inviting all his friends to witness hero and neutral kids fight to the death for their amusement and singing "Give the People What They Want".

The arena fell deathly silent, save for the occasional coughs and lingering cheers when the white rabbit came into view. He hopped onto the ledge of the marble balcony that overlooked the arena and hastily unfurled a scroll. Unbeknownst to him, Kim, sitting with his classmates in the row of seats adjacent from the balcony sneakily pulled out his crossbow. Alix promptly smacked it out his hand with her tail.

A bird native to the strange land with a megaphone-like beak perched itself on the ledge, just in front of the white rabbit. “Presenting, His Royal Highness!” The double doors just behind him opened at several card guards trotted through, all adorned with hearts. If the arena wasn’t silent before, it definitely was now. “His Eminence, his Majesty, The Mad King of Wonderland! Kind Nathaniel Wild-Card Hearts, and his esteemed boyfriend, the Fairest of All Lands, Poison King Marc Anciel!”

The Card Guards parted in perfect symmetry to reveal the villainous couple with their arms linked. No one, other than a few of the villains, dared to make a sound as Nathaniel strolled up to the ledge. Giving the Heroic and Neutral students a quick taunting look, he speaks through the megaphone-beaked bird. “You may clap.” The arena burst into cheers and applause as the redhead soaked up the praise. “Okay, that’s enough.” The cheering continued, and he began to get annoyed when no one listened to him. “Enough!” Everyone still cheered. “… CEASE THIS OR I WILL BEHEAD EVERYONE IN MY LINE OF SIGHT!”

That time, he didn’t need to use the bird as his voice naturally projected itself all throughout the arena. It was deathly silent once again.

“Much better,” he chirps before glancing down at the students. “Well, well, it’s true what they say. Heroes truly are idiots!” He and a few others cackle. “You morons should know better than to trust any drinks Alya and my dear bandersnatch serve to you. For all you know, that could have been poison. But! Lucky for you all, I’m a decapitation-type of guy.”

“You’re a demented creep!” Roared a student Jean knew all too well. The crab hybrid stroked the stone-carved hook in his claws and smirked, flaunting the slight chip in his tooth.

Nathaniel countered, “And you have fake tattoos.” He didn’t care to listen to them yell about how no tattoo artist would give a minor tattoos and continued, “Oh, you!” He points to a male student in casual attire with a slight ballet theme. “I almost forgot to even invite you. Who are you again?”

“Your worst nightmare!” He snarled.

The Mad King only laughed. “You’re not a porcupine disguised as a hedgehog!” That’s when his gaze zeroes in on Xavier, trying to go unnoticed along with Lila and Félix. “And, you. Mr. ‘Oh, I’m gonna paint some WHITE roses RED!’” With that, he slammed his fist against the ledge, making cracks form along the surface.

“Dearest, remember your blood pressure,” Marc reminded him as he began seething through his teeth.

He sucked in a breath and retained his regal composure once again.

“Let us go, now!” Louis snarled and bared his teeth. Though, due to him being a poodle hybrid, he didn’t look the least bit intimidating. “You bloody bastard tyrant!”

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Nathaniel rolled his eyes, his impatience showing.

“Why are you doing this?!” All eyes eerily zeroed in on Xavier. Everyone knew of his history with the Mad King, so it was strange to see him boldly speak out against him. Many expected the redhead to lash out and order for his beheading… But instead, he just smiled.

He smiled, and said, “Why, Xavier… I thought you’d never ask...”

You're probably wondering what you're doing here!

I bet you're dying to know!

Oops, bad choice of words!

Who's this stylish lad with the regal King gear?

Let me explain before the show, eyes on me!

I am ruler of these masses!

My dead mommy and my dear dead daddy were unfit- Rest their souls, NOT!

The card guards brought out framed portraits of the deceased King and Queen of Wonderland, Maison and Aya. Nathaniel gazed at them fondly for a moment before punching holes right through the canvases.

So, I’ve taken up the mantle!- Prepare to clap!

Invented a game, it keeps me sane!

And allows me to stay on top!

I give the people what they want!

And what they want's a little shocking!

The hero students had the faint suspicion he wasn’t talking about his subjects. Many of them looked like they didn’t even want to be here, no doubt they were forced to attend as react however the king pleased with the threat of decapitation.

The bigger the knife, brings light to their life!

And much to their delight!

I give the people what they want!

And what they want's a fight, HA!

The villains, meanwhile, watched in anticipation as the redhead taunted their schoolmates in a lavish and slightly demented musical number. Perfect for the Mad King of Wonderland. While Jean could appreciate such theatrics, he really wanted to watch his nemesis get what was coming to them.

Kim let out a long groan. “I wanted to see some action!”

“He really likes to hear himself sing,” Alix snarked and eyed the white rabbit with hunger in her eyes, making him scamper away.

Lacey quirked an eyebrow with a faint smile. “Yeah, but he has talent, I’ll give him that.”

“Voice of an angel with the heart of a devil,” Marc cooed.

You see the way the screaming hordes demand it?

This spectacle says, "Disobey me, or perish!"

As I recall, I caught one of you red-handed!

Doing something very bad

Xavier pales as the Mad King locks eyes with him. They were only children at the time, yet he still held that grudge. Suddenly, the audience comes to life once again as the iron gates leading into the arena begin to open. Emerging from the dark depths came a talon-like hand that swiped at the unsuspecting students.

It’s I who shelter them from evil!

Unlike my daddy and my daddy's daddy -it shows which King is best!

Nothing here is even illegal!

We’re entertained, no one complains!

If they want to keep their head!

The heroic students searched in all of their hidden pockets for their weapons, but it seems that the Mad King thought ahead. None of them found themselves prepared for the massive chimera-like monster and hurried to get the students without fighting experience to safety.

I give the people what they want!

And what they want is to feel safe here

The world is dull outside my walls, within is such bliss!

I give the people what they want!

And what they want is this!

I give the people what they want!

I give the people what they want

They obey my crown, my parents are proud, they worship, I provide

I give the people what they want

And they… want you… to DIE!

Buh-bye!

Without warning, the Jabberwock captured on of the students in its gaping maw. It took a moment for that to settle in before the students ran all around the arena, knowing it was fruitless as the Mad King had the whole thing rigged against them.

“Hey, what gives?” Alya asked with a slight pout. “I wanted to see the losers tear at each others throats!”

“Oh, just a little pre-show entertainment,” Nathaniel beamed as he sat at his throne. Marc leaned over from the one he had custom-made for him and kissed his cheek. “Besides, I haven’t fed that thing in weeks.” His lips curled into a smk with each scream of anguish.

@msweebyness @imsparky2002

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel #answered ask #ask me stuff #class of villainy #mlb au #Disney villains #Queen of hearts #songfic

[munsonsreputation]

congrats on 500 followers, Kay! i hope you keep writing and growing and receiving lots and lots of love! i'm gonna ask for a (#2) prompt 📄, pretty please! "of course i want to kiss you" with Jonathan! ♡♡

hey lui!!!!

i loved this request and this is my first ever imagine with jonathan so yay!!!! i hope i did your request justice and you enjoy reading it!!

thank you so much for helping me celebrate 500 followers!! it means the world to me!! 💘✨

“Your brother is quite the artist isn’t he?” You smiled widely while admiring the artwork that hung on the fridge, full of color and life that only a kid as talented as Will Byers could create.

Jonathan huffed out a short laugh, nodding his head as he came up beside you to look at the drawings that covered the appliance.

“Mom and I bought him that 72 pack of crayons for Christmas and he hasn’t stopped.” He told said as you turned to face him, a smile on your face.

“Your family is quite into the arts. Will draws. You take photos. El likes to write poetry. Your mom like to dance…or at least tries to. And Hop…”

You and Jonathan stared at each other for a second before bursting out in laughter. Your forehead bumping into his chest as you two stood there laughing. His hands lingering over the small of your back, hoping to not get away from you so easily.

He started, stumbling a bit as his thoughts flowed, “He uhh…he likes to…Hop?”

You giggled even more at that, leaning your body towards him and not daring to move away, as you could feel his hand press deeper into your back, holding you.

“That’s horrible! You’ve turned him into an Easter bunny!” You chortled, wrapping your arms around his neck, staring at him full of joy and humor.

Both of his hands wrapped around your body, and he was hoping that you couldn’t feel his heart beating out of his chest at the closeness for the first time like this alone.

“Y’know what, he actually likes to sing…we all pretend to hate it, but he’s actually pretty good.” He informed you, making you smile up at him.

He looked so pretty. His eyes sparkling and the toothy grin that he reserved for only you. For some time, you thought all you had it all wrong, that he was just a boy you had to admire from a mile away, but little did you know he liked you just as much. For years, actually, and you both had done such a horrible job at hiding your feelings. It was crazy to everyone that it took this long for you to finally see it through.

“You’re staring.” Jonathan whispered, fingertips tapping against your skin, the feeling so simple yet everything to you.

You blinked quickly, shaking your head, “S-sorry.” you mumbled, while you painted an embarrassed smile on your face that Jonathan found endearing.

“No, it’s ok! You look so pretty staring, I couldn’t help it.” He assured you, one of his hands abruptly stopping its tapping and coming around to your face, brushing the stay pieces away.

For a while you and Jonathan had been playing cat and mouse ever since you two had known of the reciprocated feelings. You’d have him blushing as you brushed past him the halls, giving him a cheeky smile. He’d have you stumbling over your presentation, as you caught his eyes in history, mouthing “smart girl,” as you explained the stupid philosopher you were talking about.

But that was cat and mouse in front of everyone.

Now you two were finally alone.

No friends around to pester or whistle flirtatiously.

Just you and him.

“D-Do you wanna finally kiss?” You peeped softly, voice pitched up higher due to your impending nervousness.

His palm finally rested against your cheek, feeling the rushing blood under your skin, “Of course I want to kiss you.”

Your breath hitched, a relaxed smile coming onto your face now, as you and Jonathan took a moment to bask it in. The afternoon glow shimmering in from the kitchen window and the soft noise from the television that you two were watching minutes ago before you had wandered here.

Just a few more seconds of longing staring before he finally made the first move. Closing his eyes as he leaned in slowly, and your lashes fluttered with your lids as you followed suit. When your lips connect, a spark ignited between the two of you. So strong yet gentle, lips moving easily against one against as you tiptoed to get more of him.

With the two of you too caught up in lip locking, you hadn’t heard the front door open. Hopper and Joyce strolling in with their other two children who they had taken out for ice cream after the school day.

Will and El groaned, listening to their dad trailing behind him with their giggly mom as he sang, “I just want your extra time and your…”

The front door shut, and Joyce made kissy noises, filling the space of the song that had just been playing on the radio seconds ago.

Hopper pretended to play electric guitar, following the kids to the kitchen to further annoy them, “Kiss!”

Walking in on the right time, they gasped, while you and Jonathan pulled away, but not leaving each other’s arms.

“Uh…h-hi?” You squeaked, undoing your hands from his neck and twiddling your fingers at his family.

Joyce looked overjoyed, smiling widely as she waved at you, and giving Jonathan a thumbs up. Hopper looked to be just as happy, but a little more smug, with a knowing smile on his face. Then on time, of course, like the long-lost twins that Will and El were they spoke.

“Steve and Robin owe us fifty bucks!” They exclaimed, hooking arms as they ran to the phone and dialed the numbers of your friends.

You stiffed your laughter, as Jonathan squeezed your waist apologetically, “We—we’re gonna go now?” He said, taking your hand and dragging you out of the kitchen.

“Have fun, but not too much fun!” Joyce hollered, watching as you and Jonathan rushed out the front door and into his car.

You buckled in, waving bye to his little siblings who watched from the window with the telephone glued to their ears. He turned to you, starting the engine with a grin on his face, “I know a place where my family won’t impede on our lip locking.”

You giggled, leaning forward to kiss his lips before patting his cheek. “So where are we going?”

#munsonsreputation #jonathan byers imagine #jonathan byers fic #jonathan byers #stranger things jonathan #jonathan byers x reader #jonathan byers x you #jonathan byers x fem!reader #jonathan byers stranger things #stranger things imagines #stranger things x y/n #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x you

[zoloftbrainrot]

scars <> chapter two

characters: sanemi x female reader

words: 1.2k

contains: mentions of wounds/stitches, alcohol, opium

author’s note: besties I am no wordsmith + am learning as I go !! tysm for your patience with my rudimentary writing. this is indeed A SLOW BURN. I also went down a rabbit hole reading abt opium in taisho-era Japan to make sure the situations are reasonably believable but don't dig into the history too much bc it sounds like opium was v taboo in Japan despite being part of a major trade hub (?) idk... anyway...

read on AO3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/41349609

------

You didn’t sleep at all that night. The dull ache of your injuries combined with two nights of sleeplessness left you feeling woozy. As much as you tried to mask it, Sanemi could tell from the pallor of your face and trembling hands that you were unwell.

“It’s a full day’s walk ahead of us. I’m tempted to send a crow to the Kakushi for you, though.”

“No. No — I’ll feel better once we start walking,” you insisted.

Your claim was short-lived. About an hour into the trek, your ears were ringing and beads of sweat dripped from your forehead into your eyelashes. Sanemi appeared pleasantly unbothered ahead of you — kicking rocks along the path and swinging his sword at low-hanging branches like a machete.

“Shinazugawa?”

Without turning around, he hummed in response, “Hmm?”

“Could we sit for a minute?”

His head swiveled to face you, raising an eyebrow, “Did you learn walking doesn’t cure exhaustion?”

“Alright. No need to rub it in,” you huffed.

“C’mere. I’m eager to get back to the estate. This is faster.” His arms were outstretched to you.  

“What, are you gonna carry me? Won’t do us much good if we’re both exhausted,” you sassed.

“You give Kanao a run for her money when it comes to being the smallest tsuguko,” he stuttered, face reddening as he realized his mistake “err…slayer.”

You smirked. So you can be embarrassed. “I won’t take you up on being carried, but I could put up with a piggyback, I suppose—“

Before the words were out of your mouth, Sanemi was kneeling with his back to you. “Well? Let’s go. There’s something I want to do when we get back.”

------

He is so pretty like this.  

Sanemi’s expression was softer, eyes heavily lidded, and clothes somehow more disheveled than normal. Everything in the dim estate smelled of sake and opium — vaguely sweet, earthy, and floral. It fittingly belonged to Tengen, who was sprawled lazily on a tatami mat in the center of the room.

The scene could have been a Renaissance painting. In the deep futons circling the walls, Mitsuri and Shinobu chittered with Tengen’s wives, draping elegant arms over each other and glossy hair water-falling around their shoulders. Meanwhile, across the room Obanai rolled his eyes and shuffled a deck of hanafuda cards, explaining the rules of the game to Giyuu and Kyojuro again. Scattered around the room were empty bottles, the odd tabi shoe, and various articles of clothing and armor.

Your spot on the floor next to Tengen and Sanemi felt comfortable. It was a relief to see the hashira acting so casual, friendly even. Sanemi was insistent that you come to this gathering, since “you’re the next pillar, anyway.” Luckily, you’d fallen asleep on your piggyback ride home and weren’t completely sleep-deprived and delirious; if anything, the sake eased some of the pain from your fresh stitches.

Warm fingers ghosted the back of your hand.

“Hey,” he said breathily.

Oh. He’s drunk. His mouth was inches from the curve of your neck, lashes brushing your cheek.

“Hi, Shinazugawa.”

“It’s-s-s Sanemi.”

“Oh? Sssanemi?” You mimicked his slurred speech playfully.

Suddenly his voice sobered, “What did he do to you?”

“What did who do?” You furrowed your brow.

Sanemi grazed your collarbone with a wandering fingertip and traced a scar across your shoulder.

“Him. Your…” he paused, “…master, errr, whatever you’d call him,” circling his wrist in the air.

Oh. Him. “Maybe another time.” Your eyes fell to the floor as you leaned away from his touch. Not here, not now.

“When?”

Is he always this persistent? You sighed and clicked your tongue, “Tch. Why are you so interested?”

“Ss-s-so I know what to watch out for.”

It was such a plain statement, but you felt tears welling in your eyes as Sanemi leaned closer, resting his scarred face on your shoulder.

He heard you inhale a sharp breath and lifted his intoxicated gaze to see your glistening eyes and trembling lips.

“Oh, hey. Hey. Y/n. We don’t have to talk about it,” his fingers grazed your cheeks, and he straightened his posture to face you, “would you like to go home?”

That word. Home. Where was that anyway? You still lived out of Shinobu’s infirmary. It wasn’t ever meant to be home, but then again, you weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be a tsuguko.

A shaky exhale escaped your lips as a familiar tightness built in your chest.

“I-I can leave. I c-can go back to Shinobu’s.” Your tongue was moving too slow for the freight train of panic barreling through your thoughts.

Leave. Leave. Leave. They don’t want you here. You don’t have a home. No one wants you. Leave. Leave, now!

Fuck.

Your tears obscured the confusion on Sanemi’s face as you shot upright and darted out of the room.

------

The dampness from the grass seeped into your uniform as you knelt outside the estate. Everything was bathed in indigo darkness, save the twinkling stars and diffuse light from the windows. You drank the night air in huge gulps, trying to suppress the flashbacks and pull yourself together. Just walk to Shinobu’s. Go to bed. They don’t care. They didn’t even notice you left.

You smoothed your uniform as you rose to your feet and pressed your cold hands to your flushed face.

Hearing sincerity and concern in someone’s voice, and directed toward you, still made you nauseous. It was like the dam holding your psyche together threatened to break. You’re fine. You’re not sad. You’re being dramatic.

The trees blurred together. You ran hard to the Butterfly Mansion, eager to feel anything else tonight. The burning sensation in your lungs was enough of a distraction to stop the tears before you made it inside the estate’s walls.

------

Tengen was shaken from his daze as you hastily exited the room.

“What did you do?” He raised a groggy eyebrow at Sanemi.

“I think I asked her somethin’ I shouldn’t-a…” he slurred softly.

“Didn’t you get back from a mission with her today?”

“Yeh. She killed the demon and I stitched her face up. Wasn’t that eventful..,” Sanemi trailed off.

“Oh? Do tell, Shinazugawa,” Shinobu chimed from her perch on the futon, interest suddenly piqued.

Sanemi merely rolled his eyes and collapsed back onto the tatami mat next to Tengen, feeling the heaviness of opium and sake pulling him under.

Shinobu giggled, “My, my. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you act shy, Shinazugawa.”

“I’m not being shy. Just drunk,” he groaned, placing a cool hand against his forehead.

“Well. In that case, I should go check on y/n. Regardless, you did scare her off somehow.” Shinobu tossed her hair over her shoulder and strode out of the room.

------

read chapter one here <> read chapter three here 

taglist @drowsydoggy @ilovespideyyy + comment or message if you’d like to be added 

#sanemi x you #sanemi x y/n #sanemi x reader #sanemi shinazugawa #kny #kny fanfic #kny x reader #demon slayer #demon slayer x reader #angst #hurt/comfort #zoloft posts