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naiadere · 1 year

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sculpting chisel

yandere! sculptor headcanons

content warnings: implied forced relationship, obsessiveness, honestly really tame

in honor of miss galatea winning most votes for ds!! this isn’t proof read and kind of bad… also istg, i cannot navigate tumblr for the life of me; this app has me in shambles and in tears, always.

— yan! sculptor who is, smitten. you’ve charmed her endlessly, and she is absolutely captivated by you. as much as you are her muse, you are also her inspiration, and although she enjoys capturing your beauty and your beauty alone; she can’t help but want to sculpt a creation that resembles the both of you. it warms her heart greatly, and whether or not you like her statues matters little to her because she’ll show you them anyway (but she does expect some level of praise in return).

— yan! sculptor who lives in her head, daydreaming of you. if her darling happens to be a survivor, you really must’ve caught her eye. perhaps on a whim, she’s used to playing against the same survivors, but a new addition to the roster? how peculiar, and, enticing. you’ve piqued her curiosity, and if you think you can get away with stealing her attention just like that, then you’re sorely mistaken. she chased you down the entire match, though most of it was her simply following you and seeing how you behave–– observing your features, saving them in her mind for a later date; all while you attempt to dodge her statues.

— yan! sculptor who can’t help but sigh, disappointed whenever she enters a match and notices you are nowhere to be found in the survivor’s lobby. she waits patiently for the day she gets to meet you again, and when she does, she’s elated beyond belief. her mind is lonely without you, her heart even more-so, and her artistic motivation is s depleted. know that as soon as she sees you are sitting on one of the waiting chairs, she will use whatever means necessary to win the match. as much as galatea wishes to visit you during the standby session, she also wants to surprise you, it’s been an awfully long time since she’s last seen you, hasn’t it? may as well make it special.

— yan! sculptor who plays the game as naturally as possible, though she must admit, your mere presence makes her heart race, and her statues are less calculated this time around. when you eventually reveal yourself — whether it be through rescuing a fellow survivor, decoding nearby, or simply moving across the map in her general vicinity — she will immediately change targets. galatea is determined as ever, partially to show off (she’s quite good at playing the game, isn’t she?) and partially because she wants you to pay attention to her. by the time she downs you, she’ll give you an unreadable smile (you’ve not a clue whether or not she’s intentionally being malicious, but her next actions read otherwise) because she’ll switch traits, placing three peepers down in front of you while you’re incapacitated.

— yan! sculptor who leaves you by your lonesome — as much as it pains her to leave just as the opportunity to be with you arises — she still has your fellow teammates to take care of. by the time you’ve used self-heal and gotten up, she’ll chisel over to you via hieroglyphic graveyard and bombard you with statues, and you’ll find yourself back on your knees and incapacitated once again in mere seconds. galatea’s mind is occupied with how she will approach you once she’s done eliminating your teammates. it’s not that she’s particularly nervous, she’s just content with watching you, but she figures it will be unpleasant for the two of you to sit in silence (especially knowing you’re bleeding out). the thought of making small-talk with you crosses her mind as she sets the final survivor on the rocket chair, and she hears them being sent back to the manor while she wheels her way over to you. try as you may to crawl away, but she’ll find you before you completely bleed out.

— yan! scultpor who finally has the time to meet with you alone. as galatea stands before you, you notice she’s still chiseling away despite the fact she’s summoned no statues. there is little time for the two of you to converse, but she utilizes that time wisely; asking all about you. what is your name? what is your occupation? why are you at the manor? it’s quite rare for galatea to initiate conversations, but just this once, for you. she may appear like she doesn’t care about your responses, or that she’s more focused on her sculpting, but she listens to every word you have to say. your voice is engraved in her mind, and before you’re able to bleed out, she’ll extend her hand out to you, revealing the statue she had been chiseling. is it really that surprising that it’s you? don’t worry, she’ll make an even prettier one soon; one that’s grand, that captures all your details and features down to a T. she surrenders before you can bleed out.

— yan! sculptor who spends all her time in the courtyard with you after that match. galatea has you reluctant to leave the safety of your chambers these days, but you can’t stay cooped up in your room forever now can you? if her darling happens to be a hunter, you’re likely to have been a resident of the manor long before her. maybe you’re the first to greet her, or maybe you teach her the ropes of hunting, whatever it is, you’ve got her locked in. it is truly easier this way, she gets to spend more time with you. as a hunter, galatea would be less bold; she won’t need to approach you like how she would a survivor darling simply because she knows when she gets to see you again. she would definitely find patterns in your schedule, or at least study your routine enough to the point where she believes you’re becoming predictable. galatea would somehow always manage to find you in your downtime, though play it off and jest, “fufu… what a coincidence. it seems we always meet each other,” (she pre-planned this interaction three days ago).

— yan! sculptor who often beckons you into her study. she wishes to spend time with you, even if the two of you say nothing, basking in your presence is good enough. it keeps her mind at ease, and she sculpts much finer and nicer works when you’re around. galatea enjoys having tea with you, an afternoon event you would often partake in with the bloody queen and the photographer–– but no longer now, now that you have galatea. you have this gallantry to you, something galatea admires, and it shows when you set a cloth over the small coffee table and serve her tea. the majority of the time with her is spent in silence or scarce small-talk, but usually the sound of her humming is enough. at times like this, you may find her staring at you, but with her eyes pitch black and face expressionless, you can never tell what she’s thinking. galatea never shy’s away when you two make eye contact like this, actually, her corners of her lips tug upward into a sweet grin because all she’s thinking about is how lovely you look sitting still.

— yan! sculptor who adores seeing you dress up. miss nightingale gifts skins and costumes sparingly, so to see you in such lavish and nice clothing (though she would not mind if it was anything less) warms her heart. galatea believes you look wonderful in anything though, as she’s sculpted all variations of you that one could imagine; even your worn-clothes outfit. there is little she can do with helping you dress but she assists in whatever way she can, and although she isn’t the nervous type, her fingers tremble and her face heats up as she zips up your garments. as much as galatea loves to tamper with your hair and face, she would enjoy it much more if you were the one styling her. naturally, her hair is messy, tangled and even matted down, to have you brush it would be heavenly. and to have you clean her stained eyeshadow would be a dream, oh to wipe her smudged lipstick and apply it right. it’s a shame you don’t have matching outfits, she doesn’t see why not, especially with those two survivors — the patient and psychologist — having multiple sets together. but she does what she can, and will attempt to match with you with what she has, perhaps one day miss nightingale may be kind enough to offer you two costumes from the same essence, or better yet, a true set of matching outfits.

— yan! sculptor who asks about how your matches went whilst you were away. the truth is, galatea was spectating them, all of them. but she wishes to hear your opinion first, before she demolishes the survivors you played against that is. regardless of whether you had won, tied, or lost who knows how many times, she will definitely remember whom you played against; and she will definitely be giving them a hard time the next chance she gets to play against any of them. her spite will increase tenfold if you went friendly for them, though she won’t take her bitterness out on you, no, of course not. galatea is many things, but jealous? don’t make her laugh… but perhaps she does feel a little disheartened seeing you show such compassion and to the survivors of all things, your generosity really precedes you. if your sessions ended mainly with wins and/or ties, she will want to spend quality time with you, perhaps in the courtyard or on a picnic–– you can tell her all about the matches over tea and horderves. if your sessions ended mainly with ties/losses, she will want to patch you up if you’ve received any injuries or such. it hurts her heart to have to see you in such a frail state, especially considering her own physical appearance, and it makes her all the more vengeful when it’s her turn to play in a match again.

— yan! sculptor who is hesitant to play duo hunters with you simply for the fact she cannot stand to see you taking flare gun hits for her, let alone stuns in general. although the two of you would make quite the team, as she believes both your abilities are quite enough on their own, her temper may get the better of her in duo hunters. the eight survivors are a headache, and despite the fact she knows it is more efficient for you and her to chase different people, she will find herself gravitating back towards the area you’re in to merely check on you. galatea is determined to perform well in front of you — she usually performs well regardless of if you’re there or not — and if not to impress you, than to satiate her ever growing nerves that the survivors are getting on. but all the flare gun shots and stuns mean nothing in the end, in fact it’s all worth it when you congratulate her after sending the last survivor back to the manor; it’s truly what keeps her sane in this game-mode. and maybe if she does well enough, she can ask for a kiss instead.

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #yandere identity v #yandere idv #idv sculptor x reader #sculptor x reader #galatea claude x reader

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sculptorofcrimson · 29 days

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Yandere! Valdor

Valdor, the most loyal, the greatest of the Custodes, a Primarch in all but name. Who else can obsess more than him, whose every function besides loyalty was beaten out? A/N: Playing “fucked up obsessive twinks” on easy mode here, aren’t I? I’m sorry, SCP-XXXX who requested this, but you told me Valdor was a twink, and evil twinks are the best kind of men, so therefore this is your fault! Full throttle ahead, let us be damned together! ψ(｀∇´)ψ

Relationships: Valdor/Gn!Reader, mentioned Valdor/Emperor Mentions: @kit-williams would you like some food?

Valdor does not love.

The Custodes simply can not love. Their love perished beneath treachery and fire, ten thousand years ago, and they simply cannot piece the remnants that was a heart back together again.

The Emperor took away their ability to love any but Himself, and what else could be left but a hollow void, an immortality without substances, a heart that beats while it lacks its other half?

There was simply nothing left of him to spare when the Emperor had brought down his claws. His love, his joy, his dreams, all gone, wiped away like sand upon the sea. Leaving behind nothing more than a hollow without sustenance, a phantom vestige of a dream crushed long ago, its corpse entombed within perfected flesh and bone and blood.

He loves no one, not even himself. When the Emperor died ten thousand years ago, he lost his way. He lost his tether to life itself. And for ten thousand years he wandered for the corpse of his master. There was a poem once, a poem so long ago about the loyal dog that stood guard before his master’s bones, who licked the once-petting hand once, and laid down to die.

Valdor’s loyalty is no weaker than that dog’s.

He loves no one, not even himself. But he loves the Emperor. He loves Him, so brokenly, so obsessively, so utterly insane in his adoration, the First Custodian would have let Him tear him apart if He wished.

He loved the Emperor.

And that is why he loves you. He thinks you to be his Emperor. If not Him, then at least a shard.

He doesn’t care who you were, he doesn’t care whether you were once a captain, a Chapter Master, a Thunder Warrior even. He thinks you to be his master, back from the dead, one of His shards caught in life and flesh.

He thinks you’re Him. Or, if not Him, at least a fragment of His former glory.

Valdor calls you his Emperor, his shard, his beloved, he ignores any name you had once in favor of calling you his master. A name is only a word, after all, and you are nothing but his Emperor reborn, in his mind. A guardsman, an Astarte, a Thunder Warrior, you are all mortal beneath his eyes. He only smiles that cold, humorless smile of his when you attempt to correct him, when he brushes off your words with the same cold, humorless disinterest.

Valdor thinks you to be his Emperor. And he doesn't care that you were once someone else, you were not always his beloved, you were not the master he imagined, that you are not the master he built from memories and bones.

You were nothing before his master, he reasons, you will be nothing after his master, and you were his Emperor once upon a time. It is doubtful if he can even know love, if he had not projected his own delusions of his Emperor upon another. Valdor failed Him once and only now the fates have judged him fit enough to protect a shard of Him, one that is so frail compared to himself, so unspeakably mortal, his atonement for the master he failed so long ago.

He failed the Emperor once, and watched Him die. He will not do so again.

Protection. You will never walk free again, never without his cold presence by your side, that effortless, confident stride as he accompanies his master. You will never know the taste of sunlight, the easy voice of another conversationalist before their words taper off into uncertainty, and then fear, beneath the jealous glare of your bodyguard. How their sentences trail off, how Valdor looms like some ancient, murderous harpy, his shadow constantly overcasting yours.

He knows nothing of love, of human emotion. But he knows protection. And he knows obsession.

Valdor is not a passionate man. But he is neither a cruel one either. Of course, Valdor will never raise a spear nor blade against his adoration, to strike his master would certainly mean death, but he will slaughter your loved ones without even horror. He will whisper litanies of loyalty on his knees while his Custodes sink in the knives. He will speak ironclad promises and gilded oaths when they label your soldiers traitors and slaughter them upon the snowfields, when they hail for unity, and hear the blade fall.

He seems to like walks in wintery fields. It reminds him of what he lost long ago, when the Emperor took him atop Ararat, and he enacted His first vengeance upon the Thunder Warriors. He sometimes brings you there, to altitudes higher than even what a Space Marine can withstand, and gathers you beneath his cloak, whispering memories that were never truly yours, asking for your orders, asking for your forgiveness, asking if you can remember what it felt like ten thousand years ago.

(Sometimes, you can nearly believe him when he says you’re a shard. It’s flattering, almost, to be under the eye of the captain-general.)

He can kill. There is nothing left of him if he could not. Nothing but the Emperor’s spear, a sharpened tool meant to kill and to serve, and to be cast away when its function is complete. You have nothing to fear from him, of course, he would rather end himself than raise a blade against his master. But he loves no other. He does not know how to love. And that makes him dangerous. You know it when you gaze into his eyes, you are sure you could imagine him covered in the blood of your loved ones, guardian spear flashing as he hacks through them without even the shadow of hesitation. He will take no fear, no regret, no relief, barely even satisfaction in the grim act, and yet that is somehow more profane than joy in slaughter. Not even a single hint of joy, wild and unfettered in the sheer cruelty, not even a single hint of an ambition for why he would lay such altars of blood before his master’s feet, only simply because He wanted it to be so, and simply because he loved Him.

In his eyes, you are his Emperor. But he does not always obey you. He does not kneel as he would’ve knelt before his master. Because he knows, Valdor knows that to protect Him, to serve Him properly, sometimes he must smother Him for His own good. It’s the twisted rationale of a dog who has lost his master, whose death had rocked him so thoroughly he was willing to kill to save Him again.

Valdor kneels, of course. He’ll kneel before you and speak his words of loyalty, he’ll give you his names one by one if you only ask. Valdor has never considered himself eloquent with words, but he’ll listen to you, he’ll even let you command him as the Emperor would have done. Rank be damned, he cares not if his Emperor had been reborn as a guardsman or an Astartes or even a Thunder Warrior.

But he does not hide his obsession. To obsess is the only way he knows to love, after all. He’ll smother his beloved with his protection, with his adoration. He’ll hack his way to be their only protector, their only bulwark before the madness, the only man they can trust to defend them. Gaze upon his Emperor once, he’ll tear them apart. Love the Emperor more than him, and he’ll bury their bones beneath the snowfields.

And be loved by the Emperor more than him….and he’ll betray them as he had betrayed the Thunder Warriors. He’ll sink in golden knives and golden spears in turned backs without even the hint of remorse, Valdor will remind his beloved that it is he who is the servant, it is he who serves to be praised for his duty. Valdor can take you from your family as the Emperor took him from his, he’ll so effortlessly ensure the utter protection of his new Emperor, all for himself.

No one will protect you more than I, my liege.

It is he who should be the favored servant.

No one can love you more than I, my Emperor.

He’ll croon those litanies of loyalty to you. He’ll whisper those promises of protection, of ambition, he’ll promise you an eternity while standing atop the frozen ashes of your loved ones. He’ll promise you a throne if you don’t cry, if you’ll love him as his master did. He’ll bring you a crown of gold, he’ll strangle the living storm for you, if only you promise to let him protect you, if you promise if you’ll be his Emperor.

You died once. I will not let you do so again, my Emperor.

And his obsession would never be checked, and much less ended by the true power behind the Imperium.

You are his Emperor. In that mind He broke so thoroughly long ago, you are the Emperor, reborn. Heavy is the head that bears the laurel, bloodied is the hand that holds this mad dog’s leash.

It is Valdor who should be the favored servant.

No one will protect you more than I, my liege.

He will protect you.

He will protect you, obsess over you, guard you with the hollow that is a heart. He’ll bring you a throne, a crown, an army, an eternity, if only you promise, if only you’ll be his Emperor.

The Emperor died ten thousand years ago. And in turn, he casted you in His corpse.

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drawingdroid · 5 months

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Melting Point: Chapter I

A Sculptor Din Djarin x Art PhD Reader Series

Read Prologue

Chapter I: The Artist/Metallike

Summary: Your roommate drags you to an art opening and It'll turn out to be such an interesting night that will leave you dreaming of brown eyes.

Words: 1721

Warnings: This is a slow burn, you've been warned!; a lot of talking about Art and PhD life; Reader is not Grogu's nanny but this is very Grogucentric if that makes sense; And Reader is Din's employee too; Very grumpy and antisocial Mando; Grogu is human but the only thing described are his eyes; Reader appearance is left blank; Age gap of 10-15 years; Fluff fluff fluff

A/N: Hi! I'm sorry for taking forever to upload this after so much teasing! Everything was practically written until Chapter 4, but last month has been a disaster. Hopefully, I'll be able to be back at it now. Anyway, I hope you enjoy Reader and Din meeting with a very Pride and Prejudice vibe.

When you arrived, the place was cramped. Everyone fancied free drinks on a Friday night at Navarro’s downtown, but this was… excessive for an art opening. After the awful day you’d had, you didn’t feel like squeezing yourself between strangers. You were just about to say to your roommate that you had thought better about it when you saw the poster in the window display of the local.

The Guild Gallery presents:

Mando

The Master of Beskar

15 unprecedented sculptures

Your jaw dropped immediately to the floor. You were so excited you had to grab your roommate’s arm to calm down.

“What’s the matter, sweetie?”

“You just dragged me to an exhibition of my favourite artist ever without knowing?” You were over the moon right now, Mando wasn’t an artist who used social media so it was never easy to come up with his next show. It was all part of the mysterious aura that was around him.

“Rumors say he is based in Nevarro.” One of your roommate’s friends severed, and your eyes sparkled in awestruck.

“Do you think he may come?” You were dying to ask him some questions, maybe even you could arrange an interview with him for your thesis work…

“He never shows up in his own exhibits, so I don’t think he will.” You were a bit disappointed, but it was the truth. No one knew his real name or face, only the generic pseudonym, and his breathtaking sculptures.

“Do you think he makes it in an entitled prick way? Like, to feed the mystery or something and sell more?” You looked at the boy furiously. You obviously didn’t know Mando personally, but you had extensively studied his artwork and could affirm you knew a bit about the psyche that hid behind his artwork.

“What if he’s just shy, or he doesn’t like the attention?” Your mental picture of Mando was the one of a person who struggled severely with emotion and used his sculpture as the only possible outcome. That was one of the reasons why his art moved you so deeply.

Your interlocutor didn’t have the opportunity to respond since it was your turn to enter the gallery. It was luxurious but not tacky, with a minimal interior design that gave the artwork the space to shine. You were mesmerized. Soon you grew apart from the group because they were more interested in the free booze while you admired each one of the pieces. Grabbing your tiny notebook from your purse, you annotated everything about the sculptures that resonated de most with you.

“Breathtaking, aren’t they?” A well-dressed, middle-aged man was standing next to you. He had an air of dignity in him, but also a pinch of mischief in his eyes that delatated his true character.

“They’re stunning.” You mumbled admiring the hard planes of the sculpture that was standing right in front of you. The same you had been observing for twenty minutes straight: a faceless warrior in a startling fighting pose.

“Mando always finds a way to surprise us.” Then, he extended his hand to you and you squeezed it gently. “Greef Karga, I’m the owner.” He clarified while shaking vigorously your smaller hand. You blushed violently, maybe he had mistaken your interest for being a potential customer? Nevertheless, you offered him a smile and your name too, always wanting to be polite.

“I’m actually a researcher on Mandalorian art, and I’ve been following Mando’s career for a while.”

“You’re talking to the man who sold his first artwork, sunshine.” He confessed as if he was telling you a secret. The desired effect was accomplished and your eyes were opened wide.

“Really? That’s…that’s…” Your words were betraying you and the man only smiled wider. Then you started a battle with your purse to find the wallet. “I…know he does like to keep his…privacy, but if he is ever interested in an interview I’ll…it will be really meaningful to my research.” You blurted giving him your business card. He observed it and repeated your name to himself.

“I’ll let him know darling.” He then put a friendly hand on your shoulder as a farewell when something heavy touched your foot, making you flinch. You looked to the floor: a metal ball had hit your foot. Looking confused at your surroundings, you crouched to grab the round object when its owner appeared.

“Oh hi, baby!” You cooed, your face brightening when your eyes found the tiny face of a toddler. “Is this yours?” They approached you a bit shyly, looking at you and the ball, as if weighing their options. The baby stared at you, blinking a few times, until they bent clumsily to grab it.

“Patu!” The little one said showing triumphantly the shiny object. The corner of your eyes squinted of the pure tenderness this creature provoked in you.

“Grogu, my little man!” Karaga called, to your surprise. You had to admit: you had forgotten about him for a little moment, but it was great that they knew each other. The toddler squeaked in delight, running to the man’s leg. He certainly looked amused with the encounter, so they were probably close-

“Ah!” The boy babbled cheerfully to you both, showing off his treasure again, and then started patting Karga’s leg.

“Your dad hasn’t got you dinner? Come here, let me grab you a sandwich.” The toddler sounded excited and made grabby hands to the older man to be picked up. Your eyes met with his as he observed you with curiosity. They were dark and huge, almost too big for the kid’s face. You gave him your brightest smile and he did the same in return.

“He looks sharp as a tack!” You praised, giggling a bit.

“You wouldn’t imagine.”

Both of you laughed together as Grogu started to explain something in incoherent baby language.

“Oh, so you are enjoying the Art Exhibition too? What’s your favourite piece? I see…” You pretended to understand his excited gestures as Karga started to walk to the catering table. “It’s clear you’re such a connoisseur, sir.”

“Could you hold him a moment? I’m making him a sandwich.” Karga’s question took you off-guard, but he didn’t wait for an answer as he placed the toddler in your chest Both of you studied each other's eyes for a moment. You could count the times you had held a little one with the fingers of a hand. But finally, he looked satisfied after scanning your face and squeaked happily, starting playing with your hair and jewellery, even mapping your cheeks and nose with his tiny hands. A warm feeling ignited inside your chest as you replied sweet nothings to his babbling.

“Grogu! Here you are!”

The three of you looked in the direction of the baritone voice who had just called the baby. Between the multitude, appeared a man who stood up amongst everyone. Though he was dressing casually, in full denim, his handsome face and broadness were so obvious. Your mouth went dry. Not only his physical appearance but his gait and the way he carried himself. You weren’t used to meeting men like that. He was borderline intimidating. His scowl while looking at the baby didn’t help with that. Was he angry that a stranger held the boy?

“Din! Good to see you, I thought your son would be hungry.” The gorgeous man huffed in response, looking at the sandwich Greef Karga had just prepared.

“The little womp-rat is always hungry,” he mumbled and started caressing the boy’s head, and the baby giggled. “I asked you to stay there.” He scolded, but the toddler just looked happy to see him again. Din sighed in resignation and finally, it looked like he noticed your presence for the first time. While you still had Grogu between your arms, he stared at you without a word, like you were a sculpture and not a person. You observed him back without shame and he tilted his head slightly while studying you. He looked stiff as a board and didn’t stop frowning all the time.

Weird.

Luckily, Karga spoke after the strange silence between you became too tense.

“Din, this is…” Karga started introducing you after clearing his throat, but then the little boy interrupted by babbling at you while offering you his ball.

“You want to play baby?” You asked, but you could see his handsome dad pinch his nose. It wasn’t the moment to annoy this stranger who didn’t seem to like you. “Later, ok? First, be a good boy and have dinner.” Your soft voice reminded him of the prospect of food, and now he was twisting in your arms. You let go of him and the toddler ran immediately to grab Din’s calf. The man looked exhausted and 100% like he didn’t want to be there. But when he put the little one between his strong arms his face lightened up in a way that made your heart skip a beat. Without a word, he left towards the catering table. Before getting lost between the multitude, Grogu’s head popped behind Din’s toned shoulder and he waved at you. You needed a moment to recover, having melted like ice cream from the cuteness of the gesture.

What a pair.

“I’m sorry sweetheart, Din can be a little rude sometimes.” You shook your head dismissively in response when Karga excused his friend, even though a little rude was a polite way to say it.

“Don’t worry sir, the baby was so adorable I didn’t notice.” You then offered your best smile before departing. “I leave you to attend the other visitors, it’s been a pleasure.”

Later in your shared dorm, you’d think a lot about the pair you had met. Such a friendly toddler and his dad? He was so attractive and manly you felt dizzy, but he had been so rude to you. What was the problem with him? He looked like he instantly disliked you. Maybe it was your cologne? Was it your outfit? Turning in your narrow mattress, you said to yourself you had more pressing matters to attend to, like how the hell you were going to pay for the semester after your scholarship had been denied. You sighed and closed your eyes, and you dreamt with broad shoulders and bright huge eyes.

Next Chapter

Tag List: @technicallykawaiisoul

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otakusparkle · 10 months

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You can claim limited stickers edition for 5th Anniversary

Claim here :

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blankdblank · 9 months

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Never

It never crossed your mind that Thorin would make it back to the mountain to fall so suddenly. We burn together, a broken fragment of a sentence that choked you nightly when you would jolt up out of bed hearing it again. Gold still shifted, muttered conversations carried while you worked alone. Thorin in his final act shoved his nephews free of the flames and their mournful selves laid resting to let their bruised injured selves heal from the wounds gained in a landing inside an armory. Several times over they were impaled and cut in tries to scramble away from those flames and now the Elf King had been lenient after the dragon had reduced to dust under weight of the sea of gold Thorin let free to a skilled canon fired black arrow at the dragon’s belly.

Taps, soft and deliberate of the chisel and hammer in your hand, much like those of the toe of boots and hands on hilts of weapons for the Dwarf King who knew you startled on watch. So every night he would come to sit with you. Sit and tell you the most fantastic things about all the lands he had traveled and people in kingdoms you couldn’t dream of.

They had told you once in a casual mention that there was reason as to why all the statues of Dwarves were identical. No more. Just one more gentle knock of a stubborn bump away to perfect the outline of eyelashes that framed one of the Dwarf King’s impossibly blue eyes. “Oh,” you sighed. For a moment resting your chisel wielding hand atop the fur lining of his outer jacket he loaned you many a night insisting his people were built for the cold night air.

“Stubborn fool.” Those words more for yourself than him as you’d let yourself hope even for a moment things could have ended any other way than with you again in sights of a future alone and without use in another bustling city like the one you had been all but voted out of to be prey to Wraiths in search of revenge for one of their slain kin.

Dust and the fallen clump of this fine silvery green stone, broken off from a wall you’d chosen for this task, obscuring the face you had carved urged your lungs to fill. Right out the air came to puff the dust away. But just as sudden the blink of those eyes that began to bubble blue had you wobble on the crate you stood upon and fall backwards shrieking in fright. Noise of the gold and conversations halted, and just for a moment even the injured Princes turned their heads in the off putting silence before bodies turned and all the Dwarves came racing in case of danger, heard to lift weapons lying around to not be unarmed.

“Bunnanunê,” right apart his lips split to the bleed of a fleshy tone across the cheeks and forehead you labored days on worry spread across Thorin’s face. Raven black hair came to color out of the green stone just like the shade on the fur color of his coat. “Why are you frightened?” Up into the dark his same eyes so skilled to see through it his eyes moved to scan over the hall lit poorly by open bowl lanterns you had drug here around this ruined chunk of stone you hoped to make use of after it was shorn off a wall to block a path to the treasury. “Where is the dragon?!” barely above a whisper his voice dropped in worry and his body tried to jolt forward and take hold of you, assuming that must be why you were scared. The lack of movement from his knees down however had him halt and stare open mouthed in shock to find himself being carved out of stone.

“Lass!” several of the others shouted in a muddle of voices, only until they entered the doorway and dropped their weapons to name the living statue you still were splayed back across the cold dusty rubble coated floor staring up at. “Thorin…” many uttered to the stunned, now reborn Dwarf King who came to accept a hard truth he didn’t dare to dream might be true.

The rule being you never carve a Dwarf from stone outside the specified rules of design, to prevent heartbreak, as only their destined One could bring their fallen half back to life. Just as Durin was brought back three times by his One until they both passed together of old age into the halls of Mahal.

Bofur was kind enough to hasten over alongside Ori, to get you upright as the latter explained the rule that now had you marked to be their Queen. But only after you did one thing, you had to finish carving out his legs and feet. Jokes of shrinking or adding inches came and went while Thorin spent every moment possible to adore his treasured One until he could step off of this clump of stone and scoop your still mildly trembling self into his arms and never allow himself to be parted from you again.

@lilith15000 @theincaprincess @devilishminx328 @jesevans and adding @deepestfirefun

#Thorin x oc #Thorin x reader #the hobbit #thorin #erebor #lotr #sculptor reader #angst and fluff

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mariewriting · 1 year

Text

GN reader

Warnings:Mild possessiveness, observation.

Notes;None

Yandere platonic! Galatea, Grace, Yidhra, Mary and Michiko with a child! reader who is afraid of them.

Galatea Claude

Sisterly affection.

Galatea simply doesn't care if you are afraid of her, she tries to get closer to you. Only because she saw in you a tenderness, a sister's tenderness.

Even if she doesn't care much for the fact that you are afraid of her, she still finds herself a little bit, will try to make you lose your fear. Whether it is by giving little handmade gifts or just showing a little affection.

She does all this. Because remembering the affection she didn't have in her childhood, and looking at you, a child, makes her want to hold you and care for you like a sister does.

She will make you lose your fear.

She just wants to hold you and never let go. Like a sister.

Grace

Sisterly affection.

Grace is very disappointed to find out that you are afraid of her.

Grace can't think of any reason why you should be afraid of her. But she will accept it.

She won't be on top of you all the time, but she will make sure that you are okay. Even if you don't like her presence very much.

Grace views you with a fondness, a platonic fondness. It was the first time Grace felt comfortable in the presence of a human, a human child.

Even if you are always afraid of her presence.

Grace also feels the desire to protect you, because of her troubled past, and is very afraid of you seeing humans, afraid that they will do the same thing they did to her.

Grace will protect you, like a sister.

Yidhra

Motherly affection.

I think Yidhra would be amused to see you afraid of her. She thinks it's funny about how desperate you are to see one of her followers following you. But Yidhra would feel a little, I say, a little guilty. But she has no regrets.

Even though Yidhra is sadistic with everyone, she takes it easy on you. She doesn't scare you so much, and if you get too scared, she just stops what she's doing.

Yidhra is incredibly affectionate to you, even though you have never actually seen her before.

She sends her followers to deliver things for you, be it strangely strange things that you have never seen or heard of. You didn't even know what it was, and you didn't care.

Yidhra would feel a great platonic affection for you, and I dare say it is a maternal affection. But she is very strange, so I can't decide if she has a maternal or platonic affection for you.

She really thinks you are a very interesting child.

You always feel someone watching you when you are sleeping.

Michiko

Motherly affection.

If Michiko realizes that you are afraid of her because of her Prajna form, Michiko will try to spend less time in Prajna form, and more time in beauty form. In the hope that you will lose your fear.

Michiko will try to show more affection, and spend more time with you.

Michiko feels an enormous maternal love blooming in her heart at the sight of you, because in her mind, you are her child. Even if you are not of blood.

If you start to lose your fear, Michiko would feel very victorious. And she will be smiling all day long. Even after losing a match.

She will treat you as her child, sometimes even asking you to call her Mom, and if you do, she would be smiling and proud for the rest of the day.

Michiko will protect you, no matter what.

Mary

Motherly affection.

Mary would feel a little offended when she realized that you are afraid of her.

However, Mary doesn't know why you were afraid of her, and wouldn't even try to pressure you to tell. Because she knew that it's not nice to be forced to talk or do anything.

Mary thinks you are an adorable child, who feels like taking you out of that game

Mary would try to show more affection. Either with words or with gestures. She also wouldn't be the type to be too clingy like Michiko, but she's not that distant either.

She keeps wondering what such a young child is doing in such a horrible game.

Mary would feel a great deal of maternal affection toward you, which is no surprise to anyone. When Mary gets a chance, she gives you a long hug, which lasts about three minutes. And you come out of it much calmer.

#identity v x reader #identity v #writing #identity v naiad #identity v grace #identity v galatea #identity v sculptor #identity v yidhra #identity v dream witch #identity v michiko #identity v geisha #identity v mary #identity v bloody queen #yandere platonic

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rosemaze-reveries · 10 months

Text

little afternoons 🗡

pairing. sculptor (animal witch) x you genre. fluff 😔🫰 notes: galatea & ann are sisters, reader has long hair

A soft smile tugs at your lips, followed by a gentle knock against the doorframe. You have no doubt she already knows you’re here—this is her forest after all, and nothing here is a secret from her. But you still announce your presence, as she still expects a greeting.

Salt-and-pepper hair pinned up in her usual bun, she peeks out from her work alcove with curious eyes. Through the glass, she sees you flash a bundle of envelopes.

“Oh...!”

As soon as she opens the door for you, it’s a matter of seconds before you’re surrounded by her friends — the canaries swarm to strip you of your traveling coat and the deer nudge your legs, goading you further inside. The Witch herself greets you with a smile.

“My goodness, it’s been ages!”

She ruffles your sleeve as a quick hello, but of course it’s the letters she’s really after. She snatches them from you and gently leafs through them, checking over the names of each sender. They’re always the same every time. But she still reads through them with her eyes wide and curious, as if one might surprise her someday.

“How has she been lately?” she asks once she finishes, clutching the bundle against her heart. A knowing bluebird flits over to drop a letter opener on her wheelchair’s side table.

“Ann?”

Galatea rolls her eyes. “Who else?”

“Fine, I think. I’m sure she’ll tell you more in her letters. She misses you terribly.” You hang up your hat on one of four hooks mounted on the wall. Each is haloed by a wooden animal that resembles the rest of the carvings stationed around the room. Yours takes the shape of a fox while Galatea’s favorite hat hangs beneath a rabbit. The owl is for lost travelers who occasionally seek shelter in her cottage. And the cat is reserved for Ann, who has never ventured to visit. Even so, neither sister dares to give up the idea of ‘someday.’

Your eyes fix on the cat’s empty hook. At the very least, you know Ann is still alive. It’s easy to keep tabs on someone as widely known and loved as her. But witches have been vanishing left and right, and every time you visit Galatea you wonder which will be the last time you deliver her letters. Galatea, perceptive as always, catches those lingering seconds.

“What else did you bring? Let me see.” Her voice prompts you to tear your gaze from the wall.

“Cakes from town,” you procure a stack of pink-and-white dappled boxes from your bag. “I thought you might like a taste of the city. They’re from a new bakery that’s been all the rage lately.”

Galatea spares a single glance at the boxes before her eyes flick back to your face. “I don’t care for the city,” she says simply. “But I know you love it, and I’m interested in the taste of your love. Which is your favorite?”

“Mine? Try the middle one. It’s like magic in a box.” You don’t elaborate on the flavor, instead handing it to her before rounding the parlor table. And then, before you forget, you add: “Nothing compares to your baking, though.”

“Of course not. Especially not cakes from the city,” she huffs, but her features soften again moments later. “Thank you.”

Neatly setting down the rest of your things, you pluck out the pins from your hair and pass them to the bluebirds, who have long since grown accustomed to your stays. Galatea’s eyes trail after you. She watches your hair fall loose, tumbling over your shoulders. Quickly she grows disinterested in the cakes you’ve brought her.

“You should stay longer this time,” she tells you. She reaches out a hand, and you know to take it. Then she reels you closer. “Coming and going so often might attract unwanted eyes. I don’t want anyone finding this place.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere.”

“I know. I won’t let you.” Her fingers take up your hair, coiling strands around her knuckles. She can be a little possessive at times. But there is no hint of menace in her words, only a wish. “Sometimes, the stories the people spread about evil witches don’t feel so far-fetched. I certainly wish I could lock you away and have you all to myself.”

Her nails trace over your collar, and your shoulders, and eventually settle above your heart. A rush of heat overtakes your chest.

“I wouldn’t mind. The stories never prepared me for how beautiful the witches would be.”

Tutting her tongue, she blinks away an eyeroll, then lightly shoves you backward. “Oh, please. You’re unbearable. Besides — I need you around. Who else would deliver my letters?”

The glow in her eyes makes it clear she’s enjoying your company. But even if you were only her postman, maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.

#identity v #idv imagines #galatea claude #idv sculptor #galatea x reader #idv x reader

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taotaoirl · 5 months

Text

idv masterlist

galatea (sculptor):

galatea claude x reader general headcanons (sfw)

mary (bloody queen):

mary x reader general headcanons (sfw)

joseph (photographer):

yandere!joseph x reader (sfw)

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zdux · 9 months

Text

New Chapter!!!

I finally posted a new chapter of Sweet Melodies & Celestial Bodies on ao3!! Here's the link!

#zdux #zdux writes #zdux speaks #idv #idv x reader #idv violinist #idv violinist x reader #idv antonio #idv antonio x reader #identity v antonio #antonio paganini #idv sculptor #idv galatea #idv michiko #survivor reader #idv survivor #identity v #idv survivor x hunter

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hanabaki · 1 year

Text

A/n: Before we start. Banner is made by me, I apologize about it looking choppy. And criticism is always welcome!

You're not mad? Are you?

(Klee x Sculptor! Reader) Platonic

You shouldn't have let her near the statues and sculptures. You knew things would end badly, you should've just told her to come with you to buy some things from the market. But did you? No you didn't and so the consequences of your negligence are where we are at the moment. Klee looked at you with a nervous look, she could only hope you didn't get too angry with her. And she hoped that you won't tell Jean anything that happened, she doesn't want to get grounded again! Archons knows what she would do if that were to happen.

You stared at the kid for a few seconds, them at your now broken sculptures and back at her. Disbelief written all over your face, the room was in total disarray, your tools scattered left and right. Pieces of dried cement were scattered all over the floor and finally your poor cat was hiding in a corner, standing like those frightened cats you would only see in cartoons and it was hissing at Klee. You bent and sat on your knees making you look at Klee on eye level. You looked her over for any injuries but luckily she had nothing fatal. Only a scratch on her face from your cat, you could only lightly shake your head and laugh pitifully. Klee's voice piped up, it sounded innocent and scared "You aren't mad, are you?" And with her staring at you with those puppy eyes, you couldn't really. You shook your head no and patted her on the shoulder gently, trying to speak in the calmest voice you could muster "No, Klee I am not mad. And no I won't tell Jean about anything that happened.." You paused mid sentence, a sly smile slowly creeping up onto your face. Oh no, she knew what this meant, while she is on one hand relieved she is a little bit sad about the punishment that you're going to ensure. You continued "If you help me clean the place and will help me redo the work." She only could look on in fear, thinking that being grounded didn't sound so bad as this…

And so, with enough elbow grease and effort you and Klee managed to clean the room and restore 2 of the many, many sculptures that were destroyed. A pout was evident on her face as she focuses on a small dolphin sculpture she was trying to make, the feeling of the clay felt so strange. It was so clumpy and gooey and it smelt so earthy and salty, she only could gag at the smell. And the tool she was given didn't help her as much as she hoped it would, the thin wire tool only took off smaller chunks of the sculpture rather than larger surface area's. Once she finished however, she dragged you off your seat and pointed at her work. Seemingly proud of what she did "See, see! I finished it! Can I go outside now and play?" You couldn't hold the slight smile that cracked up your face. Sure the dolphin looked poorly made, but you know Klee put a lot of effort into it and so you let her off the hook. Once you have her the green light to go outside you went to the kitchen and made some tea to relax from this bizarre day.

Sure the kid made a lot of work you had to do, but you wouldn't have it any other way. And probably wouldn't she, but now she's extra careful because she doesn't want to make you mad ever again.

#genshin x reader #genshin x you #platonic #Hanabaki's Library #fanfic #Sculptor! Reader #I don't know what else to add

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luvelve · 2 months

Text

˚ · . sweet blue - k. mingyu

summary: your husband’s not very good at asking for things, not even for a shave. but of course, he gets it either way.

pairing: husband!mingyu x afab!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

warnings/tags: kissing, shaving, mentions of use of a blade

a/n: i took a long and unexpected break from writing and i��m happy to be back <3 this has been sitting in my drafts for sooooo long and i finally finished it today. the ending was kinda rushed but i wanted to publish it either way to kinda get myself out of this slump. as always, feedback & likes/reblogs are always welcome :)

the dark colored marble touches the front of your thighs as you inch closer, which surprises you but you try your best not to flinch because of the task at hand. at this moment, you feel like an artist, a sculptor if you will; carefully carving clay with utmost precision. except you’re not a sculptor, and you’re not carving clay. you’re in your bathroom giving your husband, mingyu, a shave.

this was new for the both of you, as mingyu always just shaved his incredibly slow growing mustache by himself. what started all this is him seeing you in your nightstand or in the bathroom doing your makeup and skincare, and he finds it all so amusing. he swears harps and violins play in the background when you’re in your own little world, dusting your cheeks with blush, taking your mascara off, or applying lip balm? lip… stick? lip…. whatever it is that you put on your lips, he thinks to himself. all he knows is that he can watch you do it all day. but he’s also left wondering, how it would feel to do what you do on him.

for some reason, mingyu isn’t able to muster up the courage to ask you straightforward to do his skincare, but he is able to ask you to be the one to shave him since he tells you its that time of the month where his mustache gotten too long for his liking. he comes up with the excuse of not doing the job well enough, and that his face gets all ‘itchy’ afterwards. which is all a lie of course, but it’s enough to convince you to do what he asks of you.

and so you find yourself in your shared bathroom at nine in the morning, standing in between your husband’s legs as he sits on the counter, both of your faces inches from each other. the room is silent but not eery, it’s a comfortable silence. mingyu had joyfully shown you the things he uses for his shaving routine: a cheap razor, shaving cream, some aftershave seokmin had recommended to him, and a towel.

“you really should get one of those good quality razors. not these disposable ones.” you scold mingyu softly, looking at him sternly with one hand resting on his head and the other holding the razor.

“but they’re expensive.” he extends the last syllable in protest, his reply a bit garbled as he tries his best not to move his mouth too much. you know mingyu well enough that he would be pouting at this moment, if only you weren’t shaving his upper lip.

you’re too focused on the task at hand that you don’t bother arguing with the giant sulky man in front of you. you continue making slow downward strokes using the razor, watching the hair slowly disappear. mingyu doesn’t have a lot of hair on his face like other guys but you take your time, making sure to get the job done right. it is, after all, your first time.

your husband watches as your lips contort out of focus; a habit of yours that he’s taken notice and grown fond of over the years. every now and then , you get rid of the hair and cream, swishing the razor in the sink that’s filled about halfway in water. mingyu feels nothing else but happiness and content in this very moment that he’s internally doing jumping jacks.

your resting hand shifts from his head and onto his cheek to get better leverage and mingyu just has to lean in to your touch. he relishes the feeling of your warm hand and then looks at you with adoration in his eyes.

“baby…” you raise your eyebrows at him, wondering what on earth he’s doing this for in the middle of a shave. mingyu doesn’t react to your words but instead shoots you a small derpy smile, and only you would know what he means.

if there’s one thing your husband is good at, it’s getting you to give him your love and attention without even saying anything. there are nights when mingyu comes home exhausted and all he has to do is stand there in your doorway, signalling to you that he wants to be in your embrace. or when you get up earlier than him and you find him just as he’s about to wake up; he’s buried in the sheets, hair all messy, just laying there, silently telling you that he wants a taste of your lips before his morning coffee.

and it’s the same thing he’s doing now. you let out a small sigh as you tilt your head a bit in fake annoyance before you lean in to connect your lips with his. it’s quick but it’s enough that mingyu lets out a hum of contentment. you pull back and he giggles as your lips catches some of the shaving cream, giving yourself a tiny little mustache.

“happy?” you quickly reply, and mingyu catches you to plant another kiss on your lips, placing his hand on your cheek to deepen the kiss a bit.

“very.” he says, as he swipes the pad of his thumb on your upper lip to get rid of the shaving cream he transferred onto you. his giggles bounce off the quiet walls of your bathroom.

“now can you sit still so i can finish this little bit that’s left?” you say to him, and he replies with a small nod and a sheepish smile, one that’s big enough that his canines show through. mingyu feels like a sixth grader who just kissed his crush. if the marble counter wasn’t in the way, he’d be kicking his feet.

you finish the small patch of hair that he has left and you proceed to put aftershave on him, assuming it is what you put after one shaves. you put a little bit on your hands and you’re thrown off by its strong musky scent. surely this can’t be good for his skin, you think to yourself.

“babe, you really use this stuff? i think this is way too strong for you.” you say with a worried look on your face. “well… seokmin told me it was good so i just used it too.” he replies.

“well yeah, it could be working for him but for you… i’m not too sure. i don’t know… i’m just worried.” you trail off, getting some tissue to rid your hands of the product and his eyes follow you around the bathroom while you do so. you shuffle back to stand in between mingyu’s legs, “i’ll go get something from my stuff instead.”

he watches as you momentarily leave the room to grab something from your vanity. he waits in the bathroom like a five year old waiting for his mom at the grocery counter. he hears the sound of your drawer open and close and it makes him chew at his lower lip in excitement.

“okay, this should do the job.” you say as you take the product onto your hands and pat it gently on your husband’s annoyingly smooth face. you make sure to cover all the parts that the blade has touched, and your head tilts left and right trying to make sure you didn’t miss any spot.

the way his eyes light up and follow your every move don’t go unnoticed by you. his hands make their way to rest on your hips again, squeezing every so gently as not to distract you.

“aaand, that’s the last bit of it.” you say, tightening the cap of your moisturizer and setting it down on the counter. mingyu internally pouts because the task is done, nonetheless he still props himself off the counter to take a look in the mirror.

“thank you, baby.” he says softly, shooting you a sweet smile as he turns to face you again. his arms snake around your waist to pull you in for a kiss and just when your noses touch, you pause. “you know… we still have a bit of time before we have to head out. why don’t we go back to bed for a little while?”

mingyu instantly picks up on what you’re trying to say and of course he jumps on the opportunity, “yeah?” he questions, and you nod as you wrap your arms around his neck. “well you know i can’t say not to that.” his smile reaching from one ear to the other. he leans down to attach his lips to yours as the both of you slowly walk backwards into your bedroom.

“oh, one more thing.” you mumble, momentarily breaking away from the kiss. “mhmm..” mingyu hums, and you feel it rumble in his chest. “i know you don’t get ‘itchy’ after you shave, it was just an excuse to get me to do it for you.” your tone is playful, and right then and there mingyu knows you’ve got him.

“what-huh? n-yes, i do!” your husband stutters, his ears turning red in embarrassment. “sweetheart, you really expect me to believe that? i know you like the back of my hand.” you reply. before mingyu is able to say anything else, you grab his arm and lead him out of your bedroom. “now let’s go, you owe me a yummy breakfast.”

#mingyu fluff #kim mingyu #seventeen x y/n #seventeen fluff #seventeen #mingyu x y/n #mingyu scenarios #seventeen scenarios #mingyu au #seventeen au #mingyu x reader #luvelve’s

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sculptorofcrimson · 25 days

Text

Smokefields

Synopsis: Valdor bathes his lord

Relationships: Valdor x female Emperor Shard

Warnings: Bathroom sex, minorly dubious consent, vaginal fingering, nsfw

Wordcount: 3057 Possible continuation of Snowfields! Had another free 20 minutes to write, enjoy!

It wasn’t a calculated move.

Valdor had carried her into the baths, she still clinging onto him, bleary and half-conscious and half-asleep from the drugs the medicae had given her. Curiously, she seemed to have taken no damage from the lightning at all. Most of the damage inflicted had been sustained while recovering her. She had no doubt Valdor had already laid waste to all that upon that mission, if there were any other than himself, but she no longer found it in herself to despair.

It was simply a rite of Valdor. The price for ruling the world, if it may even be called that.

He had settled her into the warm water with the carefulness of a man caretaking a particularly fragile piece of china, gently lowering her inch by inch, and prying off her hands. She hadn’t even realized when he had stripped her, or if he had ever done so. Valdor seemed to have no concept of shame, humiliation or dishonor, none that he could fathom in any clearly defined way anyways. He was simply here to clean the blood from her frame, there was nothing else in that broken, ironclad mind of his.

She had startled when he had approached her, even while she was lying limply in that bath, head cocked to one side. The Custodian knelt down, soapy sponge in hand, gently reaching out to grasp one of her arms. His grip had tightened when she tried to yank it away. Rhythmically, he had begun to scrub at the skin, firm but gentle. She had watched him continue for a few moments, until he moved lower, until he was working at her stomach, and then her abdomen, and then her thighs. And that was when she had moved.

Valdor had lifted one of her thighs - gently of course - and began to scrub over the skin. The water was warm, his movements swift, and the scent of soap soft and light. He passed over her limbs without even a hint of recognizing this as anything more than a habitual practice, a way of cleaning the filth off a precious piece of jewelry perhaps. She had caught his hand when he tried to move away, and pressed it against her. Something had come undone, something vicious and broken and keening. Something that howled so pitifully out into the encroaching dark, begging for someone, anyone, to listen to her, even if they were her jailer, and his love just as cold as his wrath.

“Constantin.” she had rasped. Her voice was shaky. She didn’t remember what words he had spoken then. Perhaps one more of his habitual declarations of loyalty as he had tilted his head, and waited for her command.

“Yes, my lord?”

Her command was as curt as it was direct. “Bed me.” Something had broken inside of her, alright. Something that had once cared, and was now charred to ashes. Ashes, what an ugly word. It was almost as ugly as “immortal”.

Valdor's reply didn't even change his usual cadence. "Absolutely not, my lord. Your current state-”

She no longer cared enough to fear the consequences of interrupting him. “Surely you know alternatives. Your fingers.” she nodded at him. “I command you to, Constantin.”

He could not resist a direct command. For a moment, Valdor was silent, the sponge held in one loose grip. Then he gave a nod, and set it down, turning to face her entirely.

“Do you remember the first time you had me, my lord?” his question was stated more like a declaration than an actual question. His gaze was eerie. For one, he didn’t seem to be in need of blinking. For another, she felt as if this was an interrogation, even if he had smiled - surprisingly genuine - when he had asked it. It was not a gloating smile, but there was triumph in it anyways, a bitter, victorious smile of a madman that had finally been vindicated in his delusions.

She didn’t know what came over her then. What spiteful, ancient entity had latched onto her limbs and forced open her mouth.

“Constantin.” she spoke. Her voice resonated dully, and instinctively she felt herself raising her chin, straightening her spine, looking him dead in the eye even if her stomach coiled itself into knots at the mere thought of looking into that dreaded, insane gaze.

Valdor was staring back at her with the same fervour of a man that had grovelled in the icefields for centuries, who had finally seen the flame, and was now willing to burn for it. “Yes, my lord?”

She didn’t know what possessed her then, what cruel, vengeful part had snapped out to command him. “Be quiet.” she hissed.

Valdor stalled. He looked at her, as if gauging the seriousness of her command. She spoke nothing, simply calmly held his gaze with one of her own, and impatiently bucked her hips. She had no intentions of hearing him. She would enjoy herself, even if this was the only way she would accept it.

“Be quiet.” she repeated. Then, she grasped his hand, and pressed it against her, and impatiently waved at him to continue.

Valdor simply gave a short nod to show he understood and slipped a finger into her, slow and gentle and without rush.

She inhaled sharply, arching her back as his fingers found her bud and flicked at it. Valdor’s strokes slowed, as if calculating how to approach a particularly complex problem, his grip tightening and pressing down upon her hip until she grumbled in frustration and leaned back down.

He only waited until her movements slowed, then leaned forwards with that maddening grace, as delicate as a dancer performing a pirouette. Valdor lapped gentle kisses against her neck, whispering half-audible words of loyalty she no longer cared for as he freely and gently teased against the wetness of her folds.

“More.” she whispered, gasping. Her shoulders - so thin compared to his bulk - shook in the warm water. Desperately wanting to feel full, desperately wanting to feel loved, to forget the weight of the storm and the snow. Valdor obeys with only a cold smile, something close to satisfaction igniting in his gaze as he traces her entrance with a light touch, brushing against her folds.

A finger, calloused from weaponry and thicker than any mortal man’s digit, gently probes against her one last time, slipping inside with a gentle pressure, curling just to hit the spot that made her mewl and hiss. He strokes her with a slow, wave-like rhythm, holding her against him with a gentle, almost lazy touch. She clenches, feeling Valdor shift with her movements, and rocks her hips back against him.

She was mewling, hissing, clawing at him now. Water splashed around her, droplets sinking into the finery of his robe as she dragged at him, never seeming to make a single difference against his silk. Here he would be, perfect, elegant, without flaw, without even a droplet of water upon his immaculate features. She dragged at him, pulling him closer until she could tilt her head up and kiss him.

The angle was wrong. He was too tall, too large, and he was holding her too tightly to allow for any proper manuveering. Stubbornly, she persists, mouthing against his jawline and dragging at him until he returns it. There was no passion from him, no corresponding joy as he reciprocates. It was as if she had been kissing a corpse. No. Worse. Even corpses can be loved. It was as if she was kissing a statue, one without a heart and without a mind to care.

There was no passion in this. No love. Simply the movements of a primal dance He had beaten out of Valdor long ago, the emotions behind it lost forever, but the movements still remain. He was as utterly obedient as a machine would be, without complaint, and without even resistance. It was, in some horrible, twisted way, submission.

His free hand was no longer wandering through her hair. It had instead braced itself against her hip to steady her. She exalted softly as he slipped another finger inside of her, the movement so damnably gentle. Valdor was a large man, and yet he always took such care in bed. Growling, she reached for him again, seeking to kiss him again. Again, his lips on hers. Cold, mechanical, without passion. He simply opened his lips and let her explore as she wished, he let her taste the taste of incense and parchment and gold and blood upon his tongue, he let her trace his insides without protest. He simply hummed around her tongue, hunching over so that he could reach her, letting her explore the sharp tips of his canines carefully. He pulled away first, right at the edge when she was about to run out of air. He was still there, resolute, his chest barely even moving as she gasped and writhed as his fingers curled up to hit just the right spot. When he felt her relax around him again, he resumed his moments.

She cried out as his fingers found her clit, pumping slowly, gently, yet with that dreaded assurance. The pleasure was almost too much to handle. He wasn’t smiling, not quite, but there was that careful, attentive zeal in those eyes again, dark and calculating as he wrung cry after moan from her, his fingers moving with the same efficiency and grace he had displayed in combat. One moment rubbing against her inner walls, another moving against her clit in a hypnotic pattern.

His hands. Carefully manicured nails, surprisingly slender and graceful fingers, calloused from years of weaponary but still gentle. Those hands. He had killed a man with those hands. Slit his throat and watched him die. She couldn’t divorce the image from her mind, even as she keened and squirmed and danced beneath his grip. His fingers kept their quick rhythm in and out of her cunt, making no other sound except for the skin against skin as he honed in with brutal efficiency upon that spot that made her tremble. She keened at a particularly sharp thrust of his hand, sharper than his normal movements, but not enough to hurt her. His fingers were much thicker than a mortal’s man’s, but so infinitely gentle, even as he relentlessly targeted the spot that made her scream.

She bucked against his grip, sobbing out moans of lust and overwhelming emotion combined, knowing she was in his grasp, knowing he had his free hand holding her down. Smelling that incense, feeling his terrible, murderous presence, and knowing she couldn’t escape as her weeping cunt was fucked with that slow, gentle, yet ruthless pace.

He could have her moaning in minutes. His fingertip, teasingly this time, curls against that sensitive spot. Desperately, she clamps down, rolling her hips as she chases the high. Water splashes from around her as she grasps onto his shoulders, clawing at his robes, trying to find something - anything - to grab onto.

His finger curls against that spot again. She growled a groan of pure lust as he resumes pumping, rubbing against her walls, and her breath was stolen away in a sharp pitched whine. He had been so perfectly trained, so calm and collected even as his grip shifts to rub against her clit. He had been so utterly built to satisfy any purpose, it was inconceivable how he could fail. Hungrily, she clenched around his hand, accepting the only touch he would offer her. Still obedient from her earlier command, Valdor purrs, and moves close. Uncaring of the water now soaking into his robes, he gently spreads her thighs so his hands could have greater room to work. His strokes were faster now, tracing against her walls, leaving her a squirming, writhing mess, the pleasure rising and ebbing like a wave. That sight of him, his hands fisted around a dying man’s neck, was all but forgotten now, beneath that ache, the lust building and rearing until it was nearly unbearable. She squirms, her hips pumping and buckling against him, even as he lets her move as she desires, never letting go nor forcing her still, simply silent and obedient and somehow mechanical. It’s cold, it’s freezing and passionless and heartless, but it’s perfect , as if he had been trained to every cell of her body, programmed to please every inch of her.

“Con…Constantin!” she gasps. The sound was nearly lost over the sloshing of water, and the rhythm of his fingers through her cunt.

He was not yet commanded to speak. Instead, Valdor only tilts his head, like a curious dog listening in. He knows. Of course. He could smell weakness like blood on the water. The movements of his fingers are faster now, her walls clenching and unclenching around him, working her with a simple, brutal efficiency.

Her hands had tangled against his back, tracking small handprints of water. In the places where the water touched, fabric hung dark over his tall frame, draping over lean muscle and perfectly gene-carved tissue. Valdor still holds himself with that perfect, immaculate, dancer's grace, even half-hunched over, his face without even a trace of expression as he works at her, without pause and without hesitation, his eyes occasionally roaming over her flesh as if to verify she was still there, and not a creation of bone or metal. She shudders, and closes her eyes, and loses herself in the mechanical sensation of his fingers. She could feel herself nearing, her walls clenching around his fingers, so close to the edge, hips pumping up and down against him as his movements never pause, guiding her over it with the same, insistent gentleness he had always shown.

She cries out when she comes, the waves both intense and shattering. It crashes over her, raw and brutal like a wave of frost, shockwaves reverberating through her core and her abdomen. For a moment the world dissolves, the scent of incense fading, as her mind fades to nothing but sobs and screams. Valdor works her throughout, strokes slowing down so as not to overstimulate her.

She returns slowly, through blurry eyes, hips still dully rocking as she rides his fingers, waiting for the aftershocks of her orgasm to fade. Valdor’s hand had slowed, free hand now petting her thigh, as if waiting for her to appraise his performance.

Just another dance for him, just another dance. She comes back to herself in pieces, surfacing from the afterglow with a sensation almost like dread as the world refocuses itself with jarring clarity. She could feel the weight of the laurel on her head, the scent of incense from his robes, and the mechanical way he was waiting at rest. She was still clinging to him, her hands having tracked trails of droplets over his robes.

She shudders, and turns away from him. She retreats back into the water, the hot waves lapping gently at her shoulders as she sinks down, facing away from him. He was holding the sponge again, carefully reaching over to bathe her hair, continuing on as if nothing had changed.

Mutely, Valdor tilts his head. He did not have many expressions, and there was nothing except the usual neutral expression he wore while caring for her, as if this was no more important than a routine inspection of a machine for him. He was questioning her, she gathered. Waiting desperately for her approval, or her dissatisfaction.

She closes her eyes, and sinks into the warmth of the bath. Nothing had changed. Nothing had changed at all, utterly nothing at all. She was still under his grasp, except she felt so tired, as if the weight of the world had crushed her down and shattered what remained of her.

Valdor’s fingers were brushing past her face now. He held her gently, yet with insistence, waiting for her to open her eyes. When she did, he was staring back at her, sponge held in one perfectly maintained hand.

“Was that satisfactory, my lord?” He brushes her hair with an air of careful reverence, before stepping back and waiting for her response. Streaks of wetness were already drying on his robe, leaving not even the semblance of a blemish nor scar against him. He was immortal, wasn’t he? Immortal, and utterly without change.

She resisted the urge to snort a laugh. Instead, she smiled, tired and exhausted and having all the fight broken out of her.

“Yes, Constantin.”

Valdor smiles coldly, as if those were the words he had scripted beforehand, as if this was a performance, and he had taken a bow after a particularly trying dance. There was nothing behind that smile, nothing but a mind that did not know how to love.

“Thank you, my lord.”

When Valdor returned to his ministrations as if nothing had changed, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t bear to gaze upon him, or to feel his cold, appraising gaze upon hers. And she was tired.

So tired. So utterly tired. The water was warm around her naked form, Valdor’s movements slow and soothing as he continued the bath, but she was cold. So utterly cold, and so utterly tired, as if the heart beating inside of her had burst and revealed nothing but gold inside. For a moment she understood what the Thunder Warrior Primarch must have felt, feeling the lifeforce bleed from him but not even bothering to stem the blood dripping from his slit throat, no longer having the strength to fight but still helm turned up, still snarling at an empty sky, mouth twisted into a fading growl. He hadn’t died then, not yet, but the years he spent in purgatory after the betrayal must have been no better. Waiting, seething, decaying in his own misery and loss, nothing but shadow now, nothing but decaying, waiting, and watching, simply waiting to die. A prisoner just hoping his gallows could be constructed even a day earlier. A corpse. That’s what they both were. They were the dead, taking part in the future only as handfuls of ash and splinters of bone.

She was already dead, even the ship knew it, even the world itself knew it, even she herself knew it, it was only Valdor who refused to confess to that.

Pinglist: @nonus-secundus @badbobdooley @bleedingichorhearts @starfrost740 @katie-faye1 @sigtamds @troylovesdoomguy @the-pure-angel @metronix36-blog @krynnmeridia @distantmoonbeam @futuristicchaospoetry @liar-anubiass-blog @subtle-like-a-brick-to-the-face @squishyowl @slaanesh @absent-still @sharenadraculea @idonotknowhowtochoosenames @kit-williams

#warhammer 40k #wh40k #sculptor of crimson #constantin valdor #Yandere Constantin Valdor #adeptus custodes #warhammer #wh40k writing prompts #constantin valdor x reader #valdor x oc #yandere adeptus custodes #male yandere #I am terrible at tags #unhealthy relationships

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drawingdroid · 5 months

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Melting Point: Chapter II

A Sculptor Din Djarin x Art PhD Reader Series

Read Prologue | Chapter I

Chapter II: The Sculptor/Temper

Summary: You get a job offer you can't refuse and meet your new boss, a gruff sculptor who is so familiar.

Words: 2393

A/N: I darlings! I hope you enjoyed Christmas if that is your thing! I'm back with a new chapter, let me know what you think because I have a lot of feelings about The Armorer being reader's thesis tutor *cries in mommy issues*. Hope you enjoy this!

That morning you so were nervous. No, terrified. Finally, you were having your first meeting with your thesis tutor, the renowned artist and professor Dr. Armorer. You admired her work so much, and her deep knowledge of Ancient Mandalorian Art was admirable. All of her books were constantly by your bedside, extensively annotated. What would your role model think of you?

Your first impression was that she commanded so much respect with only her way of standing. She insisted on meeting in the faculty’s foundry, while you had expected to talk in her office. You couldn’t get your eyes off her while she was working with the red-hot metal against her anvil. She stopped hammering when she noticed you standing awkwardly at the door.

“Welcome kid.” Her voice was flat while the visor of her safety mask was fixed into you. “I’m sorry for the scholarship.” Okay, so right to the point, no pleasantries. You shivered, feeling self-conscious, and downed your gaze to the floor. “Your proposal is magnificent and I pushed for you to be admitted, but the budget is limited and now Nevarro City is placing its interest in other departments.” After placing her tools in their place. She didn’t remove her leather gloves though.

“Thank you Dr. Armorer, I’m well aware that investing in Art has never been one of the top priorities of the governments.” Your tone came surprisingly cynical while it was sad too. Your cheeks blushed for the sudden outburst in front of the professor.

“Do you drink caf?” You nodded and she directed her attention to a little coffee maker in a corner that you hadn’t noticed earlier. Soon she handed you a steamy cup of the dark liquid. She had brewed one for herself but hadn’t lifted her golden mask to drink yet. It looked like she was studying you.

“Professor, I’m very embarrassed to admit this, but I applied to the program expecting to receive that scholarship, and without it I’m afraid cannot afford my studies,” you blurted with your gaze fixated on your drink. “I’m very sorry for having wasted your time, but…”

“What brings you to want to study Mandalorian art, kid? She interrupted mid-sentence and you swallowed hard. A heat started expanding through your veins and it wasn’t because of the coffee. It was always the same when you spoke about your passion.

“Mandalorian culture is one of the most ancient ones still alive. The artistic manifestations were present early in their history and bound intimately with the development of the technology necessary to process beskar. The importance of the clans' signets was another factor to push for a more refined technique when working the metal…”

“I didn’t ask you for the book definition of Mandalorian art. My question was why you, a non-Mandalorian, want to specifically specialize in our art.” Her tone was still flat, but commanding. Had you made her mad? Was it wrong that you wanted to study Mandalorian Art?

“The way your sculpture is so raw and naked and still conveys the most profound, earth-shattering feeling while using something as cold as beskar, turning it into living and breathing things. It’s bold and succinct, it shows and hides and that gives me goosebumps every time I look into a Mandalorian sculpture.” You didn’t want to be so passionate in your first encounter with Professor Armorer, but the fear of being rejected not only by the scholarship commission but also by her, made you snap. Your skin felt hot and your heart was hammering inside your chest.

The Armorer, as everyone called her, hummed in contentment, and then she grabbed a notepad and a pencil that had seen better days and scribbled something.

“My friend is looking for an assistant to help him around in the studio. Since your background is in Fine Art, I think you’ll manage just fine.” She gave you the paper with only a number and address on it. You looked at her quizzically. “The salary he offers should cover your stay here. I’ll arrange your schedule so your obligations as a PhD student are met.” You could cry with gratitude right now, even though you knew nothing about this job. “And concerning your tuition fees, let me move some strings. I can’t promise anything kid, but I may know someone who’d be interested in sponsoring you.” You could hug this woman, kiss her on her protection mask. But you stayed in your seat grabbing the mug she gave you like a lifeline.

“I can’t…I don’t know…” You babbled with watery eyes.

“I only expect the best of you kid, it’s gonna be hard work. Now go.” And then she returned to her work in the forge, leaving you trembling with excitement.

After scrolling down some job portals, you closed your laptop with a sigh, calculating the best way to manage your savings to stretch them to the limit. With maximum frugality, you could make it through three months.

Professor Armourer had given you that mysterious number, but even though you were going to try, you didn’t want to depend 100% on her kindness. Moreover, you didn’t know which type of “studio assistant” job this would be since she provided little description. You grabbed the piece of paper and called. Nothing. You went on with your routine and tried again later, but no one responded.

Would it be too bold to just show up there? After all, your tutor had provided an address, so it was assumable it was okay if you just went there to speak to her friend in person. Like the old times, didn’t people do that? So you made up your mind and grabbed your tote bag and your trusty flannel. Slipping in some sneakers, you went outside to explore Nevarro City.

The area was definitely more industrial, certainly convenient for someone who was a metal artist, nevertheless, it had some charm to it. The warehouses were old, some of them reconverted into homes or other artist’s studios. You looked again at the paper provided by the professor when you recognized a building with large windows and a silver, old truck parked in the door as the one you were looking for. A big container with metal scraps was against one of the walls. You looked for a doorbell or something similar but nothing was in sight, so you decided to just pound the door.

Metallic sounds could be heard from the interior, and you asked yourself which kind of artist they were. After a while, you pounded the door again, it was clear they hadn't heard you. But the noise was loud and on top of that some electric guitar music was playing. You decided to make a bold move and try to open the door.

The inside was bright due to the big windows. The studio was neat and functional with all the tools one needed to work metal from small to large scale. Semi-finished projects were here and there, but it looked like everything had an order inside the warehouse. You could spot a little kitchenette too and a mattress in a cosy corner.

The man you were looking for was working at the big wooden table that occupied the centre of the room. It looked like he was polishing a metal piece, and sparks were flying all around. The first thing you noticed was the welding mask. It was beautiful, reflecting all the little sparks like fireworks, and had a similar design to the one The Armorer wore. It was shaped like a traditional Mandalorian helmet, the one the ancient warriors once used as battle armour. You smiled to yourself.

You went closer to where he was working, being cautious to not startle him, but it looked like he hadn’t sensed your presence yet, so you just observed him. The sleeves of his work jumpsuit were rolled and you could admire how muscular his forearms were between the fabric and the leather gloves he used for protection. The zipper of his clothing piece was down until his sternum, letting you see thigh undershirt under it, revealing sculpted pecs.

Maker help me if this man is gonna be my boss.

His black visor was suddenly pointed in your direction and you almost jumped from the surprise. He had left de welder on the wooden table and lowered the volume of the music on a radio that looked as old as time and then approximated you. All his movements were slow and restrained.

“What do you want?” He asked drily, without removing the welding mask from his face. As his friend the professor, he didn’t waste a second in pleasantries. His voice was as gruff as his looks. He didn’t look like an artist at all but a sort of mechanic or technician.

He waited for your response with his gloved hands in his narrow hips, a leg slightly flexed. The way he carried himself made him look like a statue in a museum. He was observing you carefully, from head to toe. You noticed your mouth was dry.

“I…The Armourer sent me…because of the job…assistant.” You said finally. Perfect, you now had made a fool of yourself by speaking like you didn’t know grammar when you indeed made a living of writing. You could die of the embarrassment.

“I told her…” He started and then sighed, lowering his broad shoulders in defeat. “Come, have a seat.” He said tilting his head towards a desk next to the large windows.

You assumed it was a desk because it was completely covered by stacks of diverse documents and you couldn’t even guess the material of the piece of furniture. You observed them as you sat in a beautiful vintage chair, while he did the same in front of you. A lot of invoices, a PC as old as time, sketches of what looked like sculptures, sheets with budgets, newspapers, exhibition brochures. You smiled softly when you distinguished the characteristic doodles of a little kid. You kept that last info to yourself, thinking it wasn’t polite to be nosy in your first meeting.

He then looked at you like it was the first time he acknowledged your presence. His legs were wide apart, but while he looked confident you noticed he was fidgeting with his gloved fingers. What a curious man. And why was he so familiar?

“What can you do?” He asked, always the eloquent one. You looked around you for a moment, gathering your thoughts.

“Anything you need around here.” You responded, now a bit more confident. “I can operate almost every machine in this place, know the basics of wielding, and can help with molds and the foundry” He now looked more interested, bending his large body towards the table. “But for a start, I think the most urgent matter is this mess.” Sure, you were cheeky, but you needed the job, and it was obvious the man needed help with admin. You went from nervous to sassy in five minutes. “Does that even work, or is it part of an art installation?” You pointed to the PC that looked like it was stuck in the 90’s. He made a noise that could be a chuckle or a grunt.

“The Armourer sent me your CV.”

Oh, so he knew you were coming after all.

“What makes a qualified researcher as you want to work as an assistant?” This was probably the highest number of words he had put together to this moment. His low baritone was warm and nice to hear.

You blushed a bit. Of course, you had made your apportations, but you were only starting in the Academia even though you had some articles published. But qualified was a bit of a stretch. You could tell him the truth. That you needed to pay rent after being denied the scholarship. But that didn’t put you in a good light, especially in a job interview.

“Being a researcher, I tend to spend most of my day in my head. Manual labour grounds me.” You bit your lip a bit nervous because you had just offered a piece of personal information, even though anything in your tone revealed that you weren’t referring only to your job.

He only nodded in understanding, crossing his thick forearms over his chest.

“You start tomorrow at 1500.” Okay, former military maybe? That was rich. And it was the shortest job interview of your life. “I usually wrap up at 2100, is that okay for you?” His voice had a kinder tone now, although sounding still gruff. You recounted mentally the bus timetable to your home and calculated it would be tight but you could make it.

“Yes, is perfect.” You offered him a big smile for the first time feeling grateful. “Thank you for the opportunity.” Then he accompanied you to the door and you realized he hadn’t provided you a name. He probably knew you from your CV though. You panicked a bit, trying to recall if Professor Armourer had told you his name but you couldn’t remember and it seemed awkward to ask now.

When you made your exit through the door, he leaned against it and you noticed he was as wide as the frame. The perks of being a sculptor, you supposed. You had to stop admiring his physique if he was going to be your boss. You arranged a bit your heavy tote bag on your shoulder and put a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“I’m looking forward to tomorrow.” You said to the statue man. He just nodded and you awkwardly acknowledged the interaction was over, so you left with an energetic handwave while he was standing there nonchalantly. Was he observing you? Just having some fresh air? You couldn’t tell with that damned mask. You found yourself wondering how he’d look under it. But it felt weird you didn’t know your boss's name or how he looked. You turned on your heels and gathered some courage. He was still in the same position and you felt super awkward. “I’m sorry, I think I didn’t catch your name and it felt wrong leaving without…”

Your new boss sighed heavily, and so so slowly, started to remove his welding mask. Your jaw dropped. Those sad eyes weren’t easy to forget.

“It’s Din, Din Djarin.”

Next Chapter

Taglist: @technicallykawaiisoul @dameron-grant-spector

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #modern au din djarin #modern din djarin #the mandalorian x y/n #din djarin fanfic #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x female reader #sculptor din djarin #the mandalorian fanfiction #droidwrites #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fandom #pedro boys

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strawberrystepmom · 8 days

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gojo x f!reader are married. he refers to readers breasts and makes a lewd joke. divider by cafekitsune my most beloved | wc 822

“That one looks like you.”

Squeezing Satoru’s bicep where your hand rests against it, arm looped through his, you giggle and shake your head. The statue in front of you is flesh made marble, a woman with thighs that maybe on a really good day resemble yours so painstakingly crafted that crowds gather to see her. She’s beautiful, a depiction of a goddess from fables you are both vaguely familiar with.

Is this really how he sees you? It makes those same butterflies he always manages to create stir in your belly and you wrinkle your nose, taking a peek up at him but looking away to admire the beauty depicted in front of you.

“You’ve already charmed me, Satoru. You don’t have to tell tall tales.” His gaze shifts from the sculpture to you, something you can feel rather than witness. He scoffs and tilts his head, shifting from standing beside you to in front of you, arms still linked together.

“You always say that when I compliment you. Why?”

Laughing, you reach to pinch his side with your freehand and he dodges just in the nick of time. It’s preventative, he always giggles and causes a scene when you touch the tender ticklish spot right at his hip bone, and a museum in another country on a trip the two of you had to bend your schedules to go on is not the place to have a tickle fight. He traps your hand in his and deposits it at your side with a smug half smile.

“Let’s not get into it right now. I’ll just say thank you for the compliment and we can move on.”

Never one to take being put off gracefully, he crowds against you until there is zero space between your bodies. You worry about the PDA being seen as offensive or too much and glance around the mostly empty on a weekday museum where everyone else is fairly ignorant of your existence. It’s just the two of you, as always and not just in your head this time. Smiling, you let him embrace you and rest his balled hands against the small of your back, your entire body leaning into his side.

“You know, I’d have a house full of sculptures and paintings of you just like that if you’d let me,” he mumbles under his breath to bait you. You laugh aloud, pressing your cheek to his arm. “What, nude?” He sticks his tongue out of the corner of his mouth and raises his eyebrows over the tops of his sunglasses. “Obviously. Or clothed or in a gown or in water or tangled in our bed sheets.”

Pausing to take a breath, he’s surprised to see you already looking up at him when he gazes down at you. He wishes he could capture this with more than just his eyes, his phone and heart. He has painted you before and would create a thousand more odes to his beauty if he had more time on his hands and you’d let him. You’re so eager to disbelieve your own beauty, you haven’t sat to be painted by him in years.

Satoru makes a mental note to rectify that as soon as the two of you get home but continues to speak now that he has your undivided attention, smirking, all dimples and mischief and the things you love the most about him, the tenderness in your glance a reflection of how you feel.

“I’m just saying. I’m sure I could find some sculptor to carve my pretty wife and would do those,” he glances down at your chest and you roll your eyes half-heartedly, still wearing the smile he put on your face with his casual comparison of your likeness to that of a goddess. “The artistic justice they deserve.”

Despite the tongue in cheek joking, he can be such a romantic when he wants to be. You kind of feel he’s laying it on a little thick because you’re on vacation but what’s the harm in having fun when it is luxuriously just the two of you, the rarity that it is?

Smiling up at him, you offer a better solution.

“Maybe they can sculpt both of us. We can see if they’ll do that,” you subtly reach down and pat just below his belt buckle before he can swat at your hand or turn on his Infinity to keep you away, pulling your hand away as quickly as you can. “Some justice too.”

Now that’s an idea he appears to like, his smirk sliding into a full smile. You pat his arm and separate yourself from him, only to be met with a whine. You reach behind you and grab his hand, fingers intertwining as naturally as they always do, pulling him along with you.

“Now let me show you which one reminds me of you,” you tease him, smiling over your shoulder.

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #kendall writes #satoken

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willowbelle · 3 months

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You Know Me

Part Two

this is a part two to this fic: Stay Here, With Me

another poetic fic, enjoy!

i lowkey hate this ugh, writer’s block

❤︎ trafalgar law x reader ❤︎

༉‧₊˚✧ (nsfw, 18+ only) ༉‧₊˚✧

cw: mentions of sex, mentions of both Law's and reader's trauma, lots of fluff and comfort ♡︎

word count: 1,000

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

You Know Me

Skin, limbs, sheets, sweat,

Tears.

You sat on pins and needles as he stroked your hair, slowly bringing you back down from that place in your mind you hadn’t ever ventured.

You sat curled up in Law’s lap, in all your nakedness, tears streaming down your face, your vulnerability on full display in more ways than one.

You felt weak and you showed it.

With each touch of his fingers in your strands, you felt yourself coming undone in his embrace, low sobs emitting from your throat and into the warmth of his tattooed chest.

“Shh, shh, shh,” he cooed, his typically low, monotone voice was now enveloped in a newfound sweetness; comfort.

Your sobs soon turned to wails, and he squeezed you tighter as he spoke, “Let it out, y/n, I’m here.”

Law took you down the roads in your mind that even you, the paver, had not yet traveled.

The dark allies where your trauma lingered,

The grooves of your brain that housed your darkest demons,

you went there hand-in-hand.

He places a comforting hand on your back, your weak form trembling beneath his tattooed fingers.

“You’re okay, you’re okay, I'm all ears whenever you're ready, and if you’re not,” he smiles gently, “Then that’s okay, too.”

“L-Law,” you began slowly, tilting your head up to look into his eyes.

And finally,

You shed for him;

Shed your tears,

Shed your secrets,

Shed your skin.

You had harbored these words in your head for far too long, guarded with the shield of your own terror.

And so, with the gentle pull of his uncharcateristic kindness,

You let go.

You inhaled shakily before clearing your throat and gazing back up into his eyes,

For as long as you could remember, you’d always been scared; scared of sex, scared of silence, scared of men.

But with Law, maybe you were scared because, for the first time in a long time, at the root of it all;

tangled limbs, soft kisses, wet hair,

you weren’t scared.

You had always tried to slap the fright out of you, rip it from your bones without giving yourself time to recover. But Law did so differently; he did so gently.

Law pried the fright from your body in his own way, his own tender way.

And he noticed your wounds, your baggage,

but he wasn’t frightened by them,

he covered them in bandages and removed the aching from your shoulders, the loads that you’d carried for years and years.

And perhaps, for the first time, you could learn to be gentle with yourself, with his hand in yours,

maybe you’re not afraid anymore.

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

Law’s works quickly, quietly, just how he was taught.

From the moment you began your relationship, Law studied you, just like he did all things in life; methodically, passionately.

That’s how he knew just how to prepare your morning coffee; a little cream, a touch of sugar, exactly how you like it.

He takes subtle glances towards your shared bed to ensure he hadn’t woken you, humming to himself in contentment as he sees you still sleeping soundly.

Law takes a quick sip from his own mug before taking a seat at his desk, still watching you intensively, steel irises scanning up and down your naked, sleeping form.

His heart swells in his chest as he watches you, and he sits silently, picking his brain to find the moment where his life took such a drastic turn.

Law had always been a troubled, cynical man; a tired soul who bore the heavy weight of his own tragic past.

He was a pesimist in the truest form; a sculptor of despair, carving his worldview from nothing but the rough stones of skepticism and pain. For as long as he could remember, heartbreak always seemed to follow him.

But with you, things were different.

The moment he laid his eyes on you, something new, foreign, and beautiful began to bloom in the dark, unforgiving terrain of Law’s seemingly uninhabitable mind.

His barriers crumbled for you, just as yours did for him, and although it frightened him, downright horrified him, he simply watched on as his walls came tumbling down. He didn’t scramble to stop it, or run to catch the stones, he just let it happen.

For once in his life, this guarded, control-freak of a man finally let go.

He allowed you to take his heart,

and all that came with it,

All the baggage,

All the scars.

and love him unconditionally.

Soon enough, the gentle hum of the coffee maker and the sweet smell of espresso beconned you from your slumber.

Law smiles softly as he sees you begin to stir, your beautiful eyes fluttering open and immediately scanning the room, searching for him.

You sit up slowly, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hands,

“Law…?” you croak out sleepily.

His voice is low and sweet as he speaks,

“Right here, sweetheart,”

He stands, slowly making his way towards you, gently placing a mug of hot coffee in your hands, earning a sleepy, but happy hum from you.

“Mmm, thank you, you always make it perfectly,” you smile gently at him, scooting over in bed to make room for him to sit.

He complies happily, wrapping an arm around you.

“I know you, dear,” he chuckles, “like the back of my hand.”

You giggle softly, resting your head on his strong shoulder,

“You sure do, Law.”

“And y/n,” Law begins again, voice quieter, now,

“I like that you know me, too.”

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧 𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.

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do not repost, modify, plagiarize, translate, or share on other platforms.

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afreakingdork · 25 days

Text

Spring Break

RotTMNT Donatello x Reader One-Shot

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: Aged-Up Mutant Ninja Turtles, POV Second Person, Friends to Lovers, Human/Turtle Relationships (TMNT), Yearning, Romance, Fluff, Romantic Fluff, One-Shot

Synopsis: You're on your first spring break of college and returning back home to NYC. Donnie has agreed to pick you up from the airport and the season of change is ready to exercise its rights upon your friendship with him.

Also available on Ao3

I cannot thank @tmntxthings enough! She took my half formed plot bunny and helped me finish it up and embellish it with the cutest ideas!! This fic would not exist without her and she gets my endless affection! 💞

Plane descent, it was the one part of flying that really felt like a roller coaster. With its little dips and adjustments, your stomach would rise in turn. It made some sick, but you found it exciting. It was a manifestation of coming home. With each drop in altitude you were a little bit closer and, no matter how people felt about plane rides, the excitement was palpable. Even those tired and exhausted, ready for their changeovers, were glad for a moment on the ground.

This was your stop and you were especially excited for what waited for you.

Clinging to your phone, there was a final announcement and you looked out the window. Watching fields and houses grow closer and closer, your heart alternatively soared. Ants took on definition and eventually you were doing the careful careen through buildings to land in LaGuardia. With a squeaky landing that jarred your body, people stood through the taxiing process which prompted fights with flight attendants.

You were back in New York City.

A fervor running throughout the plane, there was still the docking process and each second ticked by through syrup until you got a text.

Donatello, not to be confused with the famous Italian Sculptor: I am at the appropriate baggage claim.

It was a new entry in a sea of others that had you momentarily closing your eyes. You then typed out a response about what you’d endured since landing and Donnie kept you occupied with messages right up until it was time to deboard. Bumping and jostling and giving appropriate glares back, you were soon just shy of running down a tunnel. Just like descent, you were closing in by the moment and once you broke free from a certain pair of doors, you paused only to take stock. It was fate, you thought, that people parted and there he was.

Donatello stood bundled up both for some kind of anonymity and the early spring weather. A balmy cool outside, trees were clinging for a bit more warmth before they burst with color. You were going to miss the blossoms this time around, but you had a lifetime of watching the petals dot the otherwise dirty streets before. You always liked this season. There was a sense of change in the air. A metamorphosis, you saw not just the growth between your youth and now, but everything from the last half year.

You were offered a full ride to a school all the way across the country.

You accepted and left behind everything.

The long days of your first semester would have been lonely if not for a certain purple coded turtle offering to marathon shows with you online.

You texted in the cafeteria until you found your crowd.

You continued to message him because he had to know the latest gossip.

A webcam was sent to you as a gift so you could better work on projects together across multiple state lines.

You clung to Donnie as a virtual lifeline through your first set of finals.

The Christmas holdover in California due to a lab opportunity had been a daunting choice.

It was made all the better as you were given a digital spot at the Hamato family table during Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Then came another bout of studying for midterms.

All to now, where he’d offered to pick you up after something had come up with your parents and you had complained of the taxi fare on your spring break budget.

You were in motion.

In fact, you were barreling towards him. He heard the footsteps, but didn’t connect them to your person as he looked up. Now knowing the source, he jammed his phone in his pocket and took on a sort of prepared alarm. Then, at the last second, he pivoted a foot out. A careful rotation, he lowered his stance into a readied one. It was all the confirmation you needed as you leapt.

He caught you at the same time for the hug and you crushed yourself to him. Momentum should have knocked the air out of you, but he swung. Your body twirled up with your heart and, by the time you were set down, you were groping to get more of him. This was new, you remembered. His scent wasn’t like coming home. You’d never been close enough to really get a whiff. Clinging to his worn hoodie didn’t crop up memories of softness because you had at most brushed it in passing.

You’d known this mutant for seven months and this was your first hug.

You wanted more.

Your only saving grace was he appeared to feel the same. For each tug, to get your arms tighter around his neck, he gave equal pressure around your waist. As you butted your head to his, he clawed into your own jacket, trying to get you that much closer.

It was warm.

It was overwhelming.

You didn’t want to let go.

“Hey.” You murmured against him.

“Greetings.” His voice responded. “How was your flight?”

“Good. Boring. Long.” You nuzzled closer.

“A full work day’s flight.” Donnie hummed, amused.

“Thanks for picking me up. It’s good to see you.”

Finally, after what must have been too long, Donnie pulled back enough to view you with a chide. “You as well.”

A little shy, your arms slipped to rest against his plastron and an announcement interrupted citing luggage. A quick check found you were at the right carousel and you sent Donnie a wry look. “We’re in the right place.”

“I was clear about my location.” He playfully rolled his eyes and reluctantly relinquished you to approach the long luggage circle.

You followed close behind and bumped arms with him. “Oh, there was this lady who would not stop yaking about the toast squares she got in that plane snack mix.”

“Ah, yes, the snack gacha.” Donnie chuckled and bags began to drift down the line.

He explained the odds and you walked him backwards through your trip. There was a gap from when you’d set off for your flight until arrival. He’d been on a video call when you’d packed your suitcase so when said luggage came winding down the metal slide, you didn’t need to say a thing. He knew it and hoisted it up where you shouldered your backpack. You’d returned with mostly things to wash, but you figured that was part of coming home.

You soon drifted away from the building. Working through the bustling drop offs zone, you headed to where Donnie had sequestered one of his vehicles. Parking cost too much for the tank, he settled on something visually low key though the interior was just as technologically stacked as the others. It was a resistance in temptation to press buttons on the dash you had never seen. They felt familiar as he’d taken you on a phone tour when he completed retrofitting the van, but it felt different in person.

Conversation took you home and, before you realized it, you were idling on the street.

Time had slipped through your fingers like water and you hadn’t cupped enough to drink. There’d even been traffic, you’d sat through it, but it hadn’t prolonged the journey. You were due inside. Your parents were waiting. You also would need to leave Donnie. He’d only ever been here to give you this ride. Heart sinking regardless, you moved to give Donnie your regards with a forlorn tilt of your head.

“Let me help you with your bag.” He rushed the statement.

Your eyes met.

You were both a little too eager to delay the inevitable.

“Thank you, I’d appreciate it.” You told him though your heart wanted to ask him over for dinner.

You’d already skipped coming home for winter break and there was no way your parents would allow an interloper to impede on catching up with their child.

You were required to spend time with them first, then friends.

Duty was a strange thing. It brought you home to mom even though you were an adult with a supposed choice. It had your friend hoisting your stuffed suitcase out of the back of a van where you had created the burden of the heft. You clicked up stairs, your luggage wheels hopping steps and Donnie felt the need to fill the space as if he were required to keep from giving you a moment of quiet.

You were thankful.

You didn’t want to think of how you’d miss him.

Again, he’d felt the same.

You liked that about him.

Reaching your door, you knew you hadn’t messaged your parents for this same reason.

It was your own coveted surprise amongst what you had to do.

Donnie was careful in carting your suitcase up silently.

It felt like a stolen moment. “We still on for Wednesday?”

“Yes.” He nodded and pulled up a ninpo calendar for the sake of it. “Mikey has forewarned Señor Hueso and if you make April wait a moment more, I think she will strangle whoever is closest.”

“Of course.” You bobbed your head and felt the reminder of the knob.

You needed to go home.

You needed to see your parents.

You hadn’t seen them in so long.

You hugged Donnie.

Slower this time, you still moved quick enough that you avoided the awkward shuffle. It was an instant threading of bodies where you had to stave off a sigh. You fit so well without practice and his toned arms slung so comfortably around your waist. You bumped your head to his for the sake of closeness. He stilled and you thought it too much until he turned his beak to nuzzle the side of your head. From his inhale, he was catching your smell so you openly breathed him in the same.

Then you came apart, heads down, unable to bear to see the other leave as you mumbled out promises of seeing each other soon.

Donnie left by the sound of stairs and you unearthed your key to head inside.

Wednesday couldn’t come soon enough.

The rest of your Saturday had been a flurry of catching up with your folks. You were pelted with every question under the sun and the few phone calls with them you’d had throughout the school year seemed to have never happened. Your parents remembered none of the details no matter how much you whined about how you’d already told them about your class load. You were struck with backhanded comments about missing the holidays and how this cousin had proposed and that nephew had gone skiing and would you believe the tan your aunt got?

Then came sleeping in your old bed which was now a foreign one.

You called Donnie with your headphones on and he answered after only one ring.

Unable to stand the odd sheets, you curled up beside your window for faint outdoor light and watched Donnie on screen eat snacks as you unloaded about how annoying it all was. You loved your parents, but it was always something. He took his time in the conversation after your most heated complaints were air cooled and then subjected you to his own. His family’s separation anxiety was on another level, but he never made it a competition. You instead felt commiseration, even if the comparisons were outlandish.

Exhaustion took you to bed and the old smell of you drifted up like one you didn’t recognize. You were just tired enough to mention the discrepancy and Donnie made a comment on how you’d changed. You weren’t sure you had as you hadn’t felt like it, but you guessed of anyone, he would know best.

How had that come to be?

Your best friend was here and someone you’d known since elementary school. You still loved them, but they’d fallen to a certain wayside once Donnie appeared. Meeting him had been an accident at best. From senior year finals, you’d picked up a local coffee shop as your own. During summer, you switched to drinks for fun instead of necessity and a new barista started that you liked. She was great at conversation and better at upsizing drinks with a wink so you always made sure to tip. There came a day when you forgot to have cash on hand and you promised to come back by to fork it over. Now on a first name basis, April had scoffed it off, but you still returned after making change at a nearby bodega. It hadn’t been more than 20 minutes and yet she had disappeared. You waited for her to return from break only to notice a mutant was similarly off to the side and one you’d come to find was waiting for the same April.

That was early August.

You’d gone to UC Berkeley in early September.

That was less than a month knowing the turtle in person.

Now you were drifting off to Donnie complaining about how he’d been found sneaking into East Laird’s lab yet again.

He just needed access to one chemical.

They wouldn’t miss it.

He’d doctored the supply sheets himself.

The janitor was paranoid.

You giggled and it must have come too late because he ordered you to sleep.

You told him you missed him.

In truth, you did.

He murmured the same along with a mention of Wednesday.

It wasn’t here yet.

Texting helped as Sunday led straight to a family meal with whoever was in town. You rehashed the exact same stories about school more times than you could count. Your scholarship was both held up like a heavyweight champ’s belt while others spoke to you like you were some Hollywood convert. It didn’t matter that there were six driving hours between the two places. You’d betrayed some inane state pride by going to a far flung college and whether that was a success or pompous choice was your family’s to debate.

You went to bed so angry afterward that you broke your 125 day streak of saying goodnight to Donnie.

You woke up under your old ceiling.

Breakfast reminded you of high school.

Dad had work.

Mom had lunch.

She talked and you listened.

You saw your best friend in the 3 o’clock doldrums.

It was awkward until it wasn’t.

It took about an hour, but you fell in line to your old pattern.

You meant to message your bestie more, but college had taken both of you in different directions.

Who’s this guy you keep mentioning?

Donatello, was it?

Did you meet someone?

What a story that was and it came with a growing smile from your best friend. Each passing word felt like guilt off your lips and you were teased mercilessly.

No, stop that! We aren’t dating!

Why would you ask?

It’s perfectly normal to help a friend out like he did.

Yes, we’re close.

Not that close.

He’s a nice guy.

Yes, really nice, what are you insinuating?

It wasn’t like that.

You wanted to call Donnie on your way home.

Your best friend’s words kept you from it.

Tuesday your dad had off from work and, though they took you, you ended up showing your parents around Prospect Park. Where they’d only heard it was nice, you had seen enough from social media to actually maneuver it. You picked a restaurant they hated and then a bakery they loved. You were nagged incessantly and then pestered.

Tell us about your new college friends!

You don’t sound like you have many, what happened?

Oh, whos’ that?

Tell me more!

Are they nice?

Go to any crazy parties? We won’t judge.

They did.

They judged everything.

You kept Donatello’s name out of your mouth, though he appeared with each question.

He kept you sane.

He had been there for you.

He made things better.

You texted him as you ran to a bathroom stall for a moment of peace.

Donatello, not to be confused with the famous Italian Sculptor: Hard to go back after your taste of freedom?

It was such a him response.

Donatello, not to be confused with the famous Italian Sculptor: Tomorrow, you’ll have us.

Donatello, not to be confused with the famous Italian Sculptor: Don’t worry.

Donatello, not to be confused with the famous Italian Sculptor: Until then, say the word and I can call you away with a lab emergency.

Donatello, not to be confused with the famous Italian Sculptor: I know the codes for several. Do not ask why.

It helped as you rejoined your parents.

One more day.

Wednesday morning and afternoon were tedious affairs with little to do outside of the dreaded laundry. You aired and disinfected your suitcase and ended up cleaning for the sake of it. It made your mom happy and you prepped ingredients for your parent’s dinner even though you wouldn’t be partaking. It would be another nicety in hopes that they wouldn’t say a word when you stayed out late.

It wasn’t like you had a curfew, but you knew the biting remark would be there.

You left just before your parents got home so you sent messages to both of them to cover your bases. Their sent confirmation was like a final school bell and you were running down stairs at an alarming pace. Donnie’s text window appeared next and you shot out a message about your imminent arrival. You felt a buzz in response and wound an oddly familiar path to the necessary sewer grate. One prepped for access to the turtle’s tunnel, you climbed down and only then brought up a map. Above was one thing as you knew your local streets, but the journey below was one you’d never had time to memorize. Donnie’s map was clear and as you switched from sewer to subway lines, you soon came to the brighter lights of the lair.

The Hamato were piled in the living room and you saw Donnie amongst the bale.

He smiled, but it was Mikey who wrapped around you.

Your name was shouted and it summoned the others who hadn’t been paying as much attention. You got friendly pats, several more squeezes from Mikey, one bear hug from April, and a litany of pelted words from the others. Leo’s Hollywood comment didn’t sting as much because he pulled it out in a reference to Son in Law. He did a pretty good Pauly Shore impression and your praise had him pulling out more impersonations. As the chides and jokes flew, you thought about how they hadn’t pelted you with a million and one questions about your college life. They cared little about class and only if you’d had time to catch any local movies or shows.

You nearly wept at not having to talk about only the studious side of your life and you got to share a movie you recently streamed with Donnie. The others hadn’t known either of you watched it and you both excitedly regaled them on reasons not to without spoiling anything. You laughed about a plot line of having been plucked from their environment and joked about red squirrels. Donnie responded in kind about grey and you both laughed until you realized you were the only ones.

“What’s that about?” April asked where she was folded over a couch beside Raph.

“O-oh, it’s-!” You choked on giggles and held onto Donnie’s arm since he was close.

“You see, there was this inane test question that kept coming up.” Donnie filled in for you.

“Non-native grey squirrels have basically put native red ones on the endangered list!” You spoke with too much levity for the topic.

“Now this is a known ecological issue, but the way the professor framed the question…?” Donnie shook his head with a smile.

“He made it out to be like a gang war! So-so Donnie made this joke because they always, freaking always run out of breakfast in the caf when I get out of my morning class about my territory being disrupted!” You giggled.

Donnie bumped you to chastise. “Wait, you’re leaving out your classmate who runs to beat you there, your grey squirrel!”

“Omigosh! I don’t even know her name!” You cracked up.

“You’ve yet to mention the actual campus grey squirrel!” Donnie pressed.

You laughed harder. “Omigosh, he hates me and anyone that goes near his door on South Hall!!”

You both hurled more examples that fit into your branching squirrel joke and you thought everyone was having a good time until Raph’s voice cut through. “Sounds like a good inside joke.”

You weren’t immediately sobered, but your giggles grew strange.

“Yeah, I’m not getting it, but hey that happens.” Leo shrugged. “Squirrels aren’t my first comedy punching bag.”

“They’re cute! What do you mean they kill each other!?” Mikey had a watery expression. “To extinction!? How could they!?”

April patted his back. “It’s a dog eat dog world.”

“Is that why we were the Mad Dogz?” Leo looked to Raph.

“No, but I’m going to say yes.” Raph shined back a snaggletoothed grin.

With that the others moved on.

Suddenly feeling painfully self-conscious, you shirked and felt that Donnie’s hand behind your back.

You looked up at him and he had a grin and whisper waiting for you. “These dum-dums don’t know good comedy.”

“You are the funny one.” You softened up and, in an instant, felt reassured.

He pressed lightly for you to join the room and you jumped back into the conversation which had moved onto pigeons. A hotly debated topic, you took sides and spouted facts you had learned in class. Memes were then shared and eventually you went to Hueso’s. The rowdiest table for what was a comical argument about whether they were his favorite customers, the skeleton yokai refused to answer and only spoke of cash spent and tabs to be paid. Leo chased the man into the kitchen to be his usual intrusive self and you stayed present in table conversation the best you could.

It was difficult when Donnie kept sending you reaction images based on said speech and you found it impossible not to reach right for your phone so each joke would land fresh. It eventually meant both of you were side by side texting on another and it was only when the food came did you jar out of it.

“Can’t leave your significant others for even a second?” Mikey jeered before he tapered off. “Though I kind of thought it was you that Donnie was texting… But that’d be weird right!? You’re literally sitting together, why text?” He laughed.

Others laughed.

You and Donnie didn’t.

It spurned April to steal Donnie’s phone.

Some kind of betrayal, Donnie nearly flipped the table to get it back, but the flash of screen April had seen was enough.

You two were outed and ruthlessly drilled.

This was supposed to be fun, you thought to yourself as you tried to field lobs. They weren’t supposed to be rude like your family and yet you were back to fending vultures off.

Yes, you spent hours talking.

No, you weren’t dating.

Yes, you texted.

No, it wasn’t because it was a secret conversation.

Yes, you were just friends.

No, you weren’t more.

It was only when Leo reappeared and saw the distress mounting on you and Donnie did he step up in his leader position and caught the table’s attention by the throat. He laid out a new topic in the form of recent battles and that conversation took the heat off. You sighed into the booth, feeling particularly drained and when Leo shoved in to have more seat, it bumped you right into Donnie.

Donnie made room, but his hand stayed on the seat, close to yours.

You tapped a questioning finger to his.

Your heart was heavy.

Were you wrong?

Was your friendship weird?

Donnie had gotten you through moving across the country.

Donnie had done so much.

You really, really liked him.

His finger curled around yours for reassurance.

You’d asked once hadn’t you?

Something about if you bothered him early on since you talked just about constantly.

Donnie had scoffed by saying the word itself and told you that he put forth as much effort as he cared to.

You’d be the first to know if he was displeased.

He’d been honest.

When you complained about a science he liked, he didn’t care how hard the class was, you got an earful.

One of the few times you’d tried to use him as an excuse not to study, he’d hung right up and temporarily blocked you so you’d be forced to.

Your hands moved and, with a rush of your pulse, you tucked your other fingers up and over his.

He held your hand with one and ate pizza with his other as if nothing strange had occurred.

You did the same and spoke more normality by responding to something Mikey said.

It was taken with its own retort and everything felt right.

“I’m stuffed!” April flopped back and her jacket slunk down lazily on her shoulders.

“Can’t… move…” Raph groaned.

“That’s what happens when you are here for four hours and thirty seven minutes ordering non-stop.” Hueso commented as he picked up several empty pizza trays.

“One for the road?” Leo burped.

“Depends…” Hueso cracked a brow and slid over the check.

Leo flicked his eyes down once and then over to his tablemates where everyone dodged the question.

“Maybe next time.” Leo spoke guilt and Hueso hummed knowingly as he departed. “Split time! Cough it up!”

Complaints were loud as all sorts of money was deposited on the table.

“I love and hate catching up!” Leo crooned once an appropriate amount was placed.

“We were literally here four days ago.” Raph didn’t have the energy to eye his brother.

“Bah!” Leo swung a lethargic arm and it flopped on the table.

“No more pizza for… four more days…” Mikey grunted.

“Heh, you guys’s diet sucks.” April chuckled and fell over into Mikey on purpose.

The youngest squeaked and dominoed into Raph who shouldered the weight without moving.

“We’ll see you again, what? Friday, right?” Leo craned his head toward you.

Leo was dismissing you.

It was late.

This had been the plan.

Two days.

Donnie squeezed your hand.

You had never let go.

“Well…” You tried to respond.

“You know!” Donnie cut through conversation as if he hadn’t heard how it was coming to a close. “Remember how we weren’t able to find Jupiter Jim and His Majesty Cromslor anywhere online?”

The table quieted and you looked to Donnie curiously. “Oh yeah… We missed it in our marathon.”

“I purchased a copy then, but it only came in a few days ago.”

“That took…” You flicked up a few fingers to count. “Months!?”

“Oversees. Probably a boot leg, but it does indeed work.” Donnie smiled at you.

You felt a flutter in your gut. “We should-”

“Watch it now?” His brows bobbed. “Well everyone?” Donnie looked out, carefree to his inebriated brethren. “Movie night?”

“I’m sleeping!” Raph announced. “Don’t wake me and we’re good.”

“But Don…!” Leo’s head fell onto where his arm was still on the table.

“I could watch.” Mikey’s shoulders bobbed beneath April.

“I’m out. Got work.” April yawned.

“Then it’s settled.” Donnie turned back to you. “Not that we needed permission.”

You chewed on a giggle. “Can’t wait.”

Everyone else dragged themselves back to the lair, but you and Donnie took up the rear as you discussed some lab work. Delving into the study you’d monitored over winter break and what came of it, you were soon sat around the projector where Splinter was asleep in his chair. Raph used the last of his energy carting his dad off to bed and Mikey settled into a bean bag with commands to turn his head towards the screen. Leo helped in that matter and set himself up with his phone in hand to hang out more than watch. You and April said your goodbyes and then Donnie joined you on the couch. Raph didn’t return until well past the first quarter of the movie, but didn’t seem to mind as he flopped down to watch a film presumably the family had seen many times before.

The room was filled with the quiet sounds of the movie until Donnie leaned into you. Your shoulders brushing, he whispered to you a fun fact about the movie that gave way to more. With your head turned against the cushion, you eventually stopped watching the film to instead stare at him. He was enthralling. His lips moved with specific enunciation that you knew came from his love of pizzazz. He topped it off with eloquence from IQ and his flair was infectious no matter how emotionless he tried to present himself.

You adored him.

The credits rolled and there was light after movie discussion where you all found Raph had fallen asleep as promised. Donnie regaled you in his theories on how this movie affected the larger Jupiter Jim universe while he threw a blanket over his older brother. Leo pitched in a few notes about his comic knowledge, but no matter how obsessed the Hamatos’ were in this film series, there was still a limit of how much conversation could be shared.

“Welp!” Leo announced, coming down from a stretch.

That was the second final call of the night.

You had already overstayed your welcome.

You pulled out your phone to text your parents.

Donnie touched your wrist. “Before I forget, I finished my latest project. That targeted hearing device.”

You slowed. “Oh yeah, were you able to work out that model on how it decides what to filter?”

“Yes, in fact, I had a breakthrough-!”

“You finished that two nights ago right? When you were pacing in that fit?” Leo interrupted.

Mikey perked up. “Oh yeah, you were so upset, but you wouldn’t say why! If it was just because you were doing your usual tech walk things, then why not tell us?”

Donnie had obvious guilt and raised his hands.

You stared.

Two nights ago was when you hadn’t been able to text him goodnight.

You were in motion and interjected yourself with force into the fray. “Show us!”

Leo and Mikey looked at you curiously.

You tried not to balk. “It was for you guys too! It will help you gather intel on missions!”

“I thought it was just for your goggles or business people who never take their Bluetooth out, even at dinner parties?” Leo quizzed Donnie.

“The applications are wide ranging! Why do you think I patented it?” Donnie held his head haughtily and headed toward his lab.

The line there went first Donnie and Leo paired where Donie was putting his all into convincing Leo of his inventions use and then you and Mikey who trailed behind in a conversation of your own.

You weren’t sure, but you thought the blue brother glanced at you twice.

Mikey regaled you on a video game he had recently beat and, by the time you entered the lab, Donnie was in full presentation mode. A space you had only been in virtually, Donnie walked everyone to where the buds were and tried them on Leo first since he was the naysayer. They proved to work nicely as you and Mikey played examples by moving around the lab to make noise for the technology to hone in on.

You remembered locations from your guided tour, but definition had been sparse over the phone. Now here and moving about, gadgets kept catching your eye. Donnie explained them with quips from his brothers about use or malfunction. You heard all manner of stories and saw a part of Donnie you had yet to see. Donnie was quick to hang up if his brothers tried to intervene, but he was no stranger to complaining about them. You felt like you knew them better than you did because of it, but seeing the brothers in action was something else entirely.

They carried through, soon fatiguing of reminiscing and giving space for Donnie to show off his more successful tech. He shined, putting his best foot forward in a way you assumed he prepared for investor meetings. He eventually let you examine his bo staff and demonstrated how it could be reformed within his ninpo. He was detailing how his schematics process had changed since acquiring his mystic powers when Leo suddenly yelled up to the ceiling.

“Nope! Beep, beep, beep! Hear that? That’s my brain at full capacity! No more! No more science for Leon! Honk-shoo! Bedtime alarm.” Leo threw his arms up and seemed ready to spin around to leave before he caught sight of you. “Great seeing you, by the way. We’ll be seeing you, but not again tonight! Later, losers!”

You all watched Leo walk out.

Mikey saw his own chance to pull away.

The youngest did nothing distinctly, but you could tell he was ready to head to bed himself.

You had been together for hours now and it was definitely the AM of the next day.

You needed to text your parents.

You needed to go home.

You’d see Donnie again.

You had one last time before you flew back across the country.

You got your phone in hand and messaged your parents to check in.

“Michael.” Donnie held his own anxiety.

That meant both remaining brothers were ready for you to go.

Having already proved to your parents you were alive, you moved to next pen a message about how you’d be home soon.

“Huh?” A bubble popped on Mikey’s attention.

“Have you checked the time?” Donnie moved away from you.

Looking up your screen found the time at 2:47am.

“Oh ho!” Mikey sang with scandalous purpose.

You paused and looked up to see him sporting a huge grin.

“I get what you’re putting down, brotha! It is the one and only reserved time for my most exclusive dish!” Mikey moved fluidly through a few poses.

“Yes.” Donnie looked pointedly at you. “You might have heard of it.”

You blinked a few times not realizing some kind of ploy was in motion. “Special time…?”

Sliding to the right, Mikey’s whole body dipped below his raised arms. “It is time for my unmatched, out of control, unparalleled 3am dump nachos!”

A memory slapped you across the hippocampus.

You did remember.

Mikey had sprung them on Donnie when he was helping you study for finals last year.

The Mikey of the present then snapped to attention in a business-like manner. “Proprietary reserved and guaranteed to eradicate night munchies.”

Your phone buzzed and beckoned with annoyed responses from your mom.

You’d thankfully never sent that message about heading back.

She knew you were doing alright, that was enough.

You closed your phone. “Who am I to say no to the clock!?”

“Nacho time!?” Mikey turned to confirm with the last party. “That was what you wanted, right?”

“Yes.” Donnie tried to stave off a certain amount of joy. “Nacho time.”

“Woo!” Mikey started to holler but caught himself off to whisper. “Quieter woo because people are sleeping!”

You all filed down to the kitchen where Mikey took point in commanding his own cooking show. Talking about all his past chip and cheese related mishaps, he walked through pantry staples and what wasn’t for good nachos. Donnie settled in by your side and eventually grabbed a few drinks. The pair of you mingled together, sharing little glances amongst Mikey’s display until the nachos were in the oven for a quick melt session.

“Oh man, this was a great idea.” Mikey looked at Donnie approvingly. “I can’t remember the last time we did 3am nachos.”

You did, but you kept quiet.

“Probably after April’s midnight launch at that movie theater.” There was an air to Donnie that said he was purposefully making something up.

“Eugh, was it one of those ones where they watch like six movies back to back?” Mikey made a face.

“Are those marathons bad?” You asked.

“They are when you can’t pause and do stuff like this.” Mikey gestured around the kitchen.

“Helps to be allowed an oven.” Donnie cocked a brow at you.

“It’s not my fault someone started a fire in the dorms a few years ago.” You shot a smarmy look back.

“Finesse.” Donnie’s fingers came up to floss the word.

“This again!” You rolled your eyes.

“The rules are in place to protect! As long as you don’t violate them obviously, then I don’t see the problem.”

“Your homemade oven thing was way sketchier!”

“You could make it out of all the materials you had on hand! It’s completely safe!”

“Just because one can, doesn’t mean one should!”

“Look! I can recreate it now! You never tried.” Donnie went for a junk drawing and came back with supplies. “The most you needed was wire, then a containment unit, easy enough to build…”

Donnie nearly pressed to your side as he cut and created a wire and then spliced it with a battery. Showing you how to then encase the coils, he asked for your help holding something in place. You did so and he eventually came around with electrical tape to bind his creation. He complained about how soldering should be allowed if hot glue guns were. You spoke against that point and your hands brushed. He scoffed at live flames and slipped his arm through yours in lieu of reaching for a piece of plastic that had rolled away. You pressed into him and told him that with that logic you could simply weld.

“Couldn’t you?” Donnie’s face was near yours.

“I’d need…” You reached up and his cheek tipped into your hand as you activated the release on his goggles as you’d seen him do on video.

His lenses came down and you were close enough to see through them to his eyes beneath.

“… something like this.”

“I see… Safety first…” Donnie murmured, leaning in.

“Mhm…” You mirrored him.

A timer dinged and you jolted apart.

“3am nachos!” Mikey came around with oven mitts as if oblivious. “After hearing both your arguments, I’m gonna go with no homebrewing ovens in the dorms. It looks like you’re building a bomb.” He set the tray down and the smell was undeniably delicious.

You might have enjoyed it more had your heart not been pounding out your ears.

“To the uneducated, perhaps!” Donnie grumbled and looked over the spread.

You moved to better reach and heard Mikey talk about the best constructed bite.

What were you doing?

You had almost kissed Donnie.

If that was what just happened.

Donnie.

You had a nacho in hand.

Donnie.

What you had to label as your newest best friend.

Donnie.

Not a replacement, but an embellishment.

Donnie.

Next to you, the man in question said something about guacamole.

He helped you through your semesters.

You still had 10 more after the current one.

Four total years.

That didn’t include masters which you aimed on getting.

On the other side of the states.

As far as possible in the continental US.

That was only the grand scale.

On a minor one, you’d be back there in only four days time.

You’d barely seen Donnie.

You’d also arguably spent more time with him in just seven months then you had lifetimes with some of the people you still happily called friends, but 90% of that time had been through an internet connection.

Donnie.

A chip entered your mouth and it tasted so good you wanted to weep.

It certainly wasn’t for any other reason.

Mikey’s cooking was that good.

Eating.

Eating was happening.

You tried to tune into what Donnie and Mikey were discussing.

Donnie had put his goggles back up on his head.

His eyes looked pretty as he talked to his brother.

They always seemed lazy in expression, but they caught so much.

They also took in nothing if he didn’t care to look.

He’d been looking at you.

Right through that red and blue glass.

The make-up of purple.

Mikey hummed an exhausted note. “Oh man… 5am already? Sun’s gonna be up soon…”

“That late?” Donnie asked absently.

At least your parents had gone to bed and wouldn’t hassle you.

They might because you were absolutely going to get home after they woke up for the day.

That was less than ideal.

You also had lunch plans.

What were you doing?

“I’m hitting the hay!” Mikey announced even though you were sure he’d said other things. “Hug for the road!”

Mikey hugged you and you were sure you hugged back.

“Finish those off or whatever. They don’t keep so toss ‘em! Night, D!”

“Night.” Donnie spoke.

Alone.

You were alone with Donnie.

You’d been avoiding this hadn’t you?

Both of you had.

“Still hungry?” Donnie spoke timidly.

“Sure.” You had barely had any.

You worked through building that perfect bite Mikey talked about and then went for some salsa Mikey had whipped up.

Donnie was right there with his own chip and your knuckles brushed.

You both froze and looked at each other.

You saw it all there.

The budding feelings.

The long distance.

The fear.

The longing.

“It’s too soon…?” Donnie broke away to look at the sheet pan. “Don’t you think?”

You did.

You know you did.

You were weepy as you nodded and ate more than necessary just because the taste helped abate the sadness.

Donnie offered to take you home in his own melancholy.

You’d barely experienced college.

You were so young.

In spite of knowing him so well, it wasn’t enough.

When he pulled over on the empty morning curb outside your apartment, sunlight was peering in on your exchange.

What would you do?

How would you say goodbye?

“Walk me to the door?” You asked.

“Of course.” He put the van into park and turned it off.

You walked side by side in silence up the stoop.

The moment you were both on the same level, you hugged him. Hard into his middle you squeezed him for all he was worth. Not to be outshined, you were similarly scooped. Donnie created a protective outer layer where his face buried down into the top of your head. You both siphoned as much of each other off as you could feeling like it would be the last.

Was that right?

It didn’t feel like it, but for right now it was hard to parse anything.

It was exciting to be close to him.

You hadn’t known when he offered to give you a ride that you’d tackle him right out of your airport gate.

You’d never hugged before that.

You’d never touched at all as far as you could remember.

All of this was sudden.

Too soon.

You rooted your face into Donnie’s plastron. “I’ll still see you Friday?”

“You’ll see me tomorrow if available.”

You blinked up wide right out of his chest.

“You’re on break. I want to make the most of it.”

This time you threw your arms around his neck and he hoisted you up into the hug. You laughed into it until he set you back down and your heads bumped together. Sting moving to cradle, you lingered against one another. You felt more then, how you were rushing. You were jumping to conclusions. You were deciding years down the line before being present in your own moment.

Too soon.

“Dinner.”

“It’s a date.”

You entered your apartment on a cloud nine bubble that even your parents couldn’t pop. It prevailed through your mother’s nagging and you finally catching blissful shut eye. You barely made your lunch appointment with your friend and were disheveled for it. They laughed at you and joked about a rough night. The unsuspecting victim who just happened to ask the wrong question at the right time, you unloaded on them. Not usually the type of friend for long talks, they took it in stride and came out like an MVP.

They gave you advice on how to proceed and shared how they themselves were doing long distance.

It wasn’t for everyone.

You were young.

You needed to prioritize you.

There was also a certain amount of trusting your gut.

All a tricky balance, you came away feeling optimistic and closer to your friend than before.

You also crashed as soon as you got home and had a screaming match with your mom when she returned from work to find you in bed. It was enhanced by you not telling her about your dinner plans, but it all felt like a certain amount of stride. It was par for the course with growing pains of your adulthood and you got yourself gussied up amongst it. Donnie came to get you and you felt whisked away where your dad sent you off in good humor.

You wished he fielded your mom, but you guessed you could only ask so much.

Your date was a romantic one. Dictated by closeness, you counted in touch. There were brushes to the hands that morphed to holds. He’d pressed your back to indicate he wanted to pull your chair out and would eventually pull you to his side when some drunk adults stormed by on the sidewalk. You snuggled close to him during a concession selection and later would rest your head on his shoulder during a movie. Afterwards when you lingered for a walk in twinkling night lights you spoke your feelings into reality and what to do.

You’d wait.

It was too soon.

There was so much more to see.

You didn’t feel sad about anything other than not being able to kiss him when he brought you home.

Those hugs were hard enough to break apart from.

Friday then came and went and this time you felt fully present amongst the Hamato. Sunita and Casey joined for a rowdy bunch and you felt strong enough to take over the entire city. You also were always placed by Donnie’s side whether it be by both your conscious choices or simply your draw to one another which earned some ire. Unlike the last hang out, you were validated and both breezily brushed it off with knowing smiles. That brought more confusion, but any and all were left guessing what your relationship was.

Your family and a huge friend group hangout took Saturday.

Then you packed with Donnie on a video call.

It was just like a week ago, but wholly new.

You wished him a somber goodnight and right before hanging up he asked to drop you off.

You would have to fend off your parents, but you decided you could oblige.

There was little complaint as the next morning your mom asked you point blank who the boy was. You admitted to them the events of the last seven months, mutation and all, which they took in various stages. What your dad heard mostly was your loneliness and how this guy had gone above and beyond to make you feel less so. That was enough for him and in a stern decision, he refused to be moved. It left your mom high and dry outside the marriage unit and she eventually sighed to dreamily say that was why she loved your father.

Comparisons were then made between them and your relationship with Donnie and you shut that down as quickly as you could.

Donnie was then there and in an impromptu parents meeting.

He was surprisingly adept at it and you had a feeling he was aware this would happen. You ended up drilling him on the way to the airport where he admitted he prepared for at least seven possible scenarios regarding him butting in on the airport drop off. He regaled you in them all until you were sick of his preparations and you were at the airport.

He walked you as far as he could.

You hugged.

It should have been scented with desperation, you thought.

Instead, it felt like a promise.

With the same clingy digging, he gave equal pressure to your waist as you gave his head. He clawed your back and you pulled at his mask tails. It caught puffs of laughter from both of you as you drank each other in. You knew his scent now, a specific one you wished to curl up in. You’d remember prolonging time together even when you talked to him on the phone, presumably as soon as you landed. You’d be exhausted and want to shower, but you’d make time. You liked to give it just as he’d do the same.

You parted.

With smiles that were plump with tears unshed, you waved to him and he lingered as long as he could. You thought he even might have continued past that and used his goggles for some x-ray business. In case he did, you metered your steps and kept looking back to send him more grins to log. He probably had a thousand already from the calls or even this week, but you’d give more. You boarded a plane and spring break ended.

Across the country you flew.

Back to school.

Back to work.

Through summer and an internship.

Opportunity and papers.

Talk of job and studies galore.

Late night calls and walls of text.

A flurry of messages.

Arguments.

Cold shoulders.

Apologies.

Fall Semester.

Winter break.

Spring Semester.

Spring break.

Rinse and repeat.

Donnie became your only airport ride. No matter when you came, everyone knew he was designated. It became common knowledge as much as anything else. As much as your friendship, everyone knew that was to be expected.

You grew.

Four years passed.

You found yourself yet again coming into LaGuardia on the cusp of spring. You had plans for furthering education on this side of the country. California had been nice, but Donnie had mentioned a study once that stuck with you. Eight in ten adults lived within 100 miles of where they grew up. It seemed like such a silly statistic four years ago when you’d made your college choice. You weren’t sure if you necessarily understood now, but there was a certain comfort in knowing you’d be in New York for the foreseeable future.

It helped that you grew up in such an amazing city.

What a town, Donnie would say reverent regardless of whether it was bad or good.

Shouldering your bag, you walked out to baggage claim. While the spot may have changed and the man was still growing like a weed, Donnie would still always appear to you between crowd waves. A sort of fate, he’d part pedestrians like the sea and he looked up from where he was tinkering with something on his gauntlet.

A smile spread on his face and he was in motion.

You had to keep up.

A hop and a skip and you collided in a spin. Twirling out for the sake of it, you both murmured affections until he rooted your face out from his shoulder. There he dipped you first for the sake of flair, but brought you up to properly execute what came next.

Your hands tucked behind his neck.

He locked his arms around your waist.

His gaze poured over you.

You tugged him lightly as he was taking his time.

He was hovering, no doubt committing all of this to memory.

You didn’t fault him; you had started dating a few weeks ago.

He’d blurted out the question saying he was unable to wait until spring break or even until you graduated with your undergrad.

You were long past first kiss territory, but this would be the first with the label.

“Donatello.”

“Not to be confused with the famous Italian sculptor.” He staunchly said the same thing he had since the moment he’d first introduced himself.

“Please.”

“Please what?” He jeered.

“Kiss me, dum-dum.” You pulled him as hard as he’d allow and he snuck in a laugh before your lips met.

You would always appreciate this time of year for its change.

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