#Requested

[dragonagepolls]

Since we never got an answer to what happened to our HoF in DATV, how many people headcanon if their Hero survived/fought in the Final Blight or not

[writinginatree]

Threatening Violence

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/Violet Sorrengail/female!reader

Summary: When you accidentally get hurt during a sparring session with Xaden, Violet's overprotective side shows.

Warnings: Blood and injury, Iron Flame spoilers, arguments, reader has chronic pain and stiffness in her fingers. Established poly relationship, unspecified setting.

For the anon who asked for riorgail x reader with an injury or the reader feeling left out because of the bond. And I think this could also count for day 2 of @empyreanevents's Riorgail week? Idk, the bond isn't the main focus, but it does play a role.

AO3

It's fortunate the gym is practically empty at this time, if only because it spares others the slew of curses you let out as you slump onto a bench near the mat you'd been sparring on with Xaden. What few people were there had glanced over at your shout of pain, and quickly decided they had somewhere else to be upon noting the expression on Xaden's face. He still raised a wall of shadows to shield you from prying eyes until everyone filed out, at the same time hovering over you and gauging the severity of your injury.

The sight of the blood welling from your side has panic flaring bright in his eyes, so you ignore the pain pulsing in your wrist and set about soothing him.

"I'm okay, Xaden. No need to freak out."

"You're bleeding," he replies, and yep — he definitely is freaking out. "Fuck, I'm so sorry. I don't know how that could happen."

His hands are trembling ever so slightly, so you pluck the bloodied blade from him with your uninjured hand, wiping it on your pants and sliding the dagger into its sheath before he can hurt himself, too.

"It's just a scratch. And it wasn't your fault. I tripped."

The fact that you haven't yet collapsed from blood loss and are fully coherent seems to help with Xaden's panic, but it does nothing to ease the guilt in his eyes.

"I told Violet to bring Brennan," he says, ignoring your reassurance. Did he even listen, if he was talking to Vi over their bond? "They'll be here in a few minutes, okay?"

"I could have gone to the healers, Xaden. My legs are working just fine, you know?"

"A mender is better than a healer," he insists.

You sigh, not sure why you even tried to argue. If Xaden feels the need to fuss, then he will, no matter what you say. You can't entirely blame him for being shaken after that accident — to him, is must have looked as though he'd actually stabbed you when you tripped and fell right into his dagger. It was by sheer luck that the blade only grazed your ribs, instead of sinking between them.

Noting the way you're cradling your arm, Xaden frowns. "Is your arm hurt, too?"

Despite your repeated assurance that he isn't to blame, Xaden practically exudes guilt, and you hate giving him even more reason to feel bad, but there's no point in lying. It'll only make things worse if you try.

"My wrist," you admit.

Xaden had been holding it, expecting you to move closer to him and twist free of his hold while taking the dagger from him with your other hand, just as you'd been practicing the past quarter hour. But when you stumbled, your momentum had taken you in the wrong direction, wrenching your wrist into a painful angle because Xaden hadn't had time to let go.

"I'm sorry," Xaden says for what has to be the dozenth time at least. "How bad is it? Broken? Dislocated?"

"I'm not sure. I never broke or dislocated anything before, so I wouldn't know what it feels like."

You immediately realize it was the wrong thing to say — if Xaden looked guilty before, now he's absolutely miserable.

"Fuck. Now you did, and it's my fault. I'm so sorry."

"You don't know that. Maybe it's just... twisted or something," you say, but it's mostly just to reassure him. Considering how much your wrist hurts, it seems entirely plausible it really is broken. "And even if it is, that would be my own fault, not yours."

Xaden shakes his head, still frowning. "I should have been more careful. The previous two attempts you pulled that move off so flawlessly, I was sure you'd manage it this time, too, or I would have let go and caught you."

"I know that, Xaden. You can't blame yourself for me stumbling over my own shoelace!"

But of course, he absolutely can. He's a master at blaming himself for things that are out of his control.

"I should have considered that you would fall right into the blade if you didn't get it right. And I should have noticed immediately when you tripped, and let go of your wrist fast enough to not snap it in half. If I'd just made sure your shoes were properly tied in the first place—"

"Xaden," you groan in exasperation, "don't you think that's taking it a little far?"

"No," he says, crossing his arms. "I know you struggle to lace them tight enough sometimes because of how stiff your fingers get."

"So what, are you gonna tie them for me from now on?"

Xaden looks like he's actually considering it.

You can't deny the idea has a certain appeal — tying your shoes can be a real pain when your fingers are giving you trouble. But that doesn't mean you're going to let Xaden add lacing your shoes to his endless list of responsibilities. You know you can ask him or Violet for help on the days you really need it, but most of the time, you can manage it yourself, thank you very much.

Luckily, Violet comes rushing into the gym just then, her brother in tow.

"What the fuck happened?!" your girlfriend demands before she has even reached your side, her ever attentive-gaze immediately registering the bloody cut at your waist. It's almost twice the length of your hand, but not very deep — certainly not life-threatening. With some stitches, it would heal just fine the natural way.

You try to smile through the pain. "Hi, Vi. Sparring went a bit sideways, but it's nothing to worry about."

Violet isn't reassured in the slightest. If anything, she seems to get more agitated at your display of what she lovingly refers to as your self-neglecting bullshit — a condition both you and Xaden suffer from, according to her. Not that she ever listens when one of you points out that she herself is just as bad.

As Brennan sets about examining the wound, the blood flow from which has already slowed to a trickle, Violet immediately whirls on Xaden, knowing you're in good hands with her brother.

"How could this happen? You were supposed to help her train, not stab her," she hisses at Xaden.

It's been a while since you've seen her this angry.

"Vi, that's not fair," you say before your boyfriend can answer. "We were practicing how I can disarm him, and I tripped right into the blade. It happened too fast for Xaden to do anything about it. Besides, it's not even that bad and—"

Brennan's prodding at your wound has you interrupting yourself with a hiss, and Violet's eyes narrow.

"You're in pain."

"You're in pain all the time," you counter. "It's not a big deal, love."

"You're bleeding!"

"A little, yes. But I'm okay. I swear I am." You look to Brennan for help, certain the mender is currently the most reasonable person in the room. "Could you please tell those two they're making a fuss over nothing?"

He takes a moment to assess your wrist first, then turns to your worried lovers. "Well, I wouldn't say nothing, but it really isn't that bad. The cut is shallow, except in this spot." He points to where the wound ends, right on top of a rib. "Easy to fix. But the wrist is fractured right at the joint."

Damn it. Now Xaden is forever going to feel bad about being responsible for your first broken bone, no matter that it wasn't actually his fault.

Violet isn't helping. Still in overprotective mode, she glares daggers at him, and though she doesn't say it out loud, you can read the words she's probably hurling at him through their bond in her eyes: You snapped her fucking wrist?!

Xaden rakes a hand through his hair, looking for all the world like a kicked puppy. How Violet manages to stay mad at him with that look on his face is beyond you.

"Would you start mending her already," Violet demands, turning her attention back to Brennan for the moment. "Please."

"On it," her brother placates, wise enough not to try and argue with her. He starts with the cut, instructing you to lean back so he can better access it.

"Sorry they're making such a scene. I told Xaden I could just go to the healers, but..." You shrug, vaguely gesturing to your boyfriend's miserable expression and the shadows clinging to you.

Brennan gives you an understanding smile, more than used to how overprotective the three of you can be of each other. "It's not a problem. I'm happy to help."

Just as he predicted, the wound across your ribs quickly closes under his hands without trouble. When he gets to your wrist, however, you have to grit your teeth against the pain and itching sensation of the bone knitting itself back together. It almost feels worse than the initial break, but with both Xaden and Violet watching like hawks, you refuse to let any of your discomfort show.

By the time your injuries are all mended and Brennan quickly excuses himself after instructing you not to strain your wrist for the next couple days, Violet is calmer, but still angry, the tension evident in every line of her body.

Rising from the bench, you step in front of her and lightly put your hands on the sides of her upper arms. Frowning down at the bloodstain drying on your shirt, she doesn't loosen her arms from where they're folded across her chest.

"Vi, won't you stop making that face?" you say softly, lifting one hand to trace a finger over her creased brow line.

"What face?"

"Like you want to murder someone."

The frown deepens for a moment, then clears away as she sighs, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth.

"I'm sorry. I just—" She shakes her head, turning to glare at Xaden once more. "I don't know how you could let her get hurt like that."

"I was too slow," Xaden mutters. "I'm sorry."

It clicks for you then, why he's taking it so hard. He's always been the fastest on the mat, predicting his opponent's every move thanks to his second signet, but in this case, it had been useless. You hadn't intended to trip — didn't even notice you had until you were already falling. And in typical Xaden-fashion, he thinks of that as a personal shortcoming of his.

"It was an accident," you say, desperate to get it through both of their thick skulls. Violet will calm down soon enough, and then feel bad about blaming Xaden for what happened, but he won't be as easily convinced that it wasn't his fault.

"An accident that shouldn't have happened!"

"Pretty sure that's the definition of what accident means," you joke, but it falls flat.

Violet just keeps glaring at Xaden, and you realize they're having one of their silent conversations again — though in this case, silent argument would probably be the more accurate term.

You sigh. It's hard not to feel left out when they do that. Your own dragon is gloriously single, and though you could never begrudge your loves the mental link they have thanks to theirs, sometimes you really wish you could be part of that connection.

You can only guess at what's being said between them right now, but judging by their expressions, it's not the sweet nothings they usually like to exchange this way.

"Why don't we just all take a deep breath and calm down," you suggest — no reaction.

When it becomes obvious they don't intend to switch to talking out loud again any time soon, you try again. "There's really no need for this. Come on!"

Again, nothing. Like you're not even there; subject of their conversation, but not allowed to be part of it.

You've had enough.

"Hey!" you snap. "Can you two please stop ignoring me?"

They turn, surprise etched into their features. It's rare for you to raise your voice like that, and you immediately feel bad about it. You know they weren't ignoring you on purpose, know their silent communication thing comes so naturally to them they never think about it twice. It's not like they ever intentionally exclude you from conversations — they just have a tendency to forget that you're not privy to what's being said over their bond.

"I'm sorry, baby," Violet starts.

Before she can say more, you squeeze her hand and say, "It's okay, I get it. But I don't want you two to argue because of me. It really wasn't Xaden's fault, love."

She sighs, expression softening as she finally relents. "I know. I just— I guess I don't know how to cope with you getting hurt. Either of you."

"I know. If one of you got hurt during sparring I'd be freaking out on the other, too. But I promise I'm okay. All mended, see?"

You hold up your other hand and rotate the joint. It still feels a little sore, but otherwise fine.

Violet nods, and takes a deep breath to calm herself. Sighing, she takes Xaden's hand with the one not held in yours, and presses a kiss to it — she doesn't stand a chance of reaching his face without him ducking his head.

"I'm sorry I overreacted."

Shaking his head, Xaden leans down for an actual kiss. "It's okay. Pretty sure I would have acted the same way if the roles had been reversed."

You take his free hand in your injured one, so all three of you are connected. He gives you a kiss, too, soft and apologetic. You can't have that.

"It was not your fault, Xaden. If you want to blame someone, blame my shoelaces. I'll even let you cut them into little pieces or set them on fire as punishment if it makes you feel better, as long as you just stop with the self-loathing. You can't always control everything around you, and you don't have to."

"Okay. I can't change the way I feel, but I'll try to stop blaming myself."

"Thank you. That's all I'm asking for."

[kisakis-boyfriend]

Hello can I have a Bennett x top reader alphabet. Thank you and happy 3000

Author's Note: Of course! It's been a hot minute since I wrote anything with our wonderful adventurer 🧡 — Bennett is 20+ here

For our 3000 follower celebration! (CLOSED NOW)

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

Bennett is such a sweetie with aftercare, he frets over you a little much sometimes, but how can you get upset at him? At those big green eyes? 🥺

He cradles your face in his warm hands and asks all of these silly but sweet questions; “Was it good? Was I good? Do you need water? A snack? Are you tired? You're panting, do you need some fresh air? I love you, please let me take care of you! 🥺🥺🥺” PLEASE HE'S TOO ADORABLE 😭

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

I don't think he would really have a favorite part of himself? It's not that he hates his body or anything, Bennett just doesn't think about his own skin too much to have a favorite. Nothing particularly sticks out to him.

Bennett is fond of your back and legs. He likes watching the muscles flex when you do literally anything and those parts of your body are exposed lol.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically)

Fun little headcanon: prostate orgasms are a bit silly because they make Bennett resemble a fountain being turned on and off. Every thrust causes him to cum for a second, so he's shooting a bunch of tiny spurts of cum until his orgasm is over.

The first time he even experienced a prostate orgasm, he came so much that it honestly scared him… he was so concerned with how much cum had just come out of his body that he freaked out and asked if he should see a doctor 😅

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Bennett really enjoys being pinned down… like, really, really enjoys it 🥴

Holding his wrists above his head while you tease his neck with your breath and lips, causing Bennett to shy away with a whimper. You tilt his face back to where it was, kissing his soft lips before sliding a hand under his shirt, rubbing circles on the skin, and he squirms at your every touch.

Holding Bennett down by the hips, his hands grasping at your wrists as he whines and pictures what kinds of activities you're about to engage in. His pretty hair gets tangled in between your fingers, held just tight enough to prevent him from turning away, forced to show you his expression when you press your bulge against his, still concealed within his and your pants, respectively.

Holding him down by the neck, chest pressed into the mattress and hips raised high on display, his cock twitching at every stroke against his plush inner thighs. You kiss his shoulder before dipping a finger in his hole, preparing him for a night that he won't soon forget~

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I don't think he would have tons of experience, mainly because he never thought much about sex when he was young and busy with Benny's adventure team, but maybe when he got a little older, he might have fooled around with a few people.

You can tell that he's inexperienced, but your first time, and every time after that, is quite lovely. He's great at going with the flow and finding what works in the moment vs what doesn't work for you two.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. May include a visual)

Pinned down in any way, held close in any way, but other than that he's not partial to any specific position.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

I feel like Bennett would be a mix of intentionally silly and unintentionally. Like, occasionally he will goof around and make you laugh at something, and other times he'll say something that wasn't an intentional joke, but it makes one or both of you laugh anyway 😅

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

Bennett tries to trim himself, but he's pretty clumsy and ends up with a lot of tiny cuts and irritated skin… please talk him into not shaving, let his bush flourish!

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

He's so sweet and romantic! The kind of sweetie pie who asks if you can hold hands while you're pounding into him like an animal. Bennett is so full of love that it spills into every facet of his life, sex very much included.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

Not something he does every day, necessarily, but I still say he's a frequent masturbator. You'll catch him jerking off at random moments, too distracted to finish a chore so he just pleasures himself instead.

Thanks to his pyro vision, Bennett's body heats up quickly, and it takes a long time for him to cool down. When he masturbates, he always gets so sweaty and flushed, and he feels like he needs a shower after every session 😭

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Being blindfolded and slight somnophilia 👀

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

Out in nature, actually. Sliding it inside while you're helping him with a commission is always expected, and Bennett will be disappointed if you finish your day's work without at least a tiny bit of fun in the sun…

He also enjoys shower sex — you're extra careful though, because with the added risk of his bad luck, you're afraid of slipping and hurting yourselves badly…

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

Watching you work out/seeing you in your element. In Bennett's eyes, you've always been the coolest dude, he just adores watching you do your thing, maybe even flex a little. The way your body moves when you fight, it's just one of his favorite things to see. Your intelligence and quick wit is also something Bennett enjoys seeing in action.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Hard degradation is something I don't think he would like. Praise is more Bennett's style.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

No real preference, both are delightful experiences for him.

Bennett makes the cutest noises when he's deepthroating your cock… my god. His gag reflex isn't bad, so he can take it pretty deep with little issue, and the gagging sounds you can get him to make?! 😍

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Again, both are delightful~ Typically though, Bennett likes it a tad bit rougher.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

Quickies aren't bad, in fact, Bennett doesn't mind them at all. However, he may crave more later that day, so just be prepared.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

Usually, yes. Trying new things is something he enjoys very much, and that applies to sexual activities too. He is an adventurer, after all!

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last)

At least two rounds, and the rounds themselves can last for a while. Bennett has great endurance, and he loves getting to experience something so intimate together, so he's willing to keep going as long as you are!

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

I do think Bennett would enjoy using toys actually! Something to spice up the fun times? Count him in!

While he is embarrassed about this, he really likes watching your cock slide in and out of a fleshlight… especially if it's clear or one that your cock goes all the way through 😳

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Bennett may tease you from time to time, but he's the farthest from a brat that a man can get. His teasing is often things like: grinding down on your dick, telling you something along the lines of "come and get it/come take what's yours" whilst spreading his legs or cheeks, and putting your hand in his lap while you're lazing around.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

He moans A LOT, but the moans themselves aren't super loud. It's just that Bennett doesn't stop making noise 😅

Lots of giggles, whining or whimpering when he's close to orgasm, and babbling your praises or how amazing it feels.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

So, I mentioned that he would be into somnophilia earlier 👀

Bennett gives you permission to fuck him if you wake up horny in the morning, or if you don't go home together/don't work together during the day, and you need his holes late at night.

You have his body all to yourself, as long as you promise to cuddle with him once you're finished 🧡

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

He's a good 5 inches, uncut. There are various scars and moles all over his body, but especially so around his pelvic area.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

It's a little high, if I'm being honest. Some of which is simply because you're good at what you do, but some of it is also a naturally higher libido. (And perhaps some of it can be attributed to his pyro affinity…)

Z = ZZZ (How quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

I'd say Bennett can stay awake fairly easily. It takes a lot to genuinely tire him out. Hell, even marathon sex probably wouldn't be enough to cause him to fall asleep, even if he is exhausted and limp.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Ideas: Elf Tropes

tropes related to elves

Enslaved Elves: Elves forced into squalor and servitude.

Fairy Ring: A circle/ring of mushrooms that may or may not be magical.

Garden Garment: Elves wearing clothes fashioned from flowers and/or leaves.

Hidden Elf Village: A secret location inhabited by isolationist elves.

Inhumanly Beautiful Race: Elves often possess beauty far beyond that of humans.

Pointy Ears: An almost universal trait among elves.

Proud Scholar Race: Elves are commonly depicted as such.

Really 700 Years Old: Extraordinarily ancient elves who look much younger. Elves tend to fall into this quite a bit in modern fantasy in part because their Beauty Is Never Tarnished.

The Ageless: Elves who can't die from old age but can still be killed through other means.

The Wild Hunt: Elves hunting humans.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[applepiiex]

i lOVE your work! thank you for writing about nanami, i lovehim so much and he is my favorite<333

i was wondering if you could write more about nanami being a father? but he with a ftm!reader and how he would be from the discovery of the pregnancy to the birth of da lil king nanami jr

(modern au + if you want to include others characters from the anime i won't complain lol)

FATHERHOOD ! ! ! 𓃱

Nanami Kento x FTM! Reader

Nanami Kento never pictured himself to be a father. Kids were a distraction in his mind, too much work. However, building a family with you, learning how to speak fluent baby talk, and mastering diaper changes like a pro, has made him reconsider his initial thoughts. A/N: Same universe as First Words

𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋𐦂𖨆𐀪𖠋

It was a Tuesday.

The kind of forgettable Tuesday where the campus air smelled like overripe leaves and burnt espresso, and Nanami had just returned from a painfully long seminar on inflation theory.

He opened the apartment door with his usual quiet precision—no fumbling, no noise—and immediately felt it: the strange, humming stillness.

“Y/N?”

There was no reply. Just the soft whirr of the fan from their bedroom.

He found you sitting on the edge of the tub, hands resting palm-up on your thighs. The bathroom lights were too bright. On the counter next to you, a small plastic stick lay face-up like it was mocking gravity.

Nanami didn’t speak at first.

Your eyes were wide—far too still for someone usually in motion—and your chest rose and fell like you’d forgotten how to breathe correctly.

“I took three,” you said. Voice quiet. “All positive.”

A silence hung between you, thick as fog.

Nanami crossed the small space in two long strides. He crouched down in front of you, fingers brushing over your knees, grounding. Gentle.

“…How do you feel?” he asked, voice low. Controlled.

You blinked hard. “Like I might pass out. Or throw up. Or both.”

He gave a soft exhale, leaning his forehead against your thigh, the clean scent of laundry detergent and shampoo grounding him as much as it was grounding you. You threaded your fingers into his hair and just held him there. Neither of you cried. Not yet.

“I didn’t think it’d happen this,” you whispered. “Not with… everything.”

You didn’t have to say the words. The hormone therapy. The years of wondering if you’d ever want this. If it was even possible.

Nanami lifted his head and looked at you—really looked at you. His stoic mask softened, lips parting like he had to relearn how to speak.

“I want this,” you said, and the words cracked something open in him.

So did he.

Nanami had never looked so pale.

Not even during finals week, not even when you told him you were pregnant, not even when the first contraction hit and you cursed like a sailor into his jacket sleeve.

But now, standing beside your hospital bed, holding your hand while you breathed through another contraction, he was white-knuckled, jaw tight, and eyes locked on you like you were the only thing anchoring him to earth.

“You’re doing so well,” he whispered, brushing the damp hair from your forehead. “You’re almost there, love. Just a little more.”

You squeezed his hand, knuckles bone-white. “You say that like you’re not the one about to pass out.”

Nanami’s lip twitched, trying not to laugh, but the moment broke as the nurse said, “We’re crowning. One more push.”

Your chest tightened. And somewhere outside the curtain, muffled through the walls, you could feel them.

Nanami’s parents. Yours. Tense, judgmental, civil only for the baby they hadn’t asked for. No one had said it out loud—but you’d seen it in their eyes.The world was a blur of beeping monitors and rushed voices. Harsh lights. The sterile smell of antiseptic, and then—

“Push, you’re doing so good, sweetheart—almost there—”

Nanami’s hand had never felt so small. Yours was crushing his in a vice grip, knuckles pale, sweat slicking both your palms as you screamed through another contraction.

“You’ve got him,” the nurse said. “Just a little more—!”

You were sobbing. Not from pain alone, but from everything—fear, exhaustion, disbelief that this was real and happening and now.

Nanami’s voice broke when he said your name. Not in panic—but reverence. “You’re doing it. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

You gasped—once, twice—until a wail shattered the room.

High, sharp, alive.

Nanami couldn’t breathe.

He heard someone say “It’s a boy,” and all he could do was stare. The baby was pink and squirming and so small and so loud, and then they placed him on your chest and—

You were sobbing again, but now from joy. Your hands shook as you cradled your son, as you kissed his tiny temple, as you whispered, “Hey, baby. Hi. It’s me. I’m your dad.”

Nanami didn’t realize he was crying until you looked up and whispered, “Kento.”

He stepped closer. Looked at you—sweaty, tear-streaked, radiant. Then looked at the baby. Nanami’s breath hitched. 

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Nanami turned, eyes wide, and pressed his forehead to yours.

“He’s here,” he whispered. “You did it. He’s perfect.”

They laid Tashi on your chest, slick and pink and squirming, eyes shut tight, fists trembling like he had opinions already.

You looked down. And everything in you cracked open.

He was yours.

Not just flesh and blood. Not just biology. Yours. Something soft and fierce bloomed in your chest, and when Nanami brushed a trembling finger over Tashi’s cheek, the baby stilled. Eyes fluttered open.

“God,” Nanami choked. “He has your eyes.”

Their baby.

Something cracked open in his chest so violently it left him breathless.

He cupped the baby’s tiny foot with two fingers. “He’s… perfect.”

You smiled, a little delirious. “You want to hold him?”

Nanami hesitated.

And then, he nodded.

The nurse helped you lift him into Nanami’s arms, and as soon as the weight settled into his chest, something in him clicked. Solid. Certain. Like every version of himself he’d ever doubted—the lonely undergrad, the rigid PhD student, the man who never believed he’d get to want this—had been building to this moment.

The baby opened his eyes. Just for a second.

And Nanami fell in love all over again.

Outside, the nurse opened the door to let the families in.

Both your mothers stood first, stiff and quiet. Your father looked uncertain. Nanami’s father remained a statue, eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

But then they saw him. Saw you, cradling your newborn son to your chest, sweat-drenched and trembling and beaming through the tears.

Saw Nanami, undone and in awe, hovering over the two of you like he’d just witnessed something holy.

The room went quiet.

Nanami’s mother gasped first. “Oh.” And something broke in her voice. She stepped closer. “He’s beautiful.”

Your mother hovered beside her, cautious. But when she looked down at Tashi, her hand went to her chest. “Does he… have a name?”

“Tashi,” you said, voice hoarse. “Tashi Nanami.”

Nanami’s father—stoic, unreadable—stepped forward. His gaze landed on Tashi, on the way your hand cupped his tiny back. His jaw clenched. Then slowly—slowly—he nodded once. “He looks like family.”

Nanami froze.

Your mother was crying. Your father, silent but staring.

And for the first time in years, no one corrected your pronouns. No one winced. No one called you “brave” like it was a burden. They were just watching Tashi, watching love made flesh, watching a child so utterly wanted it silenced every inch of disapproval they’d once carried.

Nanami leaned down, kissed your forehead. “You were incredible,” he murmured.

You looked up at him, exhausted but glowing. “He’s ours.”

He nodded. And for the first time, with no fear, he turned to the room—his family, your family—and said:

“He has two fathers. And he’s going to be just fine.”

And no one said a word. Not a single one of them could argue. Not when the proof of your love was resting peacefully on your chest, heart beating steady and new.

You’re holding Tashi when the knock comes—gentle, precise, exactly how Nanami’s father always is.

Nanami crosses the living room in calm, practiced strides. You hear him open the door, exchange quiet greetings, and then:

“Would you like to come in?”

A pause.

Then shoes being slipped off, coats folded neatly. The sound of order and old-world politeness entering your home.

You look down at your son. He’s half-asleep in your arms, his cheek pillowed on your chest, one tiny fist curled into your hoodie. You kiss the top of his head. Try to steady yourself.

Nanami returns first, then his parents follow. His mother walks in first; poised, quiet, clutching a small gift bag. His father’s steps are deliberate. Measured. His eyes scan the room, but not unkindly.

“Would you like tea?” you offer, immediately. “Or—um, coffee?”

Nanami’s mother smiles, soft but distant. “Tea would be lovely.”

Nanami moves to the kitchen, leaving you there. Standing. Holding Tashi like a shield and a prayer.

His father’s eyes finally land on you fully. Then on your son.

He speaks first. “He’s grown.”

You nod. “He has.”

His mother steps closer. “May I…?”

You nod again, slower this time. You pass Tashi over with the practiced care of someone who now knows exactly how fragile everything in this world can be.

She takes him gently, settles into the couch. “He’s so warm,” she murmurs. “And soft.”

Tashi stirs in her arms, blinking up at her with eyes still too big for his face. Her expression wavers for the first time.

And then something shifts.

Because she doesn’t look at Nanami when she says it.

She looks at you.

“You’re doing beautifully,” she says. “You’ve taken such good care of him.”

Your breath catches.

You nod once. A flicker of your voice manages: “Thank you.”

She holds your gaze a moment longer before looking back down at her grandson. “He looks a bit like you,” she says quietly.

“I think so, too,” you say.

Nanami returns with the tea. You expect the moment to break. But it doesn't.

Because then his father does something you never expected.

He walks over. Looks down at the baby. Then, voice even, he says:

“He’s very calm.”

“He likes white noise,” you murmur. “The dishwasher puts him out cold.”

Then— “You’re his father.”

It sounds simple. But it hits hard.

Not “you’re the one raising him.” Not “you’re the other parent.” Not “you’re doing your best.”

“You’re his father.”

You swallow. Nod.

“Yes. I am.”

Nanami stands beside you now, hand resting lightly at your back. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t have to.

His parents stay longer than you thought they would. His mother feeds Tashi a bottle while you and Nanami eat cold leftover pasta. His father helps Nanami lower the crib mattress one notch.

As they leave, his mother presses a folded blanket into your hands. “He’ll need something soft when you wean him off the swaddle,” she says. “It’s bamboo cotton.”

You nod again. Your throat is tight.

At the door, his father pauses.

You meet his eyes. Ready for anything.

“Call if you need anything,” he says. “Even if it’s just to rest.”

Then he’s gone. The door shuts.

You stand still, stunned. Nanami brushes your arm.

“Are you okay?”

You let out a soft breath. “I think they saw me. For the first time.”

He smiles, barely. “They did.”

You glance toward the couch, where Tashi is snuggled under the blanket his grandmother brought.

“They see him,” you whisper. “And they see us.”

Nanami kisses your temple.

“Good.”

Nanami’s arms ached.

Not in the way they did after lifting weights or grading a hundred midterms—but in the bone-deep, soul-heavy way that came from holding your son through a 3 a.m. meltdown while whispering “shh, shh, it’s okay” on loop like a prayer.

You were asleep on the couch. Your chest rose and fell slowly, your hand still curled from where it had been resting on the bottle before you’d finally passed out.

Nanami looked at you and felt his chest tighten.

You had been through so much. The pregnancy had not been easy—not physically, not emotionally. You’d cried once, in the dark, asking if you were doing this wrong, if your body was betraying you. He hadn’t known what to say, except to pull you close and whisper, “You are stronger than anyone I know. And our son is lucky to have you.”

Now, weeks later, you were healing. Still exhausted, still sometimes aching—but every time you held the baby, something shifted in the room. It became quieter. Softer.

Nanami adjusted the blanket over your legs, then slowly stood, his newborn cradled in one arm like glass. The baby sighed, then let out a soft little snore, tiny fists still balled near his chin.

“I think you’re going to look like him,” Nanami whispered, brushing his thumb over his son’s cheek. “Lucky kid.”

He paced the living room once, then twice. It was quiet. You were safe. Their world was small and holy and still.

Eventually, he padded back to the couch, lowering himself beside you. The baby stayed curled in his arms.

You stirred, barely opening your eyes. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

“I’ll sleep later.”

“You said that three days ago.”

Nanami didn’t argue. He glanced at you again—your lips parted slightly in rest, one hand still half-extended toward your son. And, as if sensing it, the baby let out a small sound and reached one tiny hand toward you in return.

“I love you,” Nanami whispered. He hadn’t said it often before. But lately, it came easier. It felt like the only thing that mattered.

You murmured something sleepy, maybe “love you too,” maybe “come to bed,” but it didn’t matter.

Nanami leaned down, kissed your temple, and held you both tighter.

There were too many balloons.

Somewhere along the way, Gojo had taken "a few festive touches" to mean a balloon arch, customized goodie bags, and a full-blown bouncy castle that was entirely too large for the toddler guests.

Nanami stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, carefully slicing fruit into toddler-safe bites. You were half-laughing, half-apologizing as you helped your mom pin up the last string of decorations. There was a low hum of chatter—polite, careful. Nanami’s parents sat on the couch, talking quietly with yours. Not warm exactly, but not ice anymore. Just... mild spring weather. Civil.

And for the first time in a long time, no one was watching you with that lingering edge of skepticism. No one looked like they pitied you.

You were just Dada.

Tashi, seated in a tiny birthday crown that sat lopsided on his soft hair, clapped happily from his highchair. He’d already eaten half his body weight in bananas and cheerios, and now Gojo was feeding him spoonfuls of whipped cream while Suguru warned him, “You’re going to make the baby feral.”

Nanami walked over, resting a warm hand on your lower back. “He’s going to get overstimulated.”

You smirked. “You love it.”

“I love him,” Nanami said softly, without hesitation. “The party is tolerable.”

That was Nanami-speak for: I’ve never been happier in my life.

Across the room, your mom laughed at something Nanami’s father said. It was low, surprised, and real. You blinked.

“I think they’re... bonding,” you murmured. “Are we in a parallel universe?”

Nanami looked up, analyzing the interaction like he would a spreadsheet. “Your mother likes whiskey. My father respects that.”

“God,” you muttered with a shaky laugh, “if only that had worked four years ago when I introduced you.”

Four years ago, your parents had warned you. He’s too stiff, too serious. What if he doesn’t take care of you?

And Nanami’s parents hadn’t said it outright. They never did. But you saw it in their stiff handshakes, the polite avoidance, the way they said your name like they were tasting vinegar.

Trans. Young. Too emotional.

And yet here you all were.

There was a lull in the noise. Tashi’s chubby hands were reaching toward your father, who’d been nervously hovering at the edges until now. He approached slowly, unsure, and then—

“Come to Grandpa?” he asked, his voice soft.

Tashi babbled, delighted, as he was lifted into familiar arms. Your father held him like something precious. Fragile.

You blinked hard. Nanami saw.

“He’s beautiful,” your mom whispered. “You made a beautiful boy.”

Your throat caught. “Thank you.”

Nanami’s mother joined her at your side, a mug of tea in hand. “He has your eyes,” she said gently. “But the brows—definitely Kento’s.”

She hesitated. Then, in a moment so brief you almost missed it, she reached out and brushed a bit of frosting off your sleeve.

“You’re a good father,” she said. “We were... slow to see it. But we see it now.”

You stood frozen for a moment. Then nodded, blinking furiously at the cupcake tray.

“Thanks,” you whispered.

Nanami caught your gaze across the kitchen, brows soft, his expression unreadable to anyone but you. You gave him the smallest nod. It happened.

And later, after everyone had left and Tashi was passed out, exhausted and sugar-drunk, you both sat on the couch with paper plates of leftover cake.

“They stayed for four hours,” you said in disbelief.

“Your mom asked mine for a recipe,” Nanami added.

You looked at each other. Then burst out laughing.

“Is it bad I feel like we just won a war?” you asked.

Nanami leaned over, resting his head against yours.

“No,” he murmured. “We did.”

The restaurant was beautiful. Candlelit, upscale, tucked away into a quiet little corner of the city where string lights wove through trellises and violins played softly under warm golden lamps. You looked stunning. The waiter had just refilled your glasses. It was your first time out—alone—since Tashi had been born.

Nanami looked perfect, as always. Crisp button-up. His favorite tie. A rare glint of something mischievous in his eyes as he clinked his glass to yours and murmured, “Happy anniversary.”

You smiled. “Cheers to surviving our first year with a newborn.”

“A triumph.”

You laughed, fingers brushing over his knuckles. “And look at us. Out. Wearing real clothes.”

Nanami lifted a brow. “I wore real clothes yesterday.”

“You wore pajama pants and one of my tank tops that said ‘Sleepy But Make It Fashion.’”

“…It was laundry day.”

You were about to take a sip when— Buzz. Nanami’s watch lit up.

You blinked. “No.”

“It could be—”

“Nanami. We left him with two very qualified, very chaotic adults who swore they wouldn’t let him eat glitter again.”

“I’m just checking the camera. One second.”

You sighed as Nanami subtly turned his wrist toward him and tapped through the nanny cam app.

On the screen Gojo was holding Tashi like he was Simba, dramatically singing a completely off-key version of “Circle of Life.” Suguru sat on the floor, visibly resigned, holding a book that had yet to be read. Tashi, blissfully shirtless and smeared in something blue, looked delighted.

“Is that…” Nanami squinted. “...cake frosting?”

You leaned in. “That’s cake frosting.”

Gojo’s voice crackled through. “You gotta try the buttercream, little dude—it’s like happiness had a baby with sugar and punched your taste buds in the face—HEY DON’T EAT THE WHOLE SPOON—okay he’s got the whole spoon.”

Nanami’s jaw twitched.

You gently reached over, turning his wrist away. “Baby. He’s okay.”

Nanami sighed. “He’s shirtless. Again.”

“And smiling. Again.”

He finally looked up at you, tension softening. “I just… what if they drop him?”

“Gojo’s held me drunk and unconscious before. He can hold an eighteen-pound infant.”

“That doesn’t comfort me.”

You leaned in, resting your chin in your palm, voice softer now. “You know what comforts me? Seeing you like this.”

He blinked. “Like what?���

“Like a dad who’s so in love with his baby boy he can’t go one dinner without making sure he’s smiling.”

Nanami paused.

Then, “I am in love with you, too, you know.”

You smiled. “I know. And I know Tashi’s okay. And that we’ll be home in two hours to bathe him and read him that weird squeaky book he keeps chewing on.”

“I hate that book.”

“Then it’s his favorite.”

Nanami chuckled quietly and finally set his phone aside, reaching across the table to lace your fingers together.

You relaxed into the warmth of his touch. The food arrived. The candles flickered. For a few minutes, it was just the two of you again—quiet, full, soft with love.

Then—buzz. Nanami didn’t even blink. He groaned. “I swear, if Gojo is letting him watch The Fast and the Furious again—”

“He’s fine.” You said, holding his hand a little tighter. “They’re his uncles. They love him.” You smiled. 

“He’ll be okay?”

You nod. “He’s got a village. And cake.”

[mistermalaprop]

Hi I saw you have art requests open and really liked your style on the post I saw! Can I get a Skywarp? Doesn't matter what version I just think he's silly :]

I decided to tackle TFO Skywarp. His faceplate change is beautiful!

[fameandfiction]

IMAGINE PART I: “Don’t Touch Her” — Regina George x Reader

— Surprisingly immune to the usual social power plays.

Requested

[Twilight haze bleeds through the cafeteria windows, bathing the hall in soft gold; trays clatter, laughter echoes, but time slows when she walks in.]

You didn’t expect to transfer schools halfway through your senior year. You didn’t expect much of anything, really—not the glossy floors of North Shore High, not the cliques that clung to each other like lifelines, not the way every hallway seemed to whisper a name you hadn’t learned yet but would never forget: Regina George.

The first time you hear it, it’s not in a conversation. It’s in a warning.

“Don’t look her in the eyes too long,” the girl at the locker next to yours tells you with a kind of reverence, half-serious. “Who?” “Regina. Regina George. She’ll eat your soul.”

You laugh, not because it’s funny, but because people like that don’t exist outside of movies.

But then you see her.

Not in a slow-motion hallway entrance or a cinematic strut. No, she’s already sitting in the cafeteria, skirt hiked mid-thigh, white nails tapping against the top of a Diet Coke can, eyes calculating and bright. She looks up as if sensing your gaze. And when her eyes meet yours—it’s not a soul she devours. It’s your breath.

There’s something cinematic about her. Too sharp to be sweet. All precision, like she was designed—not born. She looks away before you do.

“She saw you,” whispers someone behind you. “That means something.”

[Wednesday. You’re in the back row of AP Psych, two desks behind her.]

You don't belong to any group yet—by design. You keep to yourself. You read during lunch. You say exactly what’s required in class and nothing more. That’s what makes Regina notice you.

Because you’re not trying to get noticed.

Because you’re not afraid of her.

Because, maybe, you don’t want her. And no one’s ever not wanted Regina George.

So she starts small. A glance during attendance. The turn of her head when you answer a question. A pause in her stride when she passes your locker.

And you—God, you try to pretend it’s not happening. But it is. You feel it in the shifts of the hallway. The soft hush when she walks past. The way her friends—Gretchen and Karen—start giving you second glances too. You’re not invisible anymore. You’re marked.

You’re on Regina’s radar.

[Friday. Chemistry lab. Partner assignments.]

Ms. Livingston has barely finished reading out the names when the scraping of a chair echoes loud enough to turn heads.

“We’re switching,” Regina announces coolly, already sliding into the seat next to you. Your assigned partner blinks in confusion. So do you.

“Uh, that’s not what she said.” Regina doesn’t look at her. She doesn’t need to. “It is now.”

There’s no argument after that.

You glance at her warily. She offers you a sweet smile with no sweetness in it.

“Hi,” she says, like it’s the first word of a game she knows she’ll win. “Hi?” “I’m Regina George. But you already knew that.”

She leans in close enough that her perfume (something expensive and cruel) brushes your skin.

“What’s your name?” You answer. Softly. Unsure if it matters. “Cute,” she says like she’s picking out a flavor.

[The next week is a fever dream.]

You don’t become a Plastic. You’re not even sure if they’d allow it. You’re something else. A curiosity. A pet project. A threat.

You are Regina George’s new fixation.

She starts sitting next to you in classes you didn’t even know she had. You find a pink post-it stuck to your locker: “Call me. Or don’t. But you will.” There’s a number underneath. The handwriting is immaculate.

People stare when she walks with you to lunch.

Girls glare. Boys leer. Teachers seem confused.

You try to act normal. You fail.

“Why me?” you ask her one afternoon, both of you perched on the bleachers during a free period. “Why not you?” she counters, pulling her sunglasses down just enough to meet your eyes. “You don’t even know me.” “Don’t need to.” She tilts her head. “You’re different. I like that.”

Her smile is brief and terrible.

“Besides,” she adds after a beat, “you haven’t asked me for anything. Not popularity. Not help. Not even lip gloss. It’s… refreshing.”

You don’t respond. You’re too busy trying not to stare at her mouth.

[It shifts again at the Halloween party.]

You didn’t plan to go. You didn’t even have a costume. But you show up anyway, wearing something black and half-hearted, standing by the drinks table and trying to look like you don’t feel wildly out of place.

Then she appears.

Regina. In red velvet and devil horns. Of course.

“You’re late,” she says, like you were supposed to be there hours ago. “Didn’t know I was expected.” “You’re always expected.”

She grabs your hand like it’s a leash and drags you into the crowd. The bass rattles your bones. Her hand is hot and firm.

She dances like she’s daring everyone to watch her. And when she turns to you, hair whipping, cheeks flushed—she dares you, too.

And you do.

You dance.

For her. With her. Around her.

Until the room disappears.

[But everything good around Regina has an expiration date.]

The rumors start fast.

“Are they dating?” “No way. Regina’s straight. Right?” “She’s using her. She does that.” “New girl better watch her back.”

You hear them. She hears them.

And when someone touches you in the hallway—just a brush, a guy’s hand on your waist as he squeezes past—Regina loses it.

“Don’t touch her,” she says, all honey and venom. “Damn, Regina. Relax. I didn’t know she was your—” “She’s not. But she’s mine.”

Silence.

You don’t speak. You don’t know how to ask what she means.

Regina looks at you for too long after that.

Then she leaves.

[Monday. No eye contact. No smile. Not even a note.]

She avoids you.

She avoids everyone.

You catch her watching you in class but she doesn’t come closer. Not anymore.

And you—God, you miss her.

You miss the smell of her perfume and the sound of her laugh and the way she made the world feel warped and tinted and alive.

You miss the version of yourself that existed in her gaze.

Until one night. Late. A text.

RG: You’re up? You: Yes. RG: Come outside.

You do.

She’s waiting in her car. The windows are down. The engine purring.

She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.

“Get in.” You do.

She drives. Silent for too long. Then:

“I don’t know what this is,” she says. “But I don’t want anyone else to have it.” “Have what?” “You.”

Your throat closes.

She stops the car. Turns to you.

“Is that fucked up?” “Yeah,” you whisper. “Good. Because I’m a fucked-up girl.”

Her hand reaches for yours.

You let her take it.

[To be continued...]

Requested

[gorgeous777]

Hiii! If you don't mind could I get a severus snape and childhood friend reader where she's a new professor so they're really close? But somewhere along the way everyone else mistakes them to be a couple and they end up knowing this through some students?? They end up confessing tho sooo....🤭 thank youuuu!

Unbeknownst, Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

A/N: Reader is professor to a subject that isn't cannon to the HP universe (I think). Reader is Hufflepuff coded, but there isn't a specific house listed for them. This one is a bit longer than normal, and as always not proof read or edited.

Enjoy!

___________________________

There were several things Severus Snape could say about you. What those things were, you weren't at all positive. You'd recently taken on the position as the Mythology Professor: a new subject that Hogwarts was adding to their curriculum. Dumbledore was quite adamant about you being the person to take on the position. His letter asking you to take the job was clear about that as he had complimented your knowledge on the subject in several ways. You were a bit apprehensive to take the job at first. As lovely as it sounded, it would feel weird to have majority of your old professors as coworkers.

Though, when you caught wind that Severus was the potions master you took the job without another thought. Seeing him after Merlin knows how many years? Sign you up! Truth be told, you'd been his friend since childhood. Your mothers were friends, though unlike him you were a pureblood. That didn't deter your opinion of him however. Everyone was human to you. While he would never voice it out loud, that was one of the many things he truly adored about you. But there was seldom he didn't.

You were unaware of this fact. Utterly, completely, cluelessly unaware. There wasn't a man better at hiding his emotions. Most of the professors didn't show up until the students did. Your decided to ride the train. It'd be easier than using Apparition. You'd save energy that way. And get some more rest before beginning the next very new year of your life. You wanted to sleep for majority of the train ride; however your mind kept you awake. Running wild with all sorts of thought about your old friend. If he could even be considered just that.

You had harbored feelings for the man for many years now, including and especially during your time as students at Hogwarts together. Though, if he returned your feelings you were less than sure. He was an enigma to the fullest. Plus, last you checked, he was in love with Lily Evans. But she had married his biggest bully and passed over a decade ago. So perhaps your chances were less slim now. You had your doubts about that too. He was quiet possibly the most loyal person to their feelings and opinions that you knew. Needless to say, anxieties had caught you like the plague. Even if he wasn't in love with Lily anymore, who was to say he loved you of all people? Merlin knows how little the two of you have spoken since graduating. You could probably count the number of times on one hand. That was sad.

Upon arriving at the train station at platform nine and three quarters a surge of nostalgia washed over you. After your seventh year, you didn't think you'd be back here until your own children were students. Yet here you stood amongst a sea of excited students and teary eyed parents. It was a bit awkward in a frank sense. So, you shuffled about the large crowd of people and got on to the train as quickly as you possibly could. Brushing past students with polite exchanges, you stop dead in your tracks as your gaze landed on one boy in particular; Harry Potter. Had you not known any better, you would have thought he were his father, James. The boy made eye contact with you and too came to a halt. Without realizing it, a slight scowl overtook your features. To say you didn't like his dearly departed father would be a grotesque understatement.

With the way he had bullied Severus, it left little room for kind opinion. Though, the boy wasn't his father. Poor boy never even knew the man, it'd be unfair to treat him badly for things that happened before he was born. Shaking away the feeling, you break your disgust into a warm smile. "Excuse me" you say in the kindest tone you can muster as you too shuffle past the boy in the narrow hall. He looked confused and muttered out something of similar nature, nearly breaking his neck to watch you walk further away. A bit of guilt hit you for the way you had looked at him. What a wonderful first impression to leave on a student. After a bit of searching, you managed to find an empty cabin just as the whistle for depurator sounded. A dreary sigh left you while you sat. That guilt had only built up. If your reaction to mistaking Harry for his father was so negative, how the hell was Severus' the last three years?

He couldn't be anything but a third year by the looks of it. And that man could hold a grudge ridiculously well. You suspected that he had taken the liberty of passing it down on to the Potter boy. You'd have to talk to Severus about that. And be easier on Harry than other professors, even if just by a little bit. Enough effort shown makes all the difference. You should know, at your age. The next eight hours which you intended to be the calm before the storm were anything but that. From worrying about how your prolonged crush treated Harry to how well you're going to teach. You'd never taught anything before. Much less a now required class for all students third through seventh years. That was stressful. A bit after the train took off, the door to your cabin slid open. Instantly drawing you from your beginning thoughts, your gaze snapped up to the open door.

In the doorway stood a tall man with scars across his face. He was no other than your former classmate: Remus Lupin. He gave you a somewhat awkward smile. "Hello. Mind if I sit?" It took you several seconds to process his words. Was he being serious? Did he not recognize you? You blink before nodding, making a small welcoming hand gesture to enter the cabin. He must be a teacher as well. Not like you could just say no. You had better manners than that. "Uhm, yes. Go ahead." He gives a small nod with that same tepid smile, stepping into cabin and sliding the door shut behind himself. You felt awkward. While yes, this man had never outwardly bullied Severus with his three friends who did, he never tried to put a stop to it. In your book, that was equally as bad. He sat across from you, to which you immediately glued your gaze out the window.

Your anxieties picked back up again. Remus was adding to them. Being coworkers with him was going to be very awkward. Sure you didn't hate him, you could only hold so much against him for his lack of defense against what was clearly wrong. Sometimes standing up to your friends was hard. Especially in youth when friends were only the most important thing to be had. Nonetheless, that didn't make it justifiable. You weren't aware of how much time had passed as you had spaced out before Remus broke the otherwise uncomfortable silence. When he cleared his throat your gaze snapped back up to him. He hesitated a bit, but gave you another tepid smile. "L/N, correct?"

"Uhm, yes. Lupin, right?" you muse back, unsure of how it will come off if you make it clear you remember him perfectly. Clearly he didn't remember all that much about you. But, you were in different houses.

"Yes. It's nice to see again after so many years."

All you can do is nod in agreement. There's a moment of awkward silence before he spoke up once more.

"Have you taught at Hogwarts long?"

"No actually. This is my first year teaching. And you?"

"Ah. I'm in the same situation as you. What subject are you teaching?"

"Mythology. It's a new subject they're introducing to the curriculum. It's now a required class for the third through seventh years"

Remus chuckled, shaking his head. "Wouldn't that have been convenient to have during our days as students?" You grin awkwardly, but couldn't disagree with him. You knew what he was referring to. Given that war he fought in and his condition, he could have probably used that class.

"Right? I don't understand why it's only just now being taught, but I'm glad to have the job. And how about you? What subject are you teaching?"

"Defensive Against the Dark Arts"

"Oh?" you perk up slightly upon hearing his answer. He nods, continuing.

"Apparently the last teacher lost all of his memories"

Your brow furrows. You hadn't heard about that. The two of you speak for a while longer before he decided to take a nap. Not long after that, a group of three students show up at the cabin, one of which was Harry Potter. The train had only been going for a few minutes. Quickly, you got up and gave the cabin to the students. A train ride full of stress later, the Hogwarts Express made it to the Hogsmeade train station. Not wanting to have to have anymore interaction with students or staff, you decide to Apperate straight to the castle from the station. Upon doing so you're near instantly met with Minerva McGonagall. In her own, stern way you could tell she was happy to see you. She very hurriedly showed you were your classroom and chambers were. After seeing that all of your trunks were in fact there, you changed into something a little more befitting for the ceremony about to take place, you nervously began your walk to the Great Hall.

The walk itself felt like a fever dream. Being back in the castle brought back a lot of memories both good and bad. When entering the corridor for the hall you felt your heart come to a complete stop. There he was. Right in front of you. Even from behind you could recognize him without a second glance. In a split second, all of your previous anxieties vanished and your feet moved before your mind to catch up. "Severus!" The black haired man came to a halt, slowly turning around to face you. Your smile only grew as you waved and did a little jog to catch up with him. He crossed his arms over his chest in the most ridiculously dramatic way you'd ever seen, but you were too happy to see him again to tease him for it.

"Hi," you exhaled once caught up with him. He had all of his usual lackluster in regard to virtually everything, giving you an otherwise blank look.

"..Hello, L/N."

If it all possible, you beamed harder at him. Despite his drawl, this was a happy greeting indeed. Fumbling a bit, you continued.

"It's good to see you! How have you been?"

He quirked an eyebrow at you, clearly unimpressed by your attempt at small talk as if it were at all necessary. So he turned around and continued to walk toward the Great Hall. "It seems to have slipped your mind we have a ceremony to attend. If you're done with embarrassing yourself, then I shall see you there."

Momentarily stunned by his gall, you blinked. Without missing a beat however, you again caught up with him. "Uh- Right. Who sits next to you?" you asked in your best (but still worst) attempt to sound casual. He side eyed you as you walked along side him, but quickly flickered his eyes forward. As the two of you entered the hall you were a bit nervous to see all the students, save for the first years, sitting down. The Hall was alive and full of chatter. Seeing everyone drew your attention away from the fact that Severus didn't answer you. Then your eyes landed on the high table and in the same instant the full extent of realization hit you that you'd be sitting up there. Not at your former house table. That was scary. Then your eyes fell back to Severus and suddenly you were happy all over again.

Keeping pace with him, you began bubbling about how happy you were to see him along with various other things regarding your jobs up until you got to the high table. Your behavior didn't go unnoticed by the student body. Neither did the way he was looking at you. It was just slightly different from his normal demeanor, but it was noticeable enough. By the time you both sat at the High Table you were running on autopilot and sat to his left. Though when you did, Severus had entirely enough of your endless speaking. "L/N." he snapped, interrupting you, "It would do you good to remember we are in an environment in which we are expected to be professional."

A look of shock contorted your face. He was always quick to keep you in check during your youth. Seems that hadn't changed. So, you gave a nod and shut up. Soon enough, the remainder of the staff and faculty began to fill up the High Table. Remus ended up sitting on your left and greeted you politely. Severus wasn't happy to see that man by any means and was even less up to chatting after he sat. Wanting to make peace, you decided to get to know the D.A.D.A. teacher a little better. He made for decent conversation when the both of you weren't extremely awkward. Due to this, Severus spent majority of the meal eavesdropping on your conversation. Jealousy wasn't unknown to him by any means.

After the meal was over you wished Remus a good night but when you turned to do the same to Severus he was nowhere to be seen. Confused about how and why he disappeared so quickly, your gaze flickered around the emptying hall. At the end only feet away from the door, you spotted him. Wasting no time, you rushed after him. "Severus!" you called. He heard you. No reaction. You called out to him again. To which he again ignored you. And then you lost him in the crowd. Whatever, he probably couldn't hear you over all the students. It was late, you both needed your rest. Classes started tomorrow after all. Getting back to your chambers very rudely reminded you that you had a lot of unpacking to do. Unpacking that did not want to do. At least not right now. I could wait until tomorrow, couldn't it? You'd be here for the whole year anyway; you had plenty time to settle in properly. Not like that'd be easy either way.

As you predicted, the first day was a bit hectic, but not nearly as bad as you worried it would be. Only half as such, since you still had three other classes to teach tomorrow. Once you had dismissed the last class of the day you found yourself with utterly too much time on your hands. So, you what any sane person would do and did absolutely everything you could think of. Unpacked, made a lesson plan for the next few weeks, created your office hours and rearranged your classroom. But that was just it. There wasn't much left for you to do after all of that. To top it off, there were stiff a few hours standing in between you and dinner. Then he crossed your mind. What was he up to right now? You were going to find out. Walking along the hall of the castle in pursuit of the dungeons were his classroom and office were, you passed by several friendly students. It made you feel a little better knowing that your students didn't dislike you.

When you got to Severus' classroom you felt butterflies swam your stomach. What were you, fifteen? Reining it in, you gave a knock to the classroom door before pushing it open. The door was large and wooden, making a less than pleasant scraping sound against the stone floor. "Hello?" you call, peaking into the classroom. It didn't look all that different from what you remembered. By the looks of it, there was nobody in there. "Severus?" you enter the room, only to see that it was in fact empty. Seeing it all, you wondered if there was anything he did change. Wandering about the old classroom you looked carefully at everything, taking it all for the first time in years. When you got to his desk your eyes wandered the contents of it. It was condoned by all sorts of potions material and paperwork.

"Looking at things we shouldn't be?" A low monotonic voice sounded directly behind you, making you jump. With a sharp inhale and a hand flying to your chest you spun around with wide eyes. Severus. He didn't look pleased to see your snooping. "Merlin's beard Sev. You scared me" He somehow looked even more annoyed now.

"Sev?"

"Uh- Yeah. Remember I used to call you that when we were younger?"

"As I recall it, I hated the nickname and regularly expressed it."

"Oh." Embarrassing. "Right. Sorry."

He sized you up, making you nervous. Was he upset with you? Or had he just grown unfond of you since your school days? You shift nervously under his eyes, feeling more like a puppy in a cage.

"What business do you have in here, Professor?"

Ouch. Talk about passive aggressive. Seems he wants to keep things strictly profession. Which was fine, you should either way. Work wasn't a place to be over friendly with coworkers, even if it was him.

"Just wanted to stop by and say hello."

"I believe you've gone a step past that."

Your shoulders tense slightly at his words, your gaze now glued to the floor. You give him a small nod of agreement.

"Sorry, Snape. I didn't mean to overstep or anything. I'll leave you to it" saying that, you spun on your heels and headed for the door.

"Where are you going now?"

"What..?" you stopped, turning your head back to look at him in confusion.

"I assume you have your usual ridiculous amount of things to tell me. Or have you finally learnt to keep that pesky mouth of yours.. Shut?"

A wide smile spread across your face. So he was happy to see you after all. Turning around and running back over to him, you threw your arms around his neck while laughing happily. "Aha! I knew you were happy to see me you big faker!" Your instant physical touch caught him off guard and he stumbled a but from the sheer force and sudden contact. By instinct, his hands came to hold your hips as if to stabilize you. A faint pink dusted his pale cheeks and he grumbled something incoherent pushing you away gently.

Over the course of the next few weeks you got to be rather close with Severus, spending practically all of your free time with him. While it did mildly annoy him, on the inside he was happy to spend his free time with you as well. Early on during this time period, a rumor began to spread about the halls of the castle. It started with students.

"Have you seen the way she's always following him around?"

"Tell me about it! Do you think they're together?"

"L/N and Snape? I mean yeah, but she could do so much better than the dungeon bat. She's way too pretty for him?"

"Really? I think they look cute together. They're like the perfect polar opposites"

"Eh. He's totally her dog. I mean have you seen how much more mellow he is around her?"

"Mellow?! The man is crazy protective of her. He's like a goblin with gold bro"

"Yeah I agree. But he is for sure soft when it comes to her"

And then the ghosts began to spread the gossip as well. Somehow all of the whispering went over your head. It wasn't until Remus spoke to you about it that everything came crashing down on you. The two of you had become good friends since the start of the term and you spoke to him regularly.

"So Y/N," Remus began while the two of you walked side by side across the empty courtyard, "how are you and Severus? Going steady so I hear?"

"What?!" You snap your head up to look at the taller man completely baffled. He put his hands up in surrender, looking equally as surpried at your reaction.

"I apologize if I've over stepped. I meant no harm"

"No, no. It's not that I just- What do you mean going steady? He and I aren't-"

"Oh! Aren't you? I suppose that's what I get for believing in the words of students"

"What do you mean 'words of students'? Remus what are they saying about Severus and I?"

"Well that you're together, of course. Could have fooled me easily, that with how often the two of you are together"

"We're not! I-I mean yes we're always together but not together together. H-How long has this rumor been going around?"

"Some time now. I'm surprised you haven't caught wind pf it until just now"

"Oh Merlin.." You mumble, sliding your hand down your face. By now your cheeks were burning red. This was horrible. If Remus thought the rumor was true then how many other members of staff did? Had Severus heard about it? Oh no. What if he did? Without another thought, you bolted. Remus called out to you, but you were too panicked to hear him. You got to the dungeons in record time. You burst into the potions classroom, panting and red faced. Severus looked up from whatever he was writing in mild confusion, though that quickly faded as he saw it was only you. He set his quill down, placing his hands on the edge of the desk as he slowly stood.

"Professor, to what do I own the pleasure?"

"Severus I.." you shut the door behind yourself, then leaning on it to help catch your breath. Then it dawned on you; how the hell were you going to talk about this without making a complete ass of yourself? He watched as the realization hit your face. This was going to be ridiculous, he thought. He circled his desk, slowly approaching you.

"Well?"

"Uhm.. It's just that.. I caught wind of this uh, rumor."

He quirked an eyebrow at you, which in turn only made you more nervous.

"And?"

"And well, it's about you and I. I wasn't sure if you'd heard about it not and wanted to clear the air, I guess?"

He held is expression and gaze. As if to silently dare you to continue. You swallow nervously. "Not that it's an appalling idea or anything!"

"Y/N" he attempted to cut in.

"I'm sure that being with you would be incredible. N-Not that I want to be! Or not not want to be, I just-"

"Y/N." You shut up at the firmness and volume of his tone, flinching at it a bit. He came closer to you, barely leaving any space between the two of you. He loomed over you, to which you put your head down.

"Are you insinuating that I don't want to be with you?"

"No! I-I mean, yes, but I didn't want to make assumptions or put words into your mouth. Because-"

"Do you have idea what torture I've been in these last few months?"

"What?" You look up at him finally, surprise written all over your face. He looked absolutely furious, or as if he were holding himself back. "Torture? I don't.."

"Enduring it everyday like a curse. Seeing you in never ending amounts, throwing yourself at me so mercilessly." he slammed a hand down on the wall next to your head, "Have you no sympathy for my aching heart? Parading around, all but mine." His tone is strained, hurt almost. You had no idea he felt that way. He was always so.. Casual? Himself, around you. Annoyed and stern, lecturing you for saying and doing foolish things. Getting you out of situations you shouldn't be in. Your eyes search his desperately. There was a desperate sort of yearning gleaming in his black orbs. Begging for you, your love.

"Severus, I had no idea.."

"Put me out of my misery, I beg you. I cannot take much more of this"

"I.." a thousand thoughts swarmed your mind all at once. It was beginning to make sense now. Everything. Why he got so protective of you whenever you spoke to Remus. How he seemed to show up right when you needed him. How he so seldom turned you down. Your eyes flicker away briefly as you thought. When they met his again, it clicked. Without a word, you brought a hand to his cheek and pressed your lips to his softly. He went ridged, but quickly melted into it. His eyes fluttered shut and his arms found you. This was it. What had been unbeknownst to you was now a reality.

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

[dagonet]

Kaamelott, Livre V, Le Phare [requested]

[stickercase]

cafe food and drinks by fumu.

[dragonagepolls]

How many people complete side quests in the Dragon Age games (for example: all side quests, some side quests, or just completely ignore them)

[aniskyw]

Will Beeman (Hayden Christensen) icons requested by anonymous

like or reblog if you use, don't repost or claim as yours credit & likes/reblogs are appreciated and requests are open feel free to send more requests of Hayden! ilysm ♡ thanks for requesting, love!

[kaliforniahigh]

if you’re still doing the alphabet thing could i request F + J with noah 👀

NSFW Alphabet - 900 Followers Celebration!

F (filthy) + J (jack off) | 🔞 SMUT 18+ only! | Thank you for the request ❤️

Noah was laying in bed, panting. The sound of his ragged breathing filling the bedroom.

That, and the sound of you occasionally chocking on his dick.

He swears that everytime you gagged around him, everytime he could feel the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, he saw literal starts dancing in his vision.

He could feel the pool of saliva gathering on his navel, a sign of how much you were enjoying yourself, and how much you were enjoying pleasing him.

When another gagging noise fills the room, he looks down to see you pulling your mouth away from him, and he noticed your face looked absolutely ruined.

Your eyes were watery, a few stray tears falling down your cheeks, and a string of saliva connected your lips to his dick.

He groans out loud at he sight, not believing he's the one who gets to feel, and see you like this.

"Fuck, sweetheart", he breaths out. "Keep going, I'm about to cum."

You keep moving your hand up and down his shaft, giving his tip a few kitten licks.

It's not long before he's stiffening below you, stomach going taut and face contorting into pleasure. He lets out a strained moan, and you open your mouth right when he cums.

Some of it lands on your tongue, and some of it lands on his stomach. You keep stroking him lazily, bringing him down from his high until he physically moves away from you, feeling too sensitive.

You wait until he regains some of his composure, and when he looks down at you once again, you make a show of licking everything that landed on his stomach, not once diverting your eyes from his.

His mouth hangs open as you swipe a little drop that scaped you and dripped down your chin.

"Fuck, I'm a dead man", he says and he can hear your giggle in the back of his mind, his head still a little foggy to process everything that's just happened.

He just knows he's the luckiest man alive.

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If you haven't been tagged, it's because your blog doesn't mention your age, or it is empty!

[thatonesonicfanfictionwriter]

Can I get a Shadow x female princess reader. You decide if the princess is girly-girl, tomboy, or both. Reader loved adventure when she was younger, but was restricted. She ran away and kept her royalty hidden. Reader befriends Sonic and the others, later developing a crush on Shadow. But what happens when Shadow finds out she's a princess?👀

I hope your healthy and getting enough sleep☺️❤️

Shadow the Hedgehog x Princess Reader Headcanons

Requested: Yes (by an anon).

Notes: Thank you for the kind words! And I’m getting plenty of sleep, don’t worry! I hope you enjoy your headcanons!

Your old life was…less than pleasant

You would think, “Oh, why do you say that, [Name]? You were a princess!"

Yeah. That was the problem.

You had no freedom, you could only go outside the castle with supervision, if you made one tiny mistake you were locked in your room, and you were eventually going to be forced into a marriage!

So, yeah, heck no!

You ran away as soon as you got the chance. Your guards didn’t stop you

Fast forward to now; you changed your appearance and your name, and you became friends with Mobius’s greatest heroes!

No one had to know your secret!

But…one day, something…not great happened

Missing posters of your old self started popping up, making you extremely nervous

It’s fine! Nobody knows, it’s fine!

But…well…

Your crush/somewhat friend Shadow the Hedgehog was always suspicious of you

Which was not great…

So when your old guards came to your town looking for you…

Things were not looking great

Especially since they were only looking for you to force you into a marriage…

Unfortunately for you, the guards eventually found you, and you were on the run again

You eventually bumped into Shadow, who initially was upset, but you spilled everything to him in a panic

It took him a moment to process, but he understood

But he wanted to help you get the guards and the queen off your back

…Which apparently involved you two fake-dating…

I mean, you weren’t complaining! It got them to leave you alone, and he was your crush!

Little did you know those feelings would soon be reciprocated