#so long explanation but I don’t think it’s basic | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonstruckme · 6 months

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hey! I really really really like your writing very much!

can you do one where the reader and spencer reid are both nerds but different kinds of nerds. so the reader's more of a literature/ language nerd and spencer's basically an expert in LITERALLY everything. so she has a major crush on him but always hesitates to make a move on him cuz she thinks that she doesn't stand a chance because she struggles with basic math and physics chemistry make her head hurt

and so when spencer asks her out she's all baffled like you don't think I'm dumb?!😭😭

Hi, thanks honey!

Spencer Reid x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

It’s one of those rare days where you can actually afford a lunch break, and you’ve decided to take it outside with your book. Every day lately feels like it could be the last nice one you get before the cold weather comes in, and you’re enjoying the crisp breeze and warm sunshine on your face as you get settled on the bench outside the cafe where you work.

The book you’ve been reading for the past week is good but not great, and you’re sort of pushing yourself to finish just so you can say it’s over with and tell the friend who lent it that you gave it your best. Still, you’re very nearly lost in it by the time a pair of black converse comes to a stop in front of you.

You follow them upward. “Spencer!” you say, probably with a touch too much alacrity. Too quickly, too. You might’ve at least pretended to have to think about the name of the sweet-faced doctor looking down at you. But it’s not your fault; you’ve gotten used to calling it out from the counter when he comes here to pick up his lunch at least three days out of the week.

“Hi,” he says, teetering on the edge of bashful. “I’m surprised to see you out here, you’re almost always working when I come by.”

It’s embarrassingly gratifying that he knows that. You’d never hold it against him if he didn’t, but you’ve come to enjoy the little bits of conversation you grab with him when he comes by, and it’s nice to know that he’s noticed you too.

“It’s a slow day,” you reply by way of explanation. “I figured I’d grab a break while I still could.”

Spencer smiles like he totally gets that. You imagine he does. “Good idea. Can I sit?”

“Of course!” Again, way too eager. You’ve got to work on controlling your tone around him. You move your discarded jacket into your lap.

“Thanks,” he says, sitting in the space you’ve made for him. His legs are so long he looks like he’s squatting on the bench, knees high enough for him to set his elbows on. Which he does, tilting his head to see you. “What’re you reading?”

“Oh, um, it’s nothing. I mean, I wouldn’t really recommend it,” you laugh. Christ, you don’t want him to know what you’re reading. Spencer probably reads astrophysics textbooks for fun. “It’s not very good.”

Spencer puts his hand over yours, far from forceful as he tips the page toward him until he can see the cover. Your brain is short-circuiting so badly it’s a wonder you don’t drop the paperback onto the pavement.

“I haven’t heard of it,” he says, which surprises you. Spencer seems so knowledgeable it’s difficult to believe there’s anything in existence that’s not stored somewhere in his hard drive. “Why are you reading it if you don’t think it’s good?”

He doesn’t ask it in any unkind or judgemental way, but something inside you tenses nonetheless. You know perhaps too much about Spencer Reid. It’s not like you’d gone out of your way to figure him out, but the facts had presented themselves to you almost serendipitously and you’d put the pieces together. You know that he’s in the FBI, not only because of the laminated identifier he sometimes leaves clipped to his shirtpocket when he comes in, but also because of the coworkers that occasionally come with him. From those coworkers, you also know that he’s a doctor, and you gather that he’s generally respected and admired as well as cared for by his team. He seems a bit awkward, but sure of himself where it matters, and he goes into every interaction with a kind curiosity. Most of all, you know that Spencer is smart. Like, expert in everything smart. You’d caught a few jokes from the people he’s brought in about an eidetic memory, his multiple PhDs, and the nickname “boy genius.” No matter how shy and sweet someone is, that’s intimidating.

And it’s unnerving to have someone with an IQ higher than you can probably fathom asking about your intellectual habits.

“Well, the plot doesn’t actually have much movement, so it’s pretty boring,” you say hesitantly. “I guess at this point I’m mostly in it for the prose. Plus my friend recommended it, so I have to finish it to keep her happy.”

Spencer laughs at your little joke, nodding. “Wow, the prose alone is enough to keep you going? It must be pretty fascinating.”

You want to backpedal immediately, but settle for a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s alright. I’m kind of a nerd for that stuff. Rhetorical devices and all.”

Spencer tilts his head, something igniting in his brown eyes. Interest. “Rhetorical devices. You mean like metaphor and personification?”

You nod. “Yeah, like those, but also anadiplosis and polysyndeton and anastrophe.” Spencer’s eyebrows move slowly upward as you speak, and you feel heat rising to your cheeks despite the slight chill. “I just like that there’s things that affect the emotion—or the pacing, or whatever—of writing that we as readers pick up on almost subconsciously, but were so intentional for the writer.”

Spencer’s nodding, eyes going somewhere just slightly distant. “Yeah, that’s a good point. I mean, I know writing is a very intentional process, but I never really think about the tiny, word-level decisions authors make to influence readers.”

“It’s so cool,” you agree. “Like, how long do you think it takes someone to land on the exact right word for what they’re trying to convey, or to structure their sentences in a way that builds momentum over the course of a paragraph? Like, so much goes into it.”

Spencer’s smiling at you, and you realize you’re gushing, geeky zeal bursting out of you like a soda bottle that’s been shaken and finally uncapped. “Sorry. Um, what’re you reading lately?”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says quickly, still smiling at you. “I actually just finished my last book, so I’m looking for something new. If this book has all that and isn’t up to your standards, I’d be interested to see what you really enjoy reading.”

Your cheeks are burning hot; you hope Spencer thinks the redness is from the cool breeze. “I’d be nervous to give you a recommendation,” you admit. “Too much pressure.”

Spencer waves you off. “I’ll read anything, don’t worry about it. Hey, have you ever been to that coffee shop on fifth? It’s in a bookstore.”

You blink. “No, I haven’t heard of it. That sounds cool, though.”

A bit of pink tinges Spencer’s cheeks; it’s probably from the cool breeze. “Yeah, well, you should let me take you there sometime. If you want, of course,” he adds hastily. “Don’t worry about it if not.”

It takes you a second to realize what’s happening. And then once you do, another second to make yourself believe it. “Like, as a date?” you ask, just to be sure.

Spencer’s smile is hopeful behind its timidity. “Yeah. Yeah, if you’re okay with that.”

“Yeah.” You can’t think of anything better to say, your brain filling with buzzing bees. “That sounds good. Thanks.”

He laughs, eyebrows coming together bemusedly. “Well, don’t thank me. I should be thanking you.”

It’s more a thanks for his taking action, you think. For making a move when you’d been too scared to, stagnant with months over your anxiety that he’d think you were too dumb or trivial to want to keep talking to you after he’d picked up his sandwich.

“Okay, great.” He stands. “Well, I have to get back, but I’ll, uh…I’ll see you? Friday, maybe? I can come by here after your shift.”

“You know when my shift ends?”

Now even his ears are turning red. “You…around four, right? I sometimes see you if I’m leaving work around then.”

You smile. “Yeah, four. See you then, Dr. Reid.”

“See you then!” he turns around, and you can see the exact moment he thinks to wonder how you know his last name. You don’t bother worrying about it.

1K notes · View notes

iwaasfairy · 8 months

Text

┌─ “ ! „ CHALKBOARD AND NAILS

tw. noncon, yandere, dumbification, objectification, daddy kink, some degradation, some praise, threats, brief mention of murder and blood, hair pulling, forced oral wordcount. 4.5k

a/n. ♡ commissioned by the amazing @totalleelee ♡♡♡ here you are my loVE!!! happy late birthday to your friend as well, and I really hope you guys enjoy it! I always like getting to write new characters and Nanami was definitely a fun one. I had to make the fic longer bc I wanted moreEeeeee but yea i just really really hope you enjoy it, and thank you again a miLLIOn for commIng me iM so sO HONOUREDDD

nanami kento x fem!reader

You should think about what you’re doing. Lying upside down off the couch with your eyes big and long, distracting lashes and your hair hanging; casting playful shadows on the floor when you move. His couch. He’d like to believe you’re doing it on purpose -hell, most people would probably be inclined to- when you’ve got that coy, little smile on your face and your shirt rides up to reveal a sliver of skin above your pants.

He would assume if you had ever dared to come onto him in any way. But you haven’t, and so he can’t, not when you remain the perfectly sweet, kind, respectful graduate they hired only a few years ago— and it makes him too aware of you.

Nanami’s not the prim and proper bootlicker Gojo jokes he looks like; so among the other sorcerers, it isn’t even too illogical that you would cling to him a little. A kouhai dumped on his doorstep when the higher-ups decided to employ them fresh out of school. If it were anyone else, he would’ve complained until the choice was overruled. But you’re not anyone else. He can’t even lie about the fact that he’s grown quite the attachment to you.

Your bubbly, engaged energy and blueberry scented shampoo and cheap coffee in styrofoam cups that you always, always forget to throw away at the end of the day. Your chattering that rings through his brain before he goes to sleep and the way you talk and talk and talk when he won’t. You’re the exact opposite of an enigma, because that would require that you left him with some mysteries, and you don’t have the ability to keep your mouth shut. He hates how easy you wind him around your little finger, and he hates that he hates it.

Nanami’s not a dependant guy- and it seems to be your goal to prove him so fucking wrong.

“Why wouldn’t that be possible? I mean, it’d be hard if suddenly a curse shows up and you’re called up in the middle of the night and have to rush to work, and our rates of serious injury are pretty high. But I think I could make it work! Y’know, communication is key and all that.” Your pretty lips shine as you ramble on. You prop your head onto one arm, and turn over so your leg is basically straddling his furniture. “Have you ever dated a non-sorcerer while you’ve been a grade one, Nanamin?”

He lets out a slow exhale, and shifts his gaze back from the lines of your throat to his book so you don’t catch him looking. “No.”

“Not once? In like twelve years?” You raise a brow like you’ve suddenly discovered he’s some ancient fossil dug up from the canal.

“I prefer not to leave my partners for weeks on end with no explanation because the sorcerer world forbids it— so no. And I didn’t graduate twelve years ago, brat.” With the spine of the book he taps your nose, before getting up from the chair to join you on the couch. The few drinks have been abandoned as you finally let the blood back out of your head and wobble like a deer, blinking too slowly. Even now, you’re pretty. Prettier than he wants you to be, taking in the soft slope of your nose and the pillowy lips and your stupid flush on your face. Brat is right.

“I think I’ll do it,” you declare after a few seconds, and rest your head back into the couch with a pout. “I get lonely. And most sorcerers have giant egos.” He’s not sure if it takes him aback -can’t place the emotion that washes over him a few inches at a time- but he finds himself watching the side of your face a little too tightly. The cogs turn in his head and send some uncomfortable cold to gather in the pit of his stomach. Your lashes flutter and some wetness lines your waterline, and he can tell that you mean it. It isn’t the alcohol, he knows you better than enough.

When you look up at him, your faces are only a few inches apart— soft breaths filling the narrow space between. Has he ever told you he loves you? He’s not a man of too many words, that’s always been more your style than his— so probably not. But he does. So much it carves a gaping hole in his chest upon impact. He doesn’t have to say anything to see the way your eyes flutter shyly with the near perfect closeness. As your silence hangs as the room disappears, his hand twitching on his thigh. Aren’t you partly his like he’s yours? That’s how it should work. It’s the only logical course of action, and so he can’t help but lean in.

You’re just too shy to say anything- right? You wouldn’t hang out with him so much if you didn’t, wouldn’t trust and touch him, or confide in him so much if you didn’t. His heart burns in his chest the closer you seem to get. But before he can finish up the gap, you giggle and back away. “Wow! Hey, we almost kissed.” Your voice is a higher pitch than normal, but still rambly. Fuck. “I didn’t expect you to be so close when I looked up,” your nose and cheeks are burning hot, “you scared me, Nanamin~”

You stand from the couch instead, and lean towards him with that little smile that drives him crazy at night. “Senpai, it’s clearly time for me to go home. I’m getting sloppy.” You are. And as much as he wants to use that as an excuse to grab you by your waist and pull you into his lap, it wouldn’t do any good. Not when you’re too busy running your mouth to understand the consequences. He loves you, but you’re one infuriating little runt. You run your hand through his hair like it’s an intrusive thought, spilling loose locks onto his forehead, and then you smack your lips. “Will you see me to the door at least?”

For not the first time, he blames your loose lips for making it so hard for him.

You’re entirely different outside the four walls of his apartment.

It’s a coincidence that he finds himself across the street as he spots you walking under the streetlights with a little jump in your step. You look a different sort of formidable— clinging to the arm of some plain fucking loser that is so very clearly drooling all over you. It’s almost pathetic how easily swayed the guy is, as you bat your lashes and smile at him. And somewhere in the back of his mind, it rings a little familiar, but common sense and logic get pushed down a little under the feeling of anger that he feels bubbling up in him.

Not at you— though he told you he didn’t think it a good idea, you’ve always been a bit dense. In need of protection. It isn’t an option, and Nanami’s responsible for you. He looks out for you. This fucking loser though, is oblivious about anything but the skin your dress is showing off. In the brief few moments he gets to spot you walking off towards your street, that much becomes clear. You love making it hard for him. You’re basically magnetic, dragging him along from whatever chore he was doing to follow behind patiently, getting more and more agitated.

See, Nanami has thought quite often about what he is, and isn’t. You forced him to think it over whenever he found his mind wandering back to you each time it had the chance, squeezing around his cock and whining out your dramatics into his mouth. In his imagination, he’s easy to wrap up into a neat bow. With a begrudgingly growing interest each time you landed on his couch, or trailed behind him like a puppy at work. It’s because of all that introspection that he decided he isn’t a good do-er. He does good, and he is perfectly adequate at doing it too. But he doesn’t do it for the praise of it.

Nanami isn’t a hero. He isn’t a vigilante.

He’s a simple guy with simple wants: you. So there’s only one reason that crystalizes in his mind as he finds himself walking a good distance behind this fucking loser that you’re blinking stars up at. It isn’t a noble one. Just that every fiber in him aches to grab the guy by the back of his neck and kick his head like a soccer ball. You wouldn’t like that much, but he still wants to do it.

You’re beaming and chattering along like you do at such a pace that you don’t even notice that he’s started to follow behind. Hell, you barely even acknowledge a passerby to move out of the way. You’re totally zoned in to your doe-eyed, little fantasies— even as the distance gets closer and closer, and he’s walking down the now familiar streets towards your apartment. And as much as he wants to blame you, he can't. Not really. It’s not like he didn’t know what a sweet little cheerleader you were when you were prancing around his office with the shortest skirts known to man and a coquettish blink of your long lashes. But it’s different when it’s some two-bit, middle aged non-sorcerer with a five o’clock shadow.

It’s different when it isn’t him. Even you must know that. You must feel it.

The sky’s darkening as your conversation goes from enthusiastic to clearly flirty, letting your giggle ring out down the lane— as he makes up the last bit of distance. The guy’s probably musty breath reaching you as he swings his arm over your shoulder, as he pulls you close. As he fills your head with all kinds of promises that he definitely won’t actually meet as soon as he gets your pretty hands around his cock. He knows it, and he knows that even your innocent, sweet personality would take a hit if that happened. You wouldn’t be able to perform well at work, and maybe even your relationship with Nanami would suffer if you got your heart broken.

There’s a very clear path before him that ends right where you’re walking up the steps towards your door, and those pretty lips form words he can’t focus on. He walks up to the door, and only now do you glance behind you and your pretty eyes go curiously wide at him. “Nanami?” You’re so fucking cute. But that stupid fucking arm around your shoulders is in his way. It blocks you from view, and ruins the sight. It’s a bother. There’s only the faintest hints of jealousy and rage left in his veins - when he gives you a quick nod, then turns towards the guy who’s now got an awfully dumb expression on his face. It reminds him a little of a curse, blank and narrowed and disturbed. He feels eerily calm, really. It’s a simple problem with a simple solution, isn’t it.

“What are you doing here-” you start to say, before you stumble back.

Blood splatters all over, and with an awfully easy motion that stupid head rolls and drops to the floor. It’s quick, and there’s a few seconds where he waits for the resistance. The uncomfortable feeling of guilt. But it doesn’t come—

Until your shaky hand clutches almost painfully onto his shirt, pinching him. “H- Nanamin. What the hell do you think you’re doing? What did you-” You gasp, breaking off into a choked cry when your eyes take in the sight before you, before squeezing your eyes shut entirely and starting to shake harder. “What’s- why?! What did you do? Why did you do that?! I can’t- I can’t even- what- why?!”

You shove him aside, and his foot lands in the mess as you fumble sticking the key into the lock— too shaky to control your own extremities well. But your mouth still hasn’t stopped running. “Stay away! Go away! You’re- I- hick- I don’t wanna look!” You finally manage to get the key turned by the time the tears are making your cheeks entirely shiny, snot running and lip wobbly like a five year old— and sink down into a crouch to start sobbing it out into your arm. “You just killed a-an-” You can’t even make it halfway through without breaking out into another squeak. “F-for no reason. I invited him here- seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Your face doesn’t come up again for breath until he grabs you by the arm to help you up, and you shove at him again, almost yelling this time. “No, no, no no no! Leave me alone!” This little scene you’re making is gonna attract attention, you know. “Leave me alone, I want to go in!” Before the situation can get out of hand, he pushes your door open enough to toss you inside, and the body after you. There’s a muffled little whimper from you when it lands with a thump on your floor. But as soon as he closes the door, the surge of adrenaline calms.

He just has to explain it to you, give him a minute.

“I don’t wanna- I don’t-”

For some reason, the entire situation winded him, and his beating heart bangs loudly in his chest. He drops his weapon aside and kicks off his shoes, and goes to you— where you’re cocooned in your own arms, knees to your chest. “Hey, it’s-”

“Leave me alone!” you squeak, knocking his hands away from you, only briefly looking up. “Go. Hck- go away!” You’re crying so much that your eyes are red and your cheeks puffy. But he still grabs you by your arms and hauls you up into his chest, ignoring the way you make yourself dead weight. Brat. He wants to say it, but he’s pretty sure you wouldn’t be too happy to hear it at this very moment. It’s not like he blames you. He’s always tried to shield you from the more gruesome parts of the occupation as much as possible. Of course you’d be upset. “Nanamin~” you whine.

“Shhh, just calm down. It’s all good now.” His heart still beats so loud. Maybe he was angrier than he first imagined. He carries you -much to your dismay, if your sniveling cries are anything to go off- out of the hall and into your bedroom. Where it smells of perfume and girly body lotion, and so overwhelmingly like you it takes him aback a little. You’re still crying, and still talking- but he does his best to drown it out in favor of explaining. See, he’s always been such a sucker for you. Swallowing down the slight rasp in his voice, he allows you to drop back into your bed, and looks down at you. You’re still pretty even with your eyes clenched closed, and crying like a baby. “There, ‘s okay.”

He runs his thumb along your eyes, then settles down next to you on the plush mattress. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Listen-”

“How can I -hck- listen?!” You’re quick to turn your face away from him, and wrap your arms around yourself a bit tighter— probably unaware of the distracting way you push up your tits that way in that little implication of a dress. Really, Nanami swallows, you can obviously do much better than that loser that’s probably staining your carpet at the entrance. Your lip wobbles again, before you suck it into your mouth. “I don’t know what- or how- but that isn’t okay, Nanamin. I just-”

So again, he tries to get your attention, this time by grabbing your arm. “Just listen. I did it for you- if this was anyone else I wouldn’t have been so pressed.” It’s true. No one is a priority like you are. “I had to.”

“What are you talking about? How- is killing someone- oh god, there’s a dead guy in my house, Nanamin! I don’t k- what am I gonna do? Why would you-”

“I’m trying to tell you something.” His voice is lower and sharper this time, and your eyes finally shoot open to look at him. But it isn't that adoring little look you normally have, and somehow that pisses him off too. You really need to have everything spelled out for you, huh. He loves you though, really, he genuinely, genuinely does. As more than just an equal— if he could, he’d give you everything. He just doesn’t know how to say it, staring back at the wobbly tears on your face. “I love you,” is what ends up coming out, and then a breath.

And he’d say more if you weren’t such a talker.

Your face goes a little distant for a few seconds, before you shake your head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“I will tell you, if you just-”

“I can’t accept that, senpai! You can’t just go around and kill-”

“I was protecting you!”

“From what?!” Before you even give him a chance, a real one, you start righting yourself on the bed and run a hand under your nose. And you stare at him with such disbelief and broken trust that it makes him feel a little dizzy. He doesn’t know exactly how he imagined himself spilling his guts, but it wasn’t like this. “You need to leave. And I need to contact someone from the higher ups to- take care of- I don’t even know,” you sob, “I don’t know how any of this goes. That’s so messed up, Kento.” That’s the first time you’ve ever addressed him by his first name. Scolding him for a choice he made purely for you. He did this for you. “You need to-”

He can’t let the first time end this way.

“Stop talking.”

“Stop talking?” You echo back to him, and glare, also getting up off the bed and farther away from him— and he can’t help but follow. “What did you think was gonna happen? That I wasn’t going to say anything?” As he gets up with you, you walk back a step, and your eyes flick back and forth between him and the door a few times. But he chases, and you jump in surprise when your back meets the wall, effectively trapping you between the wall and him. “I- Nanami-”

“Kento.”

You barely blink as you take a sharp intake of air, and then hold your hands up to his chest to keep some space between you two. “Look- just- we can talk about this, but I can’t just ignore that there’s a dead body in my house, Kento.” He’s really sick of you talking. You’re lucky he loves your voice so much, because if it was anyone else, he wouldn’t stand for it. Whatever you see in his expression must have you worried, because that slight defiance that remains gets awfully feeble when he reaches for you this time. “You’re scaring me. Please, just- hck- just back up. Let me process this, and then we can talk.”

“No, all your talking just gets in the way.” Your eyes go wide and a wave of heat washes over your features, making you look even more attractive. If he can’t tell you, he’ll just show you. You’ve got it all fucking wrong. What he feels for you is true love. Before you can go on another mad ramble, he grabs you and drags you back to bed, as gently as he can while having his hand screwed tight around your wrist. He wouldn’t ever actually hurt you. As you land on the bed, he holds you down— watching as you open your mouth to talk. But you can’t, because he’s already shoved two fingers between your lips and feels the way your hot, wet tongue squirms as he pushes them down your throat. “There, that’s better.”

Still you’re trying to talk, it’s almost funny. You whine around his fingers and gag when you can’t, breathing his name into an uncomfortable moan that just turns him on. You try to pull your head away, but you can’t. “You’re a lot sweeter when you’re not running your mouth sometimes, baby.” He can’t help it, it just comes out. He likes you so much, and you just look so cute gagging on his fingers and grabbing his sleeve like you’re not sure whether or not to pull or push. Tears start welling up along your waterline when he runs his fingertips over your soft, pink tongue. And his cock twitches in his pants.

That’s the good part, see. Even with all this fighting, you two still get along so well. You make him a better man when he’s around you. At least, in theory. He’s not crazy, he knows that holding you down and making you choke on his fingers isn’t really the best course of action -but you left him no choice- and he’s better off finishing what he started. “If you shut up,” he draws his fingers out of your mouth to start unzipping his pants, “I’ll let you breathe. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you won’t want to talk again.” It’s all up to you, pretty girl. Simple cause and effect. You take one sharp breath as you try to get out from under his weight, but there’s really nowhere you can go.

So you do what you do best, and whine. “Nanami~” It’s a baby-ish little whimper that makes him name sound so fucking good. But still. He grabs your face to squish your cheeks, and stares down at you with such intensity that you keep your cries in.

“It’s Kento.” His voice is a low, soft rumble. He wonder if it gives away the way his body feels right now, standing above you while his cock strains against his pants. They’re getting too tight to be comfortable. “Or daddy- you like that better? Say it.” You shake your head into his grip -but your ears start glowing another color brighter, almost like he’s caught you in a lie. Of course you do. You and him are made to be together. You let out another little squeak before he lets go of you to start undoing his pants.

That apparently seems to be too much, because suddenly you’re trying to get up as you speak. “No, no, I’m not-” You’re trapped when he forces you back down and now yanks your head back by your hair, making you cry again. “Ow, please senpai— I like you, I really do- but I can’t- I- hang on.” The heat crawls up his neck to his ears watching your eyes go big as the belt falls and his pants go down his thighs. You really do look good on your fucking knees.

“I told you to stop yapping, didn’t I?” He asks in return, and finishes sliding his boxers down, kicking them aside. Then he pulls your face towards his cock and watches as you whine. “Open up for daddy. There’s only one thing your mouth’s good for.” You’re so easy to hold in place, and it sends unimaginable gratification through his body when your little tongue comes out for him. You’re really such a brat, making everything so fucking hard for him.

You open your mouth enough for him to start pushing inside at just the slightest yank of your hair, making you whine and whimper as you shuffle around between his legs. Your hands come to rest on his thighs, but that doesn’t hold him from sliding the hot head of his cock as far as he can into your mouth right away. You look amazing drooling all over his cock, choking when he starts to move with the most patient moves he can manage. It’s not easy to do much of anything except rock himself on your soft tongue and feel your whining go down his shaft and balls. “There, now you’re making yourself useful. That’s what you do best, hm, fucking brat?”

“Agh, fuck- that’s- such a soft little mouth.” You make him feel heavenly, and by the way you’re shifting down there on the floor -trying and failing to get the friction you want- you’re also feeling it. He can tell by the way you blink up at him so slow, swallowing around him and letting that pretty voice out in the cutest, little moans. Just for him. Only ever for him. “You’re so lucky you’re this fucking cute,” he ends up rasping out, before letting you finally pull back to breathe when you start jittering. “Say something smart again, brat.��

“Agh, daddy,” you sob, drool spilling down your chin, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.” He can tell you are. Your big eyes glossy and cheeks hot, you try to get up from the floor, and he yanks you up to turn you over instead. Your little dress rides up too easily, giving the rest of the way when he shoves it up your back. It’s almost embarrassing to see how wet you are, lacy panties soaked all the way through and peeled too easily aside to reveal that needy pussy. And you don’t even deny it, just shiver when he runs his finger up and down your slicked up cunt. “Please.”

He’s such a sucker for you, fuck. It’s almost like you know it. “My little cock slut, look at that. You’re dripping down your thighs, brat.” He spits on your center once before lining up and sliding in, and watching as your little pussy stretches around his cock with some effort— as you let out a lewd, almost desperate whine. “Fuck.” And Nanami hoists himself over you to start fucking into you, hips meeting your ass as he bottoms out, as you open your legs further to let him in. Your back half hangs pathetically over the end of the bed as he fucks into your tight, hot -so fucking hot and wet and beaming- pussy and his balls clap against you. You feel so good it’s hard to hear anything over his own heartbeat hammering wildly against his ribs.

“Daddy feel good inside?”

“Mhm, agh-yea.”

You too, baby. Nothing in the world feels as good as letting your pussy swallow and suck him in deeper, like you’re trying to hold him in that impossibly hot, blissful clutch forever. He can’t even hear much of your whining and moaning and pitiful struggle, but you probably haven’t stopped. You don’t even have the energy to close your mouth, trying to push back to meet his thrusts more even as he bumps against the end of your pussy— and his one hand is squeezed around your neck. But you look pretty this way. You look useful.

“Tell me how much you like me.”“So~ much, so much, fuck. I’m gonna cum, Kento. Daddy.” Your mouth’s still running when he snakes his hand underneath you to start rubbing at your puffy clit, and feels the way his own body starts to tighten when your walls clench wildly around him. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. I want you to cum too, want to feel it- I wanna have you deep inside me forever, ah, ah. Oh, you feel so good, fuck.” It’s almost ironic when he thinks about it. How much he likes you running your mouth like this, begging for more. It’s poetic.

#nanami x reader #nanami smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento smut #tw.noncon #tw.murder #tw.blood #tw.dark content #tw.yandere #🍯honey.pot #💫ch.nanami

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wrongplacerighttime · 1 month

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ex-boyfriend!harry x you

just a lil somethin somethin. wrote this super quick and didn’t proof read it so !!!! basically just smut with a lil bit of a plot, didn’t go into too much detail w the plot. just was in a….mood if you know what i mean HAHAHA.

wc: 2.8k

tw: ex-boyfriend!harry, smut 18+, squirting if you squint, unprotected sex, p in v. use protection kids!!!

bad idea, right?

The bass through the speaker in the bar turns to muffled bumps as you look down at your phone and see a text from your former boyfriend, blood draining from your face, from your brain and you can't form a coherent thought. Just his name that you never deleted from your contact list. It had been six months since the tumultuous end that you never wanted to think about. You stared at it for so long that the letters of his name blurred together.

Harry.

Yes with just a period, because you had removed the emoji you reserved just for him, a giraffe from some inside joke the two of you shared. You had wondered then if he kept the teddy bear by yours or if he removed it like you had, erasing that part of your relationship from his memory.

You remind yourself not to think of it that way. It was over. Six months ago, when he came home and said he just didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore with no explanation. He packed and left the same night. You didn’t stop him…how could you have, when he was so hellbent on leaving? You just wanted him to be happy, if he decided it wasn’t with you, you had to learn to be okay with that.

Your finger hovers over the message, wanting nothing more than to open it and see if he finally decided to give you the clarification you were desperate for. You glance around briefly, looking to see if any one of your friends was near. If they saw this they would freak. They’d yell and scream at you to delete it without opening it.

You knew you couldn’t.

The coast was clear and you inhale deeply, holding it in until the message was open.

From: Harry.

“Hey.”

Just one simple word. Chewing on the inside of your lip, you type back.

To: Harry.

“Hi.”

Three gray dots show up on the screen almost instantly, like he was watching the message thread and waiting for you to respond while you were having a crisis on the other end. You drum your fingers against the back of your phone, nervously shifting your weight from one foot to the other as you watch them disappear and reappear, as if he was typing and rethinking whatever he was saying. Then it finally shows up.

From: Harry.

“Busy?”

Yet another message with one single word. Narrowing your eyes, you quickly type back that you were at the bar with your friends. The typing bubble comes up again, but he doesn’t seem to hesitate on sending this time because the only thing that comes up is an address. Assuming it’s his new place, you look around for your friends but don’t see them in your line of sight.

You argue back and forth with the angel and devil perched on your shoulders. You know this means he wants you to come over. But it’s a bad idea, right? On the other hand you miss him, more than you ever missed anyone, and not getting to tell him how much you loved him when he left made it impossible to forget him.

Just one time wouldn’t hurt, right?

Your phone buzzes in your hand, his name lighting up your phone in a different way this time. You press the green button without hesitation, putting a hand over your other ear to hear him better. But the other end of the line is silent, save for his breathing. Neither of you wanted to be the first to speak. Then he clears his throat.

“Come over.” He’s almost begging, and you sense some undertone in his plea. “Please. Just miss you.” He admits and the alcohol clouding your mind makes it sound like honey dripping from his tongue and you don’t question it.

“Miss you too.” You slur, twisting a strand of hair through your fingers and looking towards the floor. “I’ll be there in 20.” You say without thinking about it and hang up quickly.

You don’t waste time, leaving the bar and typing his address into your phone to get directions. On the way over, you think about turning around and going home, because this is crazy. You swore you were done with him, you didn’t beg him to stay, didn’t beg him to come back…and yet you’re unsure why it was so easy for you to come to his beck and call at your expense.

You decide that it would be a problem for you to figure out when you’re sober.

You pull up in front of his place in a quaint little neighborhood, one you never imagined he would be living in. Sitting in your car for a moment, mustering up the courage to go knock was proving to be difficult but you take a deep breath and get out anyway. Standing in front of his door, you only get one knock in before he’s swinging the door open, not wasting any time like he was waiting there for you the entire time.

He’s there, standing in front of you, dressed in nothing but those goddamn gray sweats that seem to leave nothing to imagination and your brain sends itself into overdrive. It was like you were seeing him for the first time, and he was you. Looking at each other wordlessly, it seems to say everything the two of you need. You could see it in his eyes—longing, lust and a hint of repentance swirling in his gaze, but you know you’re not here for that.

He surges forward, and you meet him in the middle. When your lips meet, you forget he isn’t yours anymore. Your heart melts along with your body pressing into him as your tongues dance together and heat swirls below your navel. It’s anything but gentle, teeth clashing together and tugging on his hair at the nape of his neck. His fingers tangle in strands of your hair, tightening his grip at the root and you whimper into his mouth. He backs into the foyer, bringing you with him without detaching his lips from yours. He lowers himself, tapping the sides of your thighs gently and wrapping his hands ‘round the backs of them and you know what he wants you to do. You jump slightly and he lifts you as you wrap your legs around his hips and he shuts the door, backing you into it and you arch your back, pushing your chest against his. You finally pull away from the kiss, needing to catch your breath. He doesn’t say anything, attaching his lips to your pulse point and lightly nipping at the skin there and you let a whine escape, leaning your head back to give him more access.

“Har.” Your eyes squeeze shut, teeth gritting at the marks he’s leaving on your skin, pain morphing into pleasure that clouds your senses.

“Missed you so much, dovey. Can’t believe I let you fucking go.” He mutters against your collarbone between kisses.

“Please.” You breathe out, and he brings his gaze to meet yours now. Using the door for leverage, he brings one hand up, drawing over your lips with his thumb and you part them for him. Placing the pad of his thumb against your tongue, you wrap your lips around his digit and suck lightly, hollowing your cheeks and his eyes flutter as he leans his forehead against yours.

“Fuck, angel. Missed this pretty mouth too.” He pants and pulls his thumb from your mouth, rubbing your own salivation over your lips.

“Why am I here if you’re not going to fuck me?” You manage to ask, wanting to cut to the chase and still a little breathless. He grins.

“Who said I wasn’t? Just wanna take you in first. Didn’t think you’d show up.”

“Well, I did. Please fuck me. Need it so much, Harry.” You beg and his grin grows. Carrying you, he walks you through the unfamiliar layout of his house until you reach the bedroom and he’s laying you down gently, climbing over you and kissing over exposed skin. His fingers dance under the hem of your shirt, sliding under and he palms over your tits and squeezing lightly. Your hands find his face in the dark and pull his lips to yours again.

The kiss is only brief, he stands and pushes his sweats off his body, kicking the material from his legs and he works on undressing you. He pulls your shirt over your head and immediately his fingers flick the button of your jeans open, pulling them and your panties off in one go. When he climbs back over you, you trail your hands from his chest to his navel, wrapping one hand around his cock and tugging gently. Thumbing over the tip, collecting the evidence of his own arousal. He swears under his breath, chest heaving at your gentleness and you don’t really want to waste any more time. You line him up with your entrance, forgoing any foreplay for the sake of just needing him to fill you like you’ve been craving. He seems to understand the desire you feel, slowly pushing into you and dropping his head to your chest.

“Fucking missed this.” He says through gritted teeth, following his words with a garbled groan as he slides into you. You can only muster a whimper in response, the feel of him stretching you open leaving your brain fuzzy and unable to form a coherent thought and all you know is him…his touch…his cock. He stills when he reaches the hilt, warming himself inside you and he brings his head up to look at you underneath him. He can’t help but take in your flushed cheeks and your eyes squeezed shut, and he just loves how pretty you look like this. Like an angel. He pulls out to the tip and without warning drives into you over and over, hips meeting yours and his mouth pulls up at the corner at the noises you can’t hold in.

“Heard you fucking went out with Nathan.” He seethes and your eyes fly open at his claim. He knows you weren’t expecting him to bring it up with his dick inside you, but you know where he’s going. “Did he fuck you like this? Did he fill you like I can, pretty girl?” You can’t seem to find it in you to answer, lost in how he makes you feel. And you did sleep with Nathan, but you weren’t exactly sure how Harry knew that.

“Answer me, baby.” He purrs against the skin under your ear, lips brushing against you as he whispers in your ear and you shake your head.

“N-no. Nobody—fuck—nobody does it like you.” It was the truth. Harry just knew how to satisfy you in a way no other man could. He knew you like the back of his hand, knew the spots that would make you scream his name…knew how to work you up just right until you were squirming just from his touch.

“That’s right. Nobody fucking does it like me, dovey.” He’s relentless with his pace, looking for one outcome and one outcome only. He hits a spot deep inside your pussy over and over until you feel that all too familiar pressure building in your core. Your fingernails scrape over his back, clawing and holding him closer to you.

“Har, m’gonna—” You can’t get the full sentence from your throat, your moan muffled as you bite onto his shoulder.

“I know it, angel. Fucking give it to me. Wanna feel you soaking me.”

So you do, you let go and the pressure releases and you’re crying out and he’s got a smirk plastered on his face knowing no one but him can make you feel this way. You’re holding your breath and he’s tapping your face lightly to bring you back down to earth.

“Breathe, dove.” He encourages and you exhale, chest deflating and your body goes limp from exhaustion. He fucks into you slower now, allowing you to recover and you give him a tired smile. His movements halt and he lifts your hips from the mattress, wrapping his arms around you and splaying his hands across your back while he kisses you again and again, pecking lightly until you’re giggling.

Without pulling out of you, he pulls you to his chest and rolls until you’re on top of him, the shift in position pushing his cock in a little bit further. Your limbs are jelly and you steady yourself by flattening your palms on his chest. You roll your hips lazily, clit rubbing over his skin and making yourself shudder. You clench around him as his head drops back against the headboard, eyes rolling back from pleasure. His hands find your hips and squeeze, dimpling the supple skin. His fingers digging into your flesh burns but he knows this is how you like it, he knows that you like it best when it hurts just a little bit. Love looking in the mirror and seeing the evidence of his touches all over you.

He guides you the way he wants, rolling your hips over his cock before helping you bounce, ass meeting the top of his thighs so deliciously. It’s slow at first, then you find your own rhythm and fuck his cock into you and he’s a mess underneath you now. Praising you and roaming his hands from your ribs down to the swell of your ass.

“Doing so fucking good, angel—taking me so well. Know you were made just for me.” His teeth clench together and his jaw ticks. “Can I cum in your pretty pussy, baby?”

“God yes, Harry. Please.” You beg him and he nods, chuckling and throwing his head back once more. His hand finds the back of your neck, pulling you closer to him forcefully and you whine.

“You’re a fucking dream, dove. So good to me even when I don’t deserve it.” He holds you there and he takes over, bucking his hips so he’s fucking you again and holds you just where he wants you. It doesn’t take much more before you feel him twitching inside you and feel the warmth of his cum spilling into you and it sends you over again, coil snapping as you pulse around him. You kiss over his neck as he rides you both through the high.

You stay there for a moment wrapped up in eachother, skin sticky with sweat and chests heaving together with pants and short breaths. Your head rests on his collarbone and you draw circles over the swallow on his chest and his fingers find a path on your spine, running down before coming back up. It was fast and quick and everything you needed. He turns his head and nudges you with his nose, pressing his lips to your skin and breathing in.

“I’m sorry.” You hear him whisper against your temple. Your eyes look up at him and feel your heart melting at the sight of him, sweaty and euphoric with his curls sticking to his forehead.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now.” You mutter. “Just let me pretend the past six months didn’t happen for a little while longer.” He nods, pecking your temple once more, then twice. Exhaustion takes over your mind and you’re almost asleep on his chest when the shrill ring of your phone brings you to a panic.

You jump off of him, searching on the floor for your phone and when you find it you see it's a friend calling you. You swear under your breath, heart pounding in your chest when you realize you forgot to tell them you were leaving. You press the button and bring it to your ear as Harry flicks on his bedside lamp and illuminates the room with a soft glow.

“Hello?” You say, calming yourself and trying not to sound too casual.

“Where are you?” She asks curtly, and you curse yourself again for not mentioning you were leaving sooner.

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t feeling well and left. I tried to find you but I couldn’t. Then I forgot to text. I’m sorry.” You lie and she’s silent on the other end for a beat.

“So you’re home?”

“Yeah.” Another lie. They didn’t have to know you were in Harry’s bed. Not yet at least. You’d tell them eventually. Just not right now. You chew on the inside of your lip, and look over at Harry who has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. You roll your eyes at him and bite back your own grin.

“Okay. Well…feel better I guess.” She says and hangs up. You let go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

You knew it was a bad idea.

Yet you didn’t seem to care as you crawled between his sheets and went to sleep.

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confused-wanderer · 8 months

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Edit: Guys I’ve read through the comments and all and realised that it’s been interpreted way differently then what I intended it to be. This was basically supposed to be a fun take that Bludhaven doesn’t care about how Dick gets the proof as long as it serves justice and it’s the truth. This post was supposed to be one of those scenarios in movies and tv serials where the heroes uncover the crimes by taking it upon themselves even though it may be against the law, and how the officials find it hard to believe their story but since the evidence they found is actually damning and proof that the guy is innocent/guilty they let it slide, PROVIDED no one was harmed or they created violent scale incidents. Dick Grayson as a police officer and Nightwing are both highly trusted and valued so they know they’d always get the proof so the community gives them a bit of leeway when it comes to the finer details.

I noticed that the way I framed things was misleading so I’ve changed the wordings, and hope this is better gets my point across

Dick is a cop.

But Bludhaven does NOT care about rules if the job gets done.

Got proof? 100%?

“You got the job done? You got the guy? And you didn’t walk in dripping in blood or with a target on your head and three organisations coming after you?”

You’re fucking promoted.

Dick Grayson is used to loopholes, but here he doesn’t even need to offer an explanation, no one even bothers to care. This was Bludhaven and actually doing his job was almost impossible through all the invisible red tape. So he thrived in the area of greys.

Dick *rounding up criminals and placing proof that by no way could have even been found, forget legally*

His handler *looks through them* : He’s the guy

Dick: .. yeah

Handler: .. and no mafia gonna declare war on you?

Dick: uh- don’t think so?

Handler: good, book him.

It does horrify all the justice league and batfamily because now instead of the painstaking work they have to put up that explains the many missing hole in their stories of how the information was obtained legally, nightwing can just walk into the police station, leave a sticky note saying “he’s the guy for the crime, I’ll get the evidence in a month brb. Signed, Nightwing~” and no one bats an eye. Because they know he’d always get the proof, and it’s always the truth.

Sometimes an officer even just takes a photo of a guy and texts nightwing “this the guy for the Nelson murder?” And if there’s a “yep :)” then that’s that.

#dick grayson #batman #red hood #jason todd #tim drake #nightwing #damian wayne #batfam #bruce wayne #headcanons #bludhaven #bludhaven nightwing #officer dick grayson #cop dick Grayson

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maniculum · 1 month

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Had a baffling interaction a couple hours ago, and I think Tumblr is probably the best place to find an explanation.

I’ve mentioned on here that I have a side job at a bookstore. Today, I heard a customer make the assertion to her companion that the novel Frankenstein is “basically fanfiction”. (I don’t think this was meant as negative, but couldn’t say for sure.)

I asked her about it when she came to check out, because I had to know what that was about, right? She recounted the origin of the book — the Shelleys, Byron, & Polidori challenging each other to write horror stories, etc. I assured her I was familiar with the history, but just wanted to know why that made it fanfiction.

She said, “well, it came from a horror writing competition.”

At this point, I felt I had pushed about as much as I could in this scenario — as anyone who’s worked a customer-service job knows, when customers say nonsense at you, responding in a way that doesn’t upset them is difficult, and you kind of have to be ready to just nod and smile. So I said something along the lines of, “I don’t understand the connection, but as long as it makes sense to you.”

She chose not to elaborate further and left with her purchases.

So now I’m asking Tumblr because I figure this is the best place to find people who are familiar with unorthodox understandings of fanfiction.

Is it because it came from a competition? (This is the most sensible explanation I can think of, but that’s not saying much, because I see no link between these two concepts.)

Is it because it’s horror? (I know people get weird about genre fiction sometimes — last year someone told me they thought “Fantasy / Science Fiction” and “Young Adult” were different terms for the same genre.)

Is it because it was written for fun? (I know that the vast majority of fiction is — to a greater or lesser degree — written because the author enjoys writing, but maybe the customer doesn’t know that?)

Is it because it was written, for lack of a better word, socially? (By which I mean, is the story of its writing significant in that the initial intention was for Shelley to show it to her friends? But of course this is a group of published authors, and authors hang out to talk about & show each other their work all the time… maybe the customer wasn’t aware of that?)

These are the only options I can think of, and none of them have any link to what makes something “fanfiction” in my understanding. I’m just extrapolating from the fact that apparently the relevant distinction has something to do with it being a horror writing competition. Am I missing something? Tumblr, please, help me with this.

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lonelywitchv2 · 1 year

Text

Strawberries

summary: it’s safe to say you didn’t expect company when you snuck out for a picnic with Regulus, your relationship more forbidden than the forest itself.

content: the marauders basically being your older brothers after you grew up next door to the Potters, protective and angry James and Sirius, Sirius and Regulus still being on bad terms, fluff turned slight angst, short, food, teasing, mentions of Sirius and Regulus’ parents

wc: 587 (just a little blurb)

part ii part iii

join my taglist!

“So you’ve never read Pride and Prejudice?” You asked, almost offended by your discovery.

“No. Do you happen to remember that my parents are blood supremacists who forbade me from reading muggle literature?” Regulus responded.

“Okay, maybe I forgot. Either way, this is unacceptable. Reggie, it appears we have found our next book to read.” You announced, picking up a strawberry that Regulus had been reaching for.

“Oi! I was gonna grab that one!” He exclaimed, trying to reach for the red fruit, only to have you pull your arm away from him.

“You snooze, you lose,” You said with a shake of your head.

However, right as you went to bite into the sweet berry, Regulus tackled you, his body hovering over yours and your wrists pinned against the picnic blanket laid on the grass.

Throughout being tackled, you somehow managed to continue your hold on the strawberry, refusing to yield to him.

“You could’ve just asked to split it and I would’ve done it, love,” You pointed out, cocking your eyebrow.

“Well, this is much more fun. Isn’t it?” Regulus’s voice dropped to a whisper, his face lowering closer and closer to yours.

“It is…” You breathed out, lifting your head up until Regulus’s lips were pressed against yours, his hair brushing against your forehead.

The blissful silence was broken by a loud shout.

“What the hell is this?!” Sirius yelled, causing the two sixteen-year-olds to quickly break apart, scrambling to opposite sides of the blanket with their eyes wide in horror, the strawberry long forgotten.

You opened your mouth to respond but faltered at the rage burning in Sirius’s eyes.

“What is it Padfo- what in Merlin’s name is going on here?!” James’s eyes fell upon the sight of Regulus and you, his big brother mode immediately activating.

All words of defense and explanation quickly disappeared from your tongue, unsure of how to respond to the obvious rage emitting from the two boys.

“James, Sirius, I... I can explain- we can explain, please-” You stuttered out, struggling to get any words out of your mouth as your panic set in.

“No. No, c’mon Y/N, we’re leaving,” James said, his voice as firm as his grip on your arm as he pulled you off of the blanket, glaring at Regulus and dragging you away from the Black brothers- one of which was frozen in horror, the other seething with rage.

“Y/N-!” Regulus called out, going to stand before falling back from a shove from Sirius.

“What the fuck, Regulus?!” Sirius exclaimed, “Why her? Out of every girl in this school, you chose the one who’s like a little sister to me- is it to get back at me for leaving?”

“It’s not that, Sirius- I…” Regulus faltered.

“What? Spit it out!”

"Listen, I... I really like Y/N- really like her. Please, I'm not doing this out of vengeance, Sirius. I wouldn't even think about hurting Y/N! Siri… I’m not lying to you, I swear," Regulus stuttered out, the childhood nickname accidentally slipping off his tongue, "It's... real and I've never experienced anything like it before.”

“Godric… I just don’t…” Sirius paused, chewing on his lip, “I can’t do this right now.”

Sirius turned around for a moment, but turned to face his brother once more, “We aren’t done, Regulus. But this? This is.”

Regulus sat there speechless as his brother jogged to catch up to James and you, looking down to see the red strawberry sitting on the blanket, miraculously untouched.

#regulus black x reader #regulus x reader #marauders x reader #marauders #harry potter #james potter #regulus black #sirius black #sirius black x platonic!reader #james potter x platonic!reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #marauders fanfiction #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #sister!reader #hogwarts #love you #~°~ miranda ~°~

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ohthewh0rror · 5 months

Text

I’VE DUG TWO GRAVES FOR US, MY DEAR.

˚₊ ⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆ ₊˚ prompt — “Can I request Tom riddle x (fem!) reader angst? Basically, they have been trying for a long time to have children, but haven’t succeeded. So, to have an heir, Tom gets Bellatrix pregnant and obviously hasn’t told reader. Reader finds out shes pregnant and goes to tell Tom and show him the pregnancy test, but right outside his study she hears him ask Bellatrix „how is my heir doing? Is my child healthy?“ and reader drops the test in front of his study, where Tom finds it later, and leaves.”

Part 2

Pairing: Tom Riddle x Reader

Word count: 3.6K

A/N: “but baaaabe, she doesn’t even mean anything to me” and for him he MEANS it, that’s the worst part. Oh god I’m going to be sick. I headcanon him as loyal and now he’s out here embarrassing me. Anyway, thank you to my best friend Madie for helping me choose the right ending for this and for proof-reading for me. To the requester: I didn’t take the suicide route bc that’s a very sensitive topic that I have personal ties to. But yeah, if anyone wants it I’m 100% down to write a part 2 to this.🖤🖤

You felt wrong.

Well, not exactly you, just something felt wrong. You felt on edge, tense, like you were just waiting for the galleon to drop. There was no explanation for the way you were feeling, at least not one you could think of. But you couldn’t help but feel on edge, your mind racing as you resisted the urge to continuously look over your shoulder throughout the day.

You had hoped that the feeling would be gone by the end of the day, but as you sat with Tom having dinner the feeling was still there. You wanted to hide it from him, but you just knew he could see the slight shake of your hand as you poked mindlessly with your fork at the food in front of you. Though, either out of courtesy to you or him just not wanting to deal with it at the moment, he didn’t ask.

No, it wouldn’t be until the two of you had gotten into bed for the night that he would.

As you settled into bed, you felt Tom’s arm wrap around your waist, pulling you close. While you would normally welcome this, as it was rare that Tom would hold you in such a way, the unusual action added to your sense of unease. You felt his lips press a kiss just behind your ear before he asked, “there’s something bothering you, what is it?”

You didn’t know how to tell him, or if you even wanted to tell him. You didn’t want Tom to think negatively of you, to think you were officially losing it, but a part of you knew Tom wasn’t going to drop it. What Tom wanted, Tom got, one way or another. So, reluctantly, you told him.

“I’m not sure, I just don’t feel right, not in a sick way but—,” you paused, mentally kicking yourself for admitting it out loud, “I feel as if something bad is about to happen, something very bad.” Tom said nothing, but you could feel his hold on you tighten just a fraction. There was a few seconds of silence before Tom finally spoke again, “I see, I’m sure you are alright, you probably just need to rest.”

You know this was his way of comforting you, but it did nothing to help how you felt. You tried taking his words to heart though, and forced yourself to relax, attempting to get some sleep.

6:23 am.

You stared at the ticking hands of the clock on the wall, watching them dutifully count the time, hoping the dullness of it all would help you fall back asleep. It did nothing to help you, though, and instead just aided in helping your mind wander. You went through every possibility, until you were left with two options.

Tom was up to something… or you were pregnant. You didn’t want to think of the first option, it was a thought that left you upset even considering, but he had been distant for the past 4 months. He did not treat you any different, but he seemed… distracted. Where he once did not mind if you opened his letters for him, he now tightly guarded them. You tried asking him why, but he said it was to protect you if things went bad. He attempted to explain your worries away, saying he did not want you implicated in anything he was up to.

Not to mention he was out the house more— Death Eater business, he tells you. Always that. It almost made you angry how much time he spent working towards his grand scheme when all you wanted was just some of his time. At first you tried to push back on it, but soon realized it did nothing to sway him. Tom did what he wanted, regardless of the feelings of others.

Despite all this you refuse to accept Tom may be up to something behind your back. He was your husband, and he loved you, even if he did not express it often. So that left you with one conclusion: you’re pregnant.

It was a possibility that had been hanging in the back of your mind, but not one you wanted to genuinely entertain. After years of trying and it being false alarms have left you with nothing but negative feelings towards the process of finding out. You did not want to get your hopes up once again, as each negative was becoming more and more unbearable.

You couldn’t just rule it out without taking a test though, so you had no choice but to do so. Not wanting to go to a healer and have them check on you magically, you decided to instead go about it the muggle way. You had heard during your younger years, while at Hogwarts, that muggle women had measures of finding out on their own in the comfort of their own bathroom. So that’s what you set off to do, after getting dressed of course.

Entering muggle London, it was hard not to stick out. While you tried to dress as casual as you possibly could, you knew there was still something off about how you dressed. No one seemed to mind though, letting you walk through the busy streets without much more than a double take. It didn’t take long for you to find what looked like a small store, you hoped to Merlin that they had what you needed.

As you walked around the small shop, you realized what you were doing was beyond ridiculous. You were truly out of your league as you browsed the aisles looking for what you needed. You were beginning to get frustrated when you heard a feminine voice from the left, “excuse me, miss, can I help you find something?”

You paused, stopping midstep, turning your head to look at who was speaking to you.

The girl, who couldn’t have been any older than 19, seemed to be a shop attendant. She had on what you could only guess was typical muggle attire, and a vest with the name of the shop on it. You nodded, “yes, I need the test that will tell me if I’m pregnant or not.”

The shop girl gave you a look, and you began to worry more that you were sticking out far too much. “You mean a pregnancy test?” She asked. “Yes, that,” you replied, hoping she would just show you where it was and stop talking to you. Thankfully she seemed to have read your mind, gesturing you to follow her. She took you to the aisle furthest back in the store, pointing out the shelf that was filled with a dozen different options. You thanked her, and she left you alone with all the different tests.

Looking over them all you picked the one you thought would be best, but as you held the test you had a revelation, ‘I have no muggle money’. You froze, now weighing your options. You could leave and convert the money, coming back at a later time, or you could just…take it. Leaving was the morally correct choice, but just taking it was the more tempting one as it would save you the trouble of explaining to Tom why you needed muggle money if word got back to him.

So, looking around and making sure no eyes were on you, you silently cast a spell, hiding the box from any prying eyes. As you walked out the store you couldn’t believe what you had done. Stealing? From a muggle establishment? How scandalous! As you walked down the street you shook your head, banishing the thought from your mind. You didn’t have time to worry about the ethics of stealing from muggles. You needed to know if you were pregnant.

Thankfully, it was a little easier to find a place to use the restroom. You sat on the toilet, reading the box, and the instructions seemed easy enough. You followed them exactly before capping the test, holding it in a way where the results faced away from you. You didn’t want to see the results, too scared of it being negative once again. After what you considered an appropriate amount of time, you flipped the test over.

Positive.

‘It’s wrong, it has to be,’ you thought to yourself as you eyed the muggle pregnancy test. The test was wrong, it’s a defective muggle device. You’d make an appointment with the healer as soon as possible until you could confirm it for sure and you’d keep it a secret from Tom until then. You didn’t want to tell him, only for it to be a false positive and get his hopes up fruitlessly.

So, you wrapped the test tightly and tossed it in the bin. Washing your hands, you made your way out of the muggle establishment, and to an empty corner before apparating to the edge of yours and Tom’s property. You stood there for a moment, taking in the site of your shared home, wishing you had some calming draught on hand.

You knew as soon as Tom saw you he’d know something was wrong. Tom had always said you weren’t a very good liar, and you knew with the state you were in right now that if he tried to pry your secret would come tumbling out before you had the chance to stop it.

You couldn’t stand out here all day though, the November air was more than chilly, and you were going to freeze if you didn’t go in soon. You took a steadying breath and walked forward with your head held high, taking your time to get to the doors, attempting to look casual. You were halfway up the set of stone stairs leading up to the front doors, when they began to open. For a split second you felt yourself panic on the inside, thinking maybe it was Tom who came to greet you, until your house elf Poppy came into view.

“Welcome back, madam,” the little elf said, ushering you in.

“Hello, Poppy,” you said. You had never been happier to see a house elf in your life. As Poppy shut the doors behind you, and she ushered you to the dining room, she informed you that Tom had already left for the day, leaving you to have breakfast alone. Normally that would have left you disappointed, you and Tom made sure to always eat breakfast and dinner together, and this would be the first time in a long time that you ate alone. But, after the morning you had, you relished in the absence of conversation.

“Poppy, please make an appointment for me with a healer,” you asked, sitting down at the dining table. Poppy nodded wordlessly before leaving you to go make the appointment.

It was a week later that you found yourself sitting in a sterile room, awaiting the results. You wanted so desperately for it to be true. You’d never recover if you found out the test had lied. Tom still didn’t know about the possibility of your pregnancy, but then again, it wasn’t hard to hide it from him with how busy he’d been this past week. And seeing as your mind was preoccupied, you hadn’t pushed on what had him so busy.

Just as your mind began to drift from boy names, to more feminine names, the door to your right clicked open. The healer gave you a bright smile, greeting you. The forced politeness left a bad taste in your mouth as you just wished for the results so you could get home. You gave a tight-lipped smile back, and a similar greeting. The healer stopped in front of you, flipping one of the papers up, quickly reading its contents before looking at you once again.

“Well, Mrs. Riddle, it seems you certainly are pregnant!” He congratulates you, before explaining how far along you seem to be and that he needs you back in a month. You’re still in a daze when he hands you the paperwork, telling you your diagnosis and other information regarding your pregnancy. It feels too good to be true, and you’re not sure if you should laugh, cry, or do both as you leave the office.

You’re pregnant. You’re actually pregnant. You walk down a secluded alley, casting the muffliato charm as you buried your head in your hard, a soft cry erupting from you. You both had tried so hard for so long and it’s finally happening, you are finally having the child you both wanted. You let yourself cry from the overwhelming feeling of happiness for a moment longer before collecting yourself. You needed to tell Tom, you knew this was just the news he needed.

Tom was working from home today, something you had never been so happy about before today. It made the process of talking to him much easier than if he left to Merlin-knows-where to do what he needed. But, as you walked up those stairs to the hallway that his office was down you felt your heart plummet.

Tom was here, but so was another woman.

You quieted your steps, hoping to figure out who the woman was and what they were talking about. It was difficult as the door was mostly shut and they were talking in hushed tones. But, as you stepped off the stairs and into the hallway you recognized the voice of the woman immediately.

Bellatrix Lestrange.

A woman that you held more than just disdain for. She is the only female Death Eater Tom has recruited, and not only that, she was his second in command. While Tom didn’t see any of his Death Eaters as true equals, even you knew he seemed to favor her over the rest of them. Bellatrix seemed to revel in this fact, and despite being married herself, her loyalty seemed to lay more with your husband than her own. She did whatever Tom asked, no matter what it may be, without even a hint of resistance. You truly believe if Tom asked her to kill herself, she would do it without hesitation.

As you walked closer to the door they seemed to have stopped talking, but before you could knock and let yourself be known, you heard something that knocked the breath out of your lungs.

“You had a check-up last week, did you not? How is my heir?” Tom sounded casual, as if he was asking Bellatrix about the weather. His heir? His heir? Your mind was sent reeling as you began to hyperventilate. You quietly backed away from the door, walking as silently but also as quickly as you could away. But, as you turned to leave you nearly tripped over your own two feet, the papers you were holding falling to the ground. In your distress you left them, not being bothered to pick them up, as you caught yourself and hurried down the hallway intent on putting space between yourself and the cracked office door.

You found yourself in a guest room on the other side of the house, away from Tom and Bellatrix, away from the source of your heartbreak. You sit on the edge of the bed, and cast the muffliato charm for the second time today. After you cast the spell, you finally let yourself feel completely. Your heart shatters into tiny crystallized bits, the shards of it dig into every crevice of your sternum, leaving you clutching at your chest as it pierces your lungs and esophagus. Your chest and throat have an indescribable ache as a piercing wail leaves you, the pain of his betrayal leaving you feeling something beyond devastation.

The knowledge that he cheated on you was painful enough, but the fact that it was Bellatrix made it all the more painful. He knew how you felt toward their dynamic and his trust in her. It was as if he chose her on purpose, to tell her that Bellatrix is a more suitable partner for him.

How Bellatrix was everything she wasn’t: unwaveringly devoted to him, believed in his pureblood ideology, and stood by him on it. Bellatrix could also give him children, and she couldn’t.

Or so he thought. He didn’t know she was pregnant yet. Maybe that was for the best, you considered, as you sat in that empty room, fingers wringing together painfully as you tried to calm yourself. As you attempted to gather yourself, knocking on the door began to reverberate throughout the room, causing a panic inside you. You cleared your throat, and took in a breath, hoping to gather yourself before addressing who was on the other side. Lifting your wand you released the muffling charm, “come in.”

Your voice still wobbled as the words left you, leaving you mentally kicking yourself. The door opened, revealing Tom, on the other side. As he took in the sight of you, sniffling and teary-eyed, he walked in completely, softly shutting the door behind him. Looking at him sent a surge of anguish through you, a new wave of tears gathering in your eyes. The vision of Tom doubled as your lips began to wobble as you held back your tears. You were unable to see the look on Tom’s face as you looked away, trying to calm yourself once again, so you weren’t quite sure what he was thinking.

Getting on one knee before you, Tom placed his left hand on your knee as his right reached up, wiping at your tear streaked face. You let out a shuddering breath, finally looking at him. Tom’s face was the most expressive you’d ever seen it, if you hadn’t been in such a miserable state you would have taken a moment to admire it.

There was a look of genuine worry on his face as the both of you looked at each other. The silence was suffocating, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be the one to break it. There was nothing you wanted to say to him, you could hardly bear to look at him, much less talk to him.

“Why are you upset, darling? This is wonderful news” Tom sounded sympathetic in his attempt to comfort you. You let out a laugh in disbelief, you could not believe the words coming out of his mouth. “Wonderful news? In what world is this ‘wonderful news’?” You were close to yelling by the time you finished talking, feeling your sadness morph into something far uglier: anger. Tom at least had the decency to look taken aback, seeming to not expect the response he received.

Tom’s eyes searched yours for a moment before his expression became guarded, he gave your hand a squeeze before standing up, “it seems we are talking about two different things.”

You said nothing, there was nothing you could say that he hadn’t just deduced for himself, and it seemed he knew that too as he continued speaking.

“Y/N, you have to understand, I needed to ensure I had an heir and we hadn’t been successful in getting you pregnant,” Tom tried to explain. You’re sure in his head that this was logical, just the rational choice to get around your fertility issues. But to you, this was anything but the best next step. There was no reasoning good enough to make this okay; it will never be okay. This is a wound that may scar over, but will always ache when brushed against.

“You had an affair with a woman who I already voiced my concern about, without even consulting me on your decision, and expect me to understand?” You asked, incredulously. Tom, though looking mildly annoyed, still had the decency to also seem a touch guilty. “I didn’t step out of our marriage for pleasure or some sort of validation, you've always been the only one for me, it was merely to—” you decide to cut him off. “Produce an heir,” was all you said, finishing his sentence for him.

A heavy silence hung in the air, what you said leaving a palpable bitterness in the air. Tom still had the same touch of guilt in his eyes, but it wasn't enough. The guilt wasn’t strong enough to let him take full accountability for how wrong he was. Tom reached out, his hands cupping the back of your neck as his thumbs grazed your jawline, forcing you to look at him.

“It will be okay, I made a mistake by not telling you my plans, I apologize,” Tom may have sounded sincere, but it wasn’t good enough. Nothing will ever make up for what he has done to not only your relationship, but also to your trust in him. You reached up, and gently removed his hands from your face before standing up yourself, forcing him to take a few steps back.

“No, it’s not going to be okay; it will never be ‘okay’. You didn’t just make a mistake, you ruined our marriage, and for that, Tom, I hate you.”

And you left.

Leaving your husband to stand in that spare room, alone, with only his thoughts to keep him company.

#tom riddle #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #if this flops I’ll cry

733 notes · View notes

ranhaitanisgf · 4 months

Note

hi hana! congrats on 2k followers once again and if it’s not too much of a bother, i’d like to have a mikey fluff/crack “oblivious best friends” & “stuck together” scenario/hc (whichever works for you) where it was after school hours and everyone in toman is looking for mikey ☺️ i really hope this combination is something new skjdjsjss thank you in advance!! 💕

—manjiro [mikey] sano // oblivious best friends // stuck together

☆ ˎˊ˗ KATIEEE hiiii im sryyy i took sooooo long for this my disappearance from tumblr messed things up 😔 idk how i did on this tbh !! i hope youve been doing well !! and also ur idea was so cutee wahh i hope i did it justice !! xoxo

☆ ˎˊ˗ gn!reader

☆ ˎˊ˗ wc ; 1.5k+

masterlist || 2k masterlist

“...mikey.”

“yeah?”

“how long are we gonna stay here?” the boy in front of you hummed, thinking for a moment as he swirled the lollipop in his mouth.

“until they find us.” you sighed at him, leaning your head back against the wall. you could hear rapid footsteps in the hallway, people running around yelling mikey’s name, unaware of the fact that he was sitting in the classroom they just passed by.

he hadn’t given you much explanation when he grabbed you and pulled you into the classroom, though you think you have a basic idea of what was going on; all you could say was, it was very mikey.

“so, what exactly is the point in hiding from everyone?”

“it’s funny!” he grinned, crunching down on his lollipop. “but also ‘cause the doors in this classroom are broken; they only open from the outside, so i’ve been waiting for someone to come by and open them from the outside.”

“huh?! why’d you drag me in here then? wait, how did you even do that?”

“i dunno, but i just saw you and it was boring here by myself.” he shrugged, not seeming to think it was a big deal. “aaand you’ve skipped out on the last couple of meetings, so i missed you.” he pouted, a childish look on his face. “where were you?!”

“mikey, i told you weeks ago that i would be busy studying for exams…don’t you remember?” you sighed. “i even texted you before all the meetings that i wouldn’t be coming!”

“whatever.” mikey said flippantly, the same pout still on his face. “you owe me snacks for not showing up.”

“okay, okay, just stop making that face.” you said, pulling at mikey’s cheeks. “you’re making me look like a bad person.”

“oi, stahppp, it hurtsss!” he grumbled. you eventually relented, sighing as you looked around the classroom.

“even being here with someone else is boring. can’t we just leave and go get food?”

“but i’m testing them! they have to know how to find their leader!” mikey insisted, crossing his arms.

“but you’re literally hiding from them on purpose. how are they supposed to find you?”

“they can figure that out themselves!”

“right…” you answered, giving up on trying to make him see reason. you really were hungry; you hadn’t eaten since you had that milk bread from lunch, which wasn’t a whole lot of food. “if you’re insisting on keeping us here, then you’re gonna pay for my meal after this.”

“ken-chin will pay for it, but okay!”

“no, you’re going to pay for it. i don’t care if you’re broke; you deserve to have no money for keeping me here.”

“hey, that’s so mean!”

“yeah, and you’re being mean right now by not letting us go so i can eat. i ought to just-” you stood up from where the two of you were sitting to avoid being seen, “-let them see me and then tell them where you are!” mikey’s eyes widened, motioning for you to sit back down, but you stood firm, not moving from your spot.

“oi, sit down! they have to find me on their own!”

“no! this is ridiculous! i’m hungry and i shouldn’t have to be kept at school any longer-agh!” while you were talking, mikey grabbed your hand, pulling you down with a surprising amount of strength, making you lose your balance and topple over.

“urgh, what the hell-...” you suddenly cut off your words when you realized the position you were in.

because mikey had been sitting right next to your standing form, you had fallen right on top of him, the space between your faces being very small as the two of you stared at each other. the space between your bodies was even less, and you swore that he could feel your quickening heartbeat from how close the two of you were, (you didn’t even want to think about how you could feel the warmth from his body right now).

you knew that you should probably be clambering off of him right now and bonking him on the head for pulling you down so hard, but for some reason, your body was frozen, not knowing what to do. on the one hand, you knew you probably shouldn’t be staying here for so long, but on the other hand, you wanted him to do or say something, anything, to make you think that he wasn’t just an oblivious teenage boy, (how could he have not noticed your feelings this whole time?!)

“(y/n)...” he whispered, his breath fanning against your cheeks due to your close proximity.

“y-yeah?”

“can you get off? you’re kinda heavy.” at his words, you immediately scrambled off of him, your heart beating a million beats per minute, this time due to embarrassment. as soon as he got up, you slapped the back of his head, making him yell a loud ‘ow!’.

“that’s what you get for pulling me so hard, asshole! i don’t get why you’re so adamant about staying here!” you yelled, feeling more shame and embarrassment than anger. you leaned your head back against the wall, wondering why you thought that anything would be different this time.

it’s not normal for best friends to have feelings for each other, so why were you mad at him?

this time, you felt the silence between the two of you to be unbearable, almost enough to make you scream with frustration. you didn’t though, instead choosing to just have your own internal monologue until you could make it out of the classroom.

“(y/n)-chan? what’s wrong?”

“nothing, i’m just tired as fuck. wake me up when we get found or whatever.” you murmured, laying down on the floor, not caring about the dust and first getting on your uniform. maybe if you laid down like this, the earth would swallow you up and save you from this embarrassment.

you weren’t sure how much time passed like that, though you were sure that the silence filled the room for quite a while, only being interrupted by draken and takemichi’s yells in the hallway. suddenly, you heard some shuffling, wondering if maybe mikey was going to give up and let the two of you finally be found.

you’d already gone too long pretending to be asleep, so even though you wanted to see what mikey was doing, you didn’t make a peep even when you could feel him getting closer to you.

what is he doing?

your question was answered just a moment later when you felt his hand on your cheek, brushing some of your hair out of your face, (you were hoping that your cheeks weren’t getting flushed right about now).

“hm, i was able to hold back this time, but you really test me sometimes, (y/n).” after that, you felt his hand pull away, leaving you in much more confusion than before. what in the world was he talking about?

a few minutes later, you heard him opening the window to the classroom, yelling for draken. when he arrived, he started chewing mikey out for disappearing for so long, which was when you decided to ‘wake up’.

“hmm, you finally decided to give up that little stunt, mikey?” you asked, standing up and rubbing your eyes to make it seem like you were actually sleeping. “took you long enough.”

“it got more boring sitting there since you fell asleep.” mikey answered, shrugging his shoulders. he kept the same lighthearted expression on his face as he started to get another earful from draken.

“you did this on purpose?! we’ve got stuff to do!!” he yelled, his face twisted in frustration. “it’s been a whole goddamn hour!!”

“sorry, sorry.”

you walked away from the two over to the door, trying to open it just to see. much to your surprise, it opened up, not showing any sign of the locked issue that mikey had claimed it’d had earlier.

when you looked over at him, all he did was shrug, a smug smirk on his face.

“you little shit! it was open this whole time?! i’m gonna actually kill you this time!!” you yelled, running at mikey. he swiftly dodged you and went out the door behind you, running into the hallway to get away from you.

“catch me if you can!!” you heard him tease in the distance, fueling your anger even more.

“when i catch you, it’s so over for you!!” you shouted, sprinting out of the classroom after him.

as you chased him, he looked back at you, laughing and saying something that you couldn’t catch. despite the fact that you were acting so mad at him right now, you couldn’t help but admire how the light from the sunset reflected off of his skin, highlighting his playful smile and blonde locks bouncing in the air.

you supposed that this was fine, for now.

(mikey ended up paying for your entire meal out of his own pocket, leaving him with 200 yen to his name).

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easy-there-leftovers · 7 months

Text

I See You, Darling (2)

[Astarion x reader] Due to surprisingly overwhelming demand, the previous fic, along with this one and many more to follow, will now be part of a series!! It was honestly very difficult trying to come up with what happens next, but here we are. The idea came to me during a fever!! |Word count: 2.5k.| Based off of this post I made.

Part 1 here!!

Next part here!!

The reader believes they are in a dream. It wouldn’t be the first time their fantasies conjured up such an obscure, yet somehow realistic scene. And so they’ve elected to treat the experience with as much realism as one would observe in a dream; little to none.

Alternatively;An ex-art-student-now-traveler accustoms themselves to the party.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

“Shadowheart. Shadow…heart. Hm.” His gaze bounced between you and her.

“I’m sure her parents meant well, but the name is rather ominous, isn’t it?” He leaned over to your side, not bothering to hide his blatant distrust. Lowering his voice dramatically, if anything.

“Unless she chose it herself. Which is even more worrying, honestly.” He chuckled out.

It had been no more than two bells after mornbright when you met Astarion. Since then, you’ve come to realize how…different your presence has changed the course of the story. Though more subtle than you expected.

It would seem as if you had met the elven vampire before the party was formed, which was strange as your last save point was far later than that and the forest had been quite a long way from the beach.

When you finally stumbled upon Shadowheart, he was quick to share his inner thoughts that you haven’t heard from the game before.

As they continued with their quest to find a cure for the Illithid problem, expanding their party as they did so, you had tried to make yourself useful by doing the dirty work for them. Looting and opening crates filled with camp supplies, armor, and potentially useful weapons and artifacts could always come in handy for trade or for “artifact consumption,” as per Gale’s need. Sorting them for your group’s convenience.

And while you did not have more direct and immediate practical use for your course of study in the modern world, the research you’ve created and reviewed for character creation and world building was doing wonders for your survival.

Or as much as it can for a magicless, not so athletic human.

The “runes” of the medieval ages that have been carved into stone, along with the basic history and background of the common races and deities of the fantastical world that tabletop RPG has offered puts you at quite an advantage.

Not to mention your experience with the areas of the game giving you the same effect.

But this library of information had also aroused something akin to suspicion and concern. It would be understandable if you were a simple traveler just like them, or perhaps even an artisan from the guild, but you were not as astute as either background.

So how could you have access to this much knowledge yet be unaware of more practical matters? It’s as if you had simply read about it from somewhere.

Astarion had been quick to give an explanation before you could form one of your own that could poorly convince your companions. Although, perhaps his suggestion was more outlandish than anything you could have come up with.

“They came with me. Property and all the formality that comes with it. A family pet, if you will.” A perfect excuse to justify your constant proximity to him, and a likely explanation to being well read, but not well experienced.

You thought nothing of the title, your apathy to the non-hazardous labels of this world apparent.

The same couldn’t have been said about your associates who had a few comments about this disclosure.

“I am unfamiliar with the–well, I shall not say ‘culture.’ ‘Customs’, perhaps. I did not think your kind to house such breed of cattle. Perhaps they could be useful.” Was Lae’zel’s.

“I assure you, they typically don’t. Humans aren’t naturally subservient to Elves, at least in this manner. This setup sounds more akin to slavery. Blink twice if you need help.” Was Gale’s response.

“It seems like Astarion's from the upper city, given the embroidery on his armor. I wouldn’t put it past them to have servants that follow them around.” Shadowheart’s nose crinkled at the thought.

The party already had such an interesting rapport. Not entirely comfortable with one another to divulge everything, but loose enough to have semi-pleasant conversation with.

You thought this as you sorted out the fruits of your collective labor into neat pouches and bags, keeping items similar to one another factioned into their respective holding space. The chest being closer to Withers more than you’d like, but it was nice to hear the ramblings of an…undead person? Hearing someone continuously talking allows you to be more productive.

You’ll admit, handling enchanted armor and crystals does make you a tad nervous but you’re comforted by the thought that it will not be you who wields it in battle.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Gale approaching your direction. Possibly to ask for his share of the camp supplies just a little earlier to sate himself as you had an abundance of it for now. You regard him with your back turned and he stops for a bit.

“I will say that I don’t have the lightest of feet, but I figured myself better at sneaking around.” It’s not his fault that he got caught, but the bright purple robe and the smell of the oils you’ve been crafting for them are particularly noticeable.

“You are, but I’ll assume you're not exactly in the best shape after dealing with a few goblins.” You hold up a bottle of a healing potion, swinging it a bit with your fingers to indicate that the smell had warned you of his arrival.

“You’ve got a keen nose on you. Must be from all of Astarion’s training but, speaking of which,” He nears himself to your crouched form, going in to lean against a very old and empty crate.

“Gale, wait–” Right as your warning leaves you, they seem to evade him as falls right through the wood. A comical layer of dust and lichen pluming out from the force. He tries to quickly recover from both the physical and emotional damage as he brushes himself off to make himself presentable once more.

“Ahem, as I was saying,” He again makes his way over to you, settling for just standing close as his attempts to look unbothered temporarily cost him his ego.

“I was serious about what I said before. While I don’t know what to make of our pallid friend just yet, as enigmatic as he is, what he said before is quite confusing. Best make haste away from here if you want your freedom while we’re distracted with this worm problem.” His tone suggests a genuine concern which confuses you.

You’d be lying to yourself if the label of the set up didn’t sound odd, but you’ve never expressed discomfort as there was nothing all too worrying about it on your end. It was mostly for show, and you had as much independence as Tav would have in your game.

You endeavor to quickly dispel his worries.

“You don’t have to worry, I’m very satisfied with my servitude under Astarion. He’s very lenient and reliable, and I’m better off with him than on my own." You return to your task of sifting through your materials but pause and look back up at him to continue.

"I do thank you for turning my way though. Your concern is much appreciated but unnecessary.” You lowered your head a bit to show your thanks.

“Well if someone as generous as yourself says to trust you on this, then I have no choice but to concede! I’ll keep a watchful eye and offer guidance, should you need it. Also, do we happen to have something for—” As he asks you for some sort of salve, just a few ways off, your eccentric “handler,” of sorts, watches the two of you interact.

Don’t get him wrong, such matters don’t really catch his attention, but being an elf does curse him with the ability to have extensive hearing. Something that he thinks Gale knew, and something you forgot. That would explain the lack of distance between you two.

He thinks it’s amusing how the wizard is trying to make conversation with you as if you were some foreign creature. His usual eloquence nowhere to be seen, and you seemed as unbothered as ever. Like how he usually saw you when you conversed with someone through a crystal.

It was a phone, not that he knew that though.

“They’re a real nice one, aren’t they?” Karlach says from her side of the camp which was nearer towards his tent and yours.

“Hm, yes. While that may be an admirable trait, it’s hardly going to get them anywhere if they keep this up.” Astarion huffed out, not very keen on your altruistic playstyle so far.

He doesn’t know much about what you do and don’t know, all he knows is that you do know of the events to unfold and could be the key to defeating his master.

All he needs is to keep you at his side. So he’ll allow you this much freedom.

“Oh come on, you. You can’t seriously think that after everything. Our camp’s pretty well maintained because of ‘em, not to mention the connections we’ve been able to get!” She fortifies her statement by knocking on her chest, the engine humming within feels lighter and newer since you’ve informed her of the tiefling blacksmith at the grove.

He hums in response, returning to reading his book as he thinks about his growing hunger. He’ll have to hunt soon enough. While your positive reputation occasionally reflects on him by proxy, it can also reflect negatively due to the alleged nature of your relationship. If he wants the journey to a way of understanding the tadpoles to be a more comfortable one, he has to at least prevent their trust in him from diminishing.

Night falls later than he’d have liked, having waited for everyone to be asleep so that he may prowl the forest for sustenance.

The rest were sound asleep in their bedroll as the skirmish from earlier on in the day had proven to be sufficiently tiring. The crackling fire surely brings a lulling warmth that he supposes he’ll have to miss out on for a while.

As he begins to slink off into the darkness, he looks back to gauge his surroundings and catches your form from across the settlement. It seems you were tallying away the items in the shared chest and double-checking to see that everything is checked and balanced with your records.

Your shoulders jump at his suddenly standing form, but try to understand his intentions. You mouth, “where?” with a very confused face, to which he responds with a simple shushing motion and waits for your acknowledgement.

You nod slowly, and he holds your gaze before sneaking off once again.

‘He’s coming back, right?’ You wondered. The progression of your experience now in comparison to the game was vastly different, and you didn’t know if all scenes, or only some, would present themselves in this world. You assume he planned to hunt, and while you trust his abilities, you want to make sure he’s attended to properly should he be harmed in any way.

So after retrieving a few potions, a journal, and a pencil, you stashed them in a satchel and positioned yourself at the base of the tree in the direction he left in. You weren’t particularly sleepy tonight, and planned to pass the time in wait of your companion.

There wasn’t much to do in this century to keep yourself entertained. The only things you’ve found so far were a few instruments and all manners of journals and inks.

The inkpot that you picked up appeared to be red this time. The game of, “which ink dye will I get this time?” will have to be the most of your entertainment for now. Not all too different from home, you suppose. And while writing keeps your mind at bay, illustrating all manners of wildlife have proven to be quite the fun exercise.

You’ve made a few notes on creatures that you and your company have encountered. The visual elements of a drawing allowed you and the others to keep track of materials that could be salvaged from them, and their resistances to certain attacks.

Though as much as you liked depicting such lifeforms in paper, you’ve come to be very interested in portraying your vampire friend.

Evidence of your interest present in the pages filled with his likeness as you search for an unmarked page. You’ve made a few of the others, yes, but anyone who would gain access to your journal would surely see which member of the group you favor more.

You continued to draw, and occasionally write, on the parchment as you waited for Astarion to come back. All sense of time evading you as you focus on the task at hand.

A perfect opportunity for a tired rogue to surprise an unsuspecting human.

“And what are you still doing up, little one?” He appears from behind the very tree you rested against, causing you to spill a bit of ink on your thumb.

You clicked your tongue, not at all annoyed by the character but by your absentmindedness and now stained appendage.

“Sorry, I was just waiting for you.” You sealed the inkpot, and gathered your materials. Effectively, but unknowingly, hiding your work from peering eyes that were the same deep red as your finger.

“I’m very flattered, darling. But couldn’t you wait until morning? I'm sure this couldn’t have been all too important, yes?” He gestures to your satchel, referring to your journal, but you misinterpreted it as him asking for your medical supplies.

“Oh, that depends. Are you hurt, by any chance? I stayed awake in case you might've needed help tending to yourself.” You opened the pouch to reveal its contents to him, your stained thumb in full view.

The sight makes him sigh out, but is thankful for your offered service.

“I’m alright, nothing of interest happened while I was away.” He considers telling you about the nature of his little…'escapade.' He's unaware if you are of his condition, and he doesn’t wish to out himself if not necessary to avoid possible conflict. So he settles for advising you to rest.

“We need you well rested, my dear. You sleep. I’ll keep watch.” The dialogue is familiar, and you can’t stop yourself from letting a small laugh out as you responded with an equally familiar line

“Thank you. I’ll sleep better for that.” You lower your head as you usually do in gratitude.

“The pleasure is all mine.” He mirrors your gesture, albeit in a way that is most appropriate for someone of his character. “Sweet dreams.”

You walked back to the chest. Returning the potions and ink you’ve plucked from the supply, but keeping the rest of the pouch’s materials with you as you turn in for the night. Awaiting the promise of further study that a new day typically makes.

As Astarion is left with his own thoughts, a sour taste still in his mouth from his earlier meal, he thinks about the man in the journal you kept. He did not see much, only a vague outline of the figure. He thinks about who, or what, it could have been but dismisses the thought rather quickly.

He has no time for a mysterious person with hair less perfect than his own, touching his untainted locks as he does.

————━─━────༺༻────━─━————

Thank you everyone for your interest in the series!! As per the request of some, I'll now be adding a taglist!

Thank you to @rey26, @shyminnie07, @lynnloveshobi, @iggee-rose, @automnepoet, and @tiannamortis for asking to be tagged!!

#astarion ancunin #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin x reader #astarion x mc #baldur's gate 3 x reader #bg3 x reader isekai(?)#aware!astarion #though I guess not so aware--#lol

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undreaming-fanfiction · 7 months

Text

Hearts Don't Break Around Here

For the lovely @thefreakandthehair for her wedding. I hope it was everything you wanted it to be!

(also on Ao3)

It’s the small things that make Eddie Munson realize he’d like to make some changes to his life. The mountain of mugs on his desk tells him that, hey, maybe he should get a tea pot (or a bigger desk). The holes in his t-shirt don’t really bother him until he accidentally drops some very hot cigarette ash through one of them and he realizes that he should retire the t-shirt, or maybe re-purpose it for his next battle vest. The way he thinks about it, he needs the universe to send him a small sign.

When it comes to Steve Harrington? Eddie is the happiest in his life. Steve isn’t just a boyfriend, he is THE boyfriend, the alpha and omega of boyfriendness or boyfrienddom, Eddie still can’t decide what to call it. Whatever a boyfriend should be, Steve is. So Eddie doesn’t really think of any possible changes, everything is perfect, except…

Except they’re in bed together, trading lazy kisses and exchanging those stupid little words that make Eddie feel all warm and fuzzy and put a silly smile on Steve’s face. They’re holding hands, Eddie’s guitar calluses against Steve’s sport ones, and Eddie runs his finger over Steve’s and thinks.

I really, really want to put a ring on this man.

The realization hits him like a baby Demogorgon, and once he scrambles together a poor explanation of why he froze mid-kiss (“there was a bug, Steve, like an enormous bug, Shelob-like, I swear on Dustin’s mother!”), he courageously decides to explore his feelings on the matter.

Of course, they can’t get officially married. Yet. Eddie is an optimist, so there is always a yet to be added to any negative thought. It isn’t really about making it legal or seeing Steve in white (well, maybe a little) or having a big party. No, it’s just…

The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes it’s about the promise.

Eddie hasn’t had many certainties in his life, but when they appear, he’s distrustful of them. Nothing lasts long for him and if it does, it only gets taken away the very second he starts feeling hopeful that maybe this is it, this is the one thing he’ll get to keep. He used to feel that way about Steve, but Steve Harrington never left. And when Eddie finally broached the subject, asked him why he tolerates Eddie’s humor, messiness, lack of drive and basically everything Eddie, Steve took Eddie’s hands in his and told him, “I’ve had my share of perfection for a lifetime, Eddie. It’s pretty but so cold. Being with you? It’s like…like being in the sun in the spring, when it’s warm and you’re lying on grass and there are ants walking over you and your clothes are likely to get stained, but you just don’t care because it’s the only place you want to be.” And as if that wasn’t too much for Eddie’s poor heart, he added, “I will never break your heart, Eddie. Never. And I don’t make these promises lightly.”

So no, no one can blame Eddie for wanting to give Steve something back. He wants Steve to be the first commitment Eddie dares to believe, and no matter what, he’ll get that ring.

If only it was that easy.

First of all, choosing anything in Hawkins is impossible. His dear old dad made sure that Eddie can’t go anywhere near jewelry shops without people blaming him for trying to steal stuff, so he makes a trip to Indy and stares to his heart’s content. It’s only when the shopkeeper, a nice elderly lady, asks him what style he’s looking for, he realizes – he has no idea.

He promises to come back the next weekend, a bit more decisive and well-prepared.

Eddie sucks at being inconspicuous, so he enlists help. Robin – after squishing his cheeks to death and beyond – agrees to be his spy and drags Steve off to an emergency meeting, claiming things are way more serious with her college girlfriend than they really are and, “I want to give her something nice, like a ring, but a ring that doesn’t say “marry me”, you get me Steve, no time for that when I’m up to my ears in books, so what would you say is an ideal ring? Is that different for guys maybe? What would you choose? I’m just curious because the only example of a guy with a ring I know is Eddie, and I’m not giving her a silver demon thing, nope, not ever.”

Eddie learns two things this way.

First: Steve doesn’t have clear preferences for jewelry, he is all for “seeing the thought behind it”. Eddie wonders if Steve realizes how many thoughts he has and not all of them are ring-worthy.

Second: Steve thinks having an engraving on the inside is the most romantic thing ever, even something simple can become so personal and touching. What should the engraving be? Robin doesn’t know.

The next weekend comes and Eddie drives back to Indy again (Wayne is covering for him, telling Steve he asked Eddie to run some errands for him) and he’s better prepared this time. He chooses a simple gold ring with a yellow stone, just a small one, almost invisible, but Steve’s sweater is always on his mind, so it’s a good choice. He thinks about the engraving too, and his list is, in hindsight, atrocious, and he might have written it when seriously sleep-deprived, but still. He cringes at his own handwriting.

To my Ozzy

You’re so metal, baby

I tolerate basketball for you

To my only reason why 1986 was good

Get a mug collection with me?

But there is just one that Eddie sees and thinks , this is it . So when the nice lady asks him what to engrave, he hands her a paper with his messy handwriting that simply says:

You’re my home, Stevie

The moment of elation and victory is short-lived. She asks him for Steve’s ring size, and well. He should have probably found that out, shouldn’t he?

He promises to return to the shop as soon as he knows. On his way back, he tries to figure out an inconspicuous way of measuring Steve’s fingers.

Once again, Eddie sucks at being inconspicuous.

He tries wrapping a measuring tape around Steve’s finger when they’re asleep. That nearly earns him a smack in the face with Steve’s bat because he’s a light sleeper and forever scarred by their Upside Down adventures. At least Eddie manages to persuade Steve that it was just a piece of his pajamas stuck on Steve’s finger so he doesn’t question the weird feeling that woke him up.

He practices measuring by touch and holding Steve’s hands a lot. The margin of error is in centimeters, so he gives this idea up pretty easily. He blames it on not having enough time to practice, of course.

He (inconspicuously, of course) wonders aloud whether his hands are larger than Steve’s. They place their palms against each other, notice that Eddie’s fingers are slimmer and longer and Steve’s are shorter and stronger, but otherwise? Not helpful.

The breakthrough finally comes when Eddie actually volunteers to wash the dishes for once, but asks Steve to hold on to his rings. He places them on Steve’s fingers and notices with barely contained excitement that yes, one of his rings actually fits Steve’s ring finger (some shuffling around was required, “I don’t want to lose any of the rings, Steve, they need to fit very, very precisely!”).

Eddie has his answer now. He ties a small ribbon to the ring so he doesn’t forget which one it is, basically races to Indy again after calling Wayne and using the agreed code word to have his uncle send him to run some imaginary errands again.

He bursts into the shop, wheezing and holding the ring between his fingers. “This big!” he chokes out and collapses against the counter while the shopkeeper (Margaret, they’re on first name terms now since he’s been ring shopping for around a month) hands him a glass of water.

“Your Steve must be pretty special,” she smiles at him, and Eddie’s brain short-circuits because Indy is better, but definitely not accepting, and this lady has been so nice, has he blown it? Has he ever mentioned he has a boyfriend? Shit, he must have…

He opens his mouth like a fish several times. “Uh…m…Stevie…is, yes?” he says and prays he’s not going to get kicked out in the next twenty seconds. “The…the stone reminds me of him. He’s like a ray of sunshine.”

Margaret just laughs and refills his glass. “Good for you. It’s nice to see someone have the courage. I wish I had it in my day.”

Eddie is laughing with her now, the water surface in his glass is swaying from side to side and tells her, “Your day isn’t over, it’s never over until we’re done breathing.” She gives him the kindest smile anyone outside of his found family has ever spared him. It keeps him warm on his way back to Hawkins.

He picks up the ring in three days, he can’t wait any longer, and Margaret is kind enough to get the engraving as a priority. She meets him outside of the shop in the evening, hands him the small blue velvet box and grasps his hand before letting go. “Go make that handsome young man happy,” she says and Eddie has never promised to do something so easily and so fast.

He stashes the box in the drawer with his formal wear and waits for the perfect opportunity. That resolution lasts him for about one week because another thing Eddie sucks at is being patient. On top of that, Eddie knows in his heart that Steve has had a lifetime of grand gestures and pretend perfection. Sure, Steve deserves all the romance and luxury Eddie can afford, but if he says he’s even happier in their cramped home, on their old bed, with the constant DIY projects, homemade meals, and bad movies rented from Family Video, Eddie will respect that. Hell, Eddie loves that.

They’re cuddling together on a sofa, dishes unwashed and piled up in the sink, and the latest B-list sci-fi movie playing on their small TV. Eddie’s holding Steve’s hand again and he traces his fingers, feels the bare skin and realizes – this is it. This is when I do it.

He kisses Steve and promises he’ll be right back, he just needs to quickly take a note of something for the next campaign. Eddie doesn’t even try to conceal the rush he’s in, he dives into their bedroom and completely destroys the fragile order in his drawer to get to the priceless box. His hands are shaking, but he’s determined, he opens the door again, slips into their living room and-

And Steve is there, smiling at him like his own personal ray of sunshine, a bit shy but radiant, just as he always is. And in his hand-

“No way,” chuckles Eddie and inspects the blue box Steve is holding to confirm that yes, it bears the logo of Margaret’s shop. “When did you get to Indy?”

Steve takes a step closer and tucks Eddie’s unruly hair behind his ear. “Let’s just say I skipped some basketball practices. And before you ask, yes, I had to use blackmail to keep Sinclair quiet.”

“Oh?” Eddie’s cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but he can’t help it. “What did you tell him?”

“Nothing big. Just that I still have the list with potential date ideas with Max he forgot at my place and I’m holding that hostage. Now, I believe I have a question to ask. And…” he looks down at Eddie’s trembling fingers, “maybe you do too?”

Eddie kisses him, short and sweet. “That depends, are you going to say yes?” It’s playful, but there’s also a hint of insecurity, the fear that Steve managed to weaken but never truly destroy. And maybe it’s the coward’s way out, but Eddie needs to know if he’s right in thinking Steve wants this too, if maybe he just got the ring because he wanted to make Eddie happy or assumed that’s what Eddie wanted. Which duh, he does, but this is not about

“I told you, Eddie,” and Steve’s hand is back on his cheek, stroking it, grounding Eddie. “I will never break your heart. And I trust you so much that I want to give mine to you. If you’ll have it.”

He leans his forehead against Steve’s, smiling at the ridiculousness of the question. “If I’ll have it? Stevie, I do. So much. I will cherish it, polish it, even dust it because I know you love everything to be clean.” Steve snorts, but Eddie continues, determined to finish his improvised speech. “I know it’s not the life you thought you’d have. I can’t give you a real wedding, kids, I can’t even kiss you in public. And I know it doesn’t change much between us, but I just want to give you this. I want to give you a real promise that your heart is safe with me, just like mine is safe with you. And it will always be.”

They exchange their “yes” between kisses, and when they catch their breath, the rings follow. Steve loves his, of course he does, and he tears up at the engraving, but then Eddie sees his own silver band and notices something written inside too.

I will follow you to Mordor, Eds.

“You remembered,” he whispers as Steve pushes the ring onto his finger. “You don’t even know the books and you remembered.”

Laughing, Steve shakes his head. “Don’t give me too much credit. I had to badger Dustin to tell me what you said during that spring break. I…I just thought it’s fitting, you know. It was fucked up, cruel and painful, and yet…I’d go through all of it again, just to be with you here.”

Crushing Steve in a hug, Eddie knows exactly how he feels.

The next morning, Eddie actually wakes up early. He manages to leave the bed without rousing his fiancé, Jesus Christ, he’s never going to get used to saying it or seeing the ring on his finger. Sneaking towards the phone, he finds his wallet and the card that Margaret gave him, and when she picks up, he doesn’t even give her a chance to announce her name.

“Hello Margaret, my dear,” he drawls, “when were you planning to tell me that you know Steve too?”

He can hear her chuckling. “Well, dear. I thought me saying that Steve is handsome implied it?”

“Oh.” Eddie isn’t entirely speechless, but it’s close. “So…how did you know it was…you know. My Steve? And not any other Steve?”

There’s a strange sound, possibly Margaret sipping coffee, before she responds. “I could tell you it’s the experience I have. Or that I had a hunch. But – he came in wearing a yellow sweater. A very familiar-looking yellow. And he said he’s looking for an engagement ring for someone who is non-conforming, passionate and loves silver, red and black. It wasn’t difficult to put two and two together, especially after he told me what he wanted engraved.” Another sip. “But that’s enough about that, what I want to know is – who proposed first?”

Eddie laughs into the phone and switches hands so he can admire the silver ring glistening in the morning light. “I’d say it was a tie. But hey, we both said yes. Thank you so much, Margaret, for all you’ve done. And, uh. If we ever get to have a wedding, you’re invited.”

“It would be my pleasure,” she says and Eddie thinks she really means it.

“Great, I will call you then. And Margaret?” He twirls the cord around his fingers, only sparing a second to form his thoughts. “In case you find some of that courage too? I can guarantee you a plus one, so be a brave lady and get one, hmm?”

Her laughter follows him as he hangs up and returns to the bed to join the future Mr. Munson.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction #steddie fanfic

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