how love poems urged tom riddle to confess - summary: You wondered if reciting love poems with Tom Riddle was a good idea, because he started sending you notes with love poems written in them.
the acknowledgement that you're meant for each other - summary: You and Tom Riddle had agreed to end your relationship. However, you both found that you needed each other more than you'd think.
and i can't help that the devil likes to come and rest his little head - summary: Your sweet devil came back to you, declaring his love and now, you were both kneeling in front of each other, holding each other so lovingly.
my soul is too well tangled with you - summary: Much to Tom Riddle's surprise, he's not the only one that loves you dearly.
to be loved by tom riddle - summary: Tom Riddle is in no way the perfect lover, but he tries, he always does, for you.
theodore nott.
theodore nott's one star rating of dirty talking - summary: Sexting through note passing, one of Theodore's favourite ways to bother you.
leon kennedy.
torturous fingers - summary: It's an off day. Off fucking day, and Leon decides to use this day to edge the hell out of you. You hate it and love it at the same time. He'll always turn you into nothing but a whining and demanding mess whenever he does this, and you just find it so awfully embarrassing. Leon doesn't though. The asshole loves it. (nsfw)
a/n: soooo sorry for the very slow update but I'm not ditching this series at all. I actually cooked with this now that I'm rereading it back LMAO but dw I intend to milk satoru grovelling for all it's worth. this is more like a comedy series since it's smau version of the story but I'll get serious in the fic 😼 waiting for the day someone calls reader toxic LOL
Previous: Part four. │ Masterlist. │ Next: Part six (soon!).
content: social media au, fem!reader, no-curses!au, college!au, cursing, slight dark humour, pathetic gojo, comedy, manga ref to a scene but not a big spoiler or anything.
Previous: Part four. │ Masterlist. │ Next: Part six (soon!).
photo credits: ridotomoji for hajime's coloured profile photo.
→ Part one - summary: You're mad at your boyfriend. It's just another day for you. For Satoru though? Might just be the end of the world.
→ Part two - summary: Satoru (unfortunately for him, at the moment) just cannot keep his mouth shut about you.
→ Part three - summary: It's not like Satoru is lying whenever he says you're his.
→ Part four - summary: If Satoru was being honest, you pretty much have nothing to worry about as long as you're with him.
→Part five - summary: How lovely things are when it's just you and him.
FIC.
→Part six - summary: "Up at 3am wondering what other people did wrong because I can't possibly have done anything wrong to her, who want me?" - Satoru, probably.
→ Coming soon!
support me.
thank you so much for the support you guys are giving this series!
If Satoru was being honest, you pretty much have nothing to worry about as long as you're with him.
Previous: Part three. │ Masterlist. │ Next: Part five.
content: social media au, fem!reader, no-curses!au, college!au, cursing, slight dark humour, pathetic gojo, comedy, suggestive content (annoying sexual jokes).
Previous: Part three. │ Masterlist. │ Next: Part five (soon!).
Satoru (unfortunately for him, at the moment) just cannot keep his mouth shut about you.
Previous: Part one. │ Masterlist. │ Next: Part three.
content: social media au, fem!reader, no-curses!au, college!au, cursing, slight dark humour, pathetic gojo, crack, comedy, exaggerated characterisation of characters.
Previous: Part one. │ Masterlist. │ Next: Part three.
photo credits: wiru_son (twt) for gojo cosplay, uzu_swirl for geto cosplay, ridotomoji for hajime's coloured profile photo.
You're mad at your boyfriend. It's just another day for you. For Satoru though? Might just be the end of the world.
Masterlist. │ Next: Part two.
content: social media au, fem!reader, no-curses!au, college!au though not heavy, cursing, slight dark humour, pathetic gojo, crack, comedy, potential series (no definitely a series).
Summary: Sexting through note passing, one of Theodore's favourite ways to bother you.
History of Magic is fun... only if you're studying it on your own. You're nice enough to pretend to be interested in whatever Professor Binns is saying, occasionally, because you would feel bad if he notices that you're falling asleep. Then again, Professor Binns doesn't exactly have a heart to feel sad about his students not finding his lesson interesting, does he? Nevertheless, you work hard to suppress the yawn that would threaten to come every five minutes. Scratch that, every minute, actually.
You look down at your notebook, eyeing it with disappointment. Every History of Magic class, your page would start with almost impressive notes and gradually, evidently, transition into lazy writings and short sentences. Sometimes not even a sentence.
The Salem Witch Trials were a series of hearings and prosecutions of people who were accused of being involved with witchcraft.
These trials occurred in Massachusetts, in the years 1692 and 1963, in which, as a result, twenty people who were accused of witchcraft being executed, and most of them being women.
Some of the women were indeed witches, though found to be entirely innocent of the crimes they were accused and executed for.
others are just no-majes
traumatic event
witches and wizards retreat to homelands
1920 second salemers
dada essay due tomorrow & practice non-verb spells
You pause in your reading, eyebrows furrowed. The Defence Against the Dark Arts essay...
That's something you'll worry about after lunch.
With a soft sigh, you lean your chin on your palm, your elbow resting on your table. How much longer until it's lunchtime?
Before you can even start to feel another yawn coming, a familiar hand from beside you slides over a torn page from a notebook, with a sentence written on it. Obviously it won't be a list of names of the Salem Witch Trials' victims, knowing your lover.
You turn your head, looking at Theodore Nott with a raised brow, before reaching out to slide the paper closer to you, your hand brushing against the back of his hand briefly. He doesn't even bother to fold the paper. He might as well read it out loud to the whole class.
"why the frown? :("
You can't help the half-smile that appears on your lips when you read the note. You write back a simple response.
"You."
Theodore practically snatches the note from you, undoubtedly excited that there's finally something exciting to do and you had to nudge him because of the noise the paper just made. He's not bothered, of course, already writing down his response.
"I will buy you sweets."
Your heart skips a beat, even at such a simple message. You glances at Theodore, who's watching your every move with that gentle gaze of his green eyes, a soft playful smile on his lips.
"Your hair looks fluffy. Would love to touch later."
You slide it over to him. You enjoy the reaction your message has on him, because he rolls his shoulders in what seems like a satisfied manner as his smile widens, before he starts to write. Clearly he thought of a good response.
"you will touch it later, and other places too"
His response comes with a drawing of a beating heart, which eventually increases and explodes, and the animation repeats. How cute, you think. With a shy smile, you write back, wanting to keep the conversation going despite how his message had left you a bit speechless.
"What do you think of the New Salem Philanthropic Society? Bold, don't you think?"
Somehow, your response causes him to snort, in which he disguises it with a fake cough. You quickly look at him with a mix of confusion and amusement.
"you're BAD at dirty talking"
This time, it's your turn to snort, causing the two people in front of you and Theodore to turn around, frowning. You want to scoff - you're pretty sure they're just annoyed because you and Theodore are interrupting their napping or daydreaming session.
Looking over at Theodore, you roll your eyes at him, before focusing on the note that is now in your hands. You wouldn't say that you're bad at dirty talking, more like... skilled in other categories of dirty talking, such as begging or... demanding. Perchance.
You write your reply with determination.
"I would need to be locked up in Azkaban for your safety."
When Theodore reads your reply, you saw his eyebrows raise - he's both surprised and impressed. He shakes his head with a breathy chuckle.
"ominous, but an improvement,"
There's another sentence below this one, and you almost choked on your own saliva.
"pull up your skirt for me a little bit"
You immediately crumple up the paper on impulse, holding it in your hand, and you swear Theodore's smirk becomes more evident. Is he serious? Writing this on a note passed in class is dangerous! But then again, someone is borderline snoring just a few tables away and Professor Binns isn't even sparing him a glance, no one is.
You smoothen the paper on your table and writes down your response, exhaling softly.
"This isn't dirty talking. You're just horny."
Theodore places down the paper on his table and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms. When your eyes meet his, he simply shrugs and pointedly looks down at your skirt.
He's waiting.
You sigh and make sure your robes are out of the way of display of your skirt. With your hands nervously gripping onto the hem of your skirt, you look around the classroom. Some are doodling, and some are literally sleeping. No one would find out, really.
You pull up your skirt by just an inch.
Okay, two inches.
"That's it," Theodore whispers unexpectedly, causing your heart to skip a beat. What handful he is.
He slides over the paper to you, and you notice he didn't write a response. You send him a questioning look, and he gestures to his body with his hand.
Oh.
You slide the note over.
"Which one do you want?"
The note is slid back to you.
"which one do YOU want?"
You tilt your head, contemplating. The hardest decision you've ever had to make today, you think.
"You don't need to take anything off to arouse me."
You pause your writing. However...
"The tie?"
Theodore seems satisfied once he reads the note. He looks over at you and loosens his robes around his neck, revealing his vest and the white shirt underneath it. With a smirk, he loosens his tie at the top of his vest, just a little, not too obvious - for your eyes only.
You can't help but to take the paper from him despite how it's his turn to write the message. Considering how the two of you aren't exactly writing neatly on the paper which leads to taking up all the space, you had to use the other side to write your new message.
"I like your neck."
Theodore smiles fondly once he reads this, not a playful smirk this time, and you think he might even be blushing. When he glances at you, you notice how his pupils are dilated.
He slides the paper over to you, and squeezes your hand affectionately for a brief moment before pulling away.
"you will mark it?"
It's clear to you how he's subtly guiding you towards saying the right thing, lest you start delving into the whole Second Salemers' background in your reply, and you can't help but to want to impress him.
"I will write on it in runes which would translate to my name."
Theodore chuckles quietly.
"nerd"
A true romantic.
You write back - shamelessly.
"You want me so bad."
You see him pressing his palm to his face, as his shoulders shake in quiet, small laughter. Naturally, seeing him smiling so big widens yours too. He leans towards you and whispers in amusement, "You are bad at dirty talking."
"You will never find anyone as good as me," you reply in a whisper, leaning back in your seat, putting on a smug expression, despite the fond smile that threatens to break though.
As Theodore leans in to peck your cheek, you can't help but to briefly think that, if you were good in dirty talking, a whole notebook would've been used up for this period alone. You needed to have a flaw, after all.
Summary: You're mad, and Astarion wants your attention.
(He's trying to make you feel better).
ao3
"I do wish it's me you're glaring at, instead of that book."
You blink, pulling yourself out of your thoughts—or rather pulled out of, due to your lover's smooth voice from beside you. You gaze down at the pages in front of you for a few moments, realising you didn't even notice that you have been flipping to random pages. Now you can't even remember the last part you were reading.
Sighing, you lift your head up, meeting Astarion's eyes. His pale skin is lit up by the small candle inside the tent, as the world is growing darker outside, the sun slowly disappearing into the horizon. It has been a long day, and it does show around Astarion's eyes, the tiredness he may be feeling at the moment. His lips, though, is formed into a small, teasing smile and his eyes slightly squinting in a mischievous manner, showing he's amused at your current situation. At you.
"What?" you ask, in a slightly irritated tone. You heard him, though.
"I'm getting rather jealous with the intense attention you're giving your book," Astarion replies, as witty as ever, as his hand carefully takes the book away from your lap, soon placing it next to him, as he's between you and the book. Looks like he wants your attention.
"Well, you have my attention. Go on," you mutter, still looking at him. You're aware that you're having a bit of an attitude, but you can't help it. You're annoyed, mad even.
"Now, now," Astarion reprimand lightly, his pale hand now on your thigh and squeezing it in a playful manner. It may appear as a sensual act, but you know him well enough to know he's simply trying to distract you from your current emotions, to play around. "Why so upset, darling? Did you not have enough of me today?"
"You're..." you start, but you stop yourself immediately. You're angry, and you were just about to speak in irritation. You can't do that, not when Astarion is looking at you with his... damn round puppy eyes. His gaze is soft, despite the playful words he sent you.
So you sigh, taking a deep breath to calm yourself, because everything in the world today seems to want to irritate you further and further. You have a short temper, that much is known to you and Astarion.
You're glad you took a moment to have a deep breath, because Astarion seems proud at that.
"There we go," he says softly. He then adds, back to his light tone, "Now, want me to kiss it better?"
You scrunch up your nose at his offer, but it's... too good to pass up. "...Sure."
He smiles, and leans forward. He doesn't just kiss you, no, not yet. He places his hand on your hip, squeezing it briefly before it moves to your back and pushing you to him. Your lips meet in the middle, and you sigh into it, melting into it. He moves his lips languidly, taking his time, even as he deepens the kiss. Time seems to stop, and the moment is only for this loving kiss you share.
You can't help but to feel disappointed when he pulls away. It must've shown on your face, because Astarion lets out an amused "hm" upon seeing your face.
"You'll get your kisses later, dear," he coos. "You must tell me just what is upsetting you. I must admit, I dislike seeing such a gloomy expression on that pretty face. Hm."
"I didn't look gloomy."
"You did. Still do," he sighs in a dramatic manner. "Well?"
"Nothing is going right," you confesses. "Of course I'm upset."
"That so?" Astarion hums, appearing to be contemplating. "This is because we didn't listen to you earlier, isn't it?"
Your eyes twitch at that. He knows you too well, it seems. It's only natural to be upset at that. They want you to be the leader, they want you to be the ultimate decision maker, yet they didn't... listen? How ridiculous.
You clear your throat and shift in your seat, looking away from Astarion. What's the point in admitting that he's right?
"I see," he says quietly. You feel him leaning closer to you, his arm sneaking around your waist. "We made it out alive, didn't we?"
"Of course we did," you mutter, and you lean against him nonetheless.
"We don't have to always listen to you, my sweet," Astarion says softly, as if trying not to irritate you further yet needing to be truthful to you. You appreciate that. "You can trust us too, you know?"
Trust. You frown slightly. The one person you can ever truly trust is... yourself. You do trust yourself to keep everyone alive, and you would be willing to take the full blame if something happens. You trust Astarion too, and you know he would understand what you want, understand what you want to be understood. That's not to say you don't trust the others, you do but... you trust yourself to have all the control, and you have to have control. Otherwise things would go wrong.
"I do trust all of you," you say quietly, looking down to your lap. Gone the ever present, quiet anger in you, replaced with... conflict. You feel conflicted.
"Yet not enough."
Astarion then presses himself to your side, his chin now resting on your shoulder. His voice is much softer, with this proximity.
"We're not children who need to be constantly taken care of. Yes, we're a mess, I do admit that," he states, chuckling afterwards. "But you, you're a mess too, when you're trying to control everything."
"No, that's..." you whispers in disagreement, turning to look into Astarion's eyes. "I doubt that."
He raises an eyebrow. "Really? Beating yourself up at every time someone is injured badly? Sounds like a mess."
"It sounds right," you mumble stubbornly, turning your face away once more. You're getting too tired to argue, and Astarion is slowly making sense.
"Sure, darling."
Astarion leaves it at that, thankfully. But you know it's not your average comfortable silence. He's giving you time to think. For someone who likes to talk and talk, you're glad that Astarion knows when to not talk, when to leave you to your thoughts, while he's there to accompany you.
Of course, that doesn't always last long.
"Well, my sweet mastermind?" Astarion urges, nudging your shoulder.
"You can be right," you admit, but too stubborn to fully agree with him.
"That won't do." Astarion clicks his tongue and straightens up, leaning to your face to make sure your eyes meet. "Repeat after me: I do not have to control everything."
You bit your tongue for a few seconds. Is this revenge? "...I do not have to control everything."
"And Astarion is right," he adds, smiling mischievously.
"And Astarion can be right," you say, raising an eyebrow in a challenging manner, a smile threatening to appear on your lips.
"We shall work on that, in time," Astarion says, before he kisses you on the lips briefly, causing your eyes to flutter.
When he pulls away, you stare into his dark red eyes, and you can't help but to smile, almost instinctively. You do feel a lot better.
Astarion looks beautiful with the light from the candle illuminating one side of his face. Your hand then reaches up to brush his curls back, something you've grown to like doing, and Astarion hums, pleased, leaning his head to your hand. He can be so soft at times. He is soft. It's like a secret between the two of you, because you know Astarion would not be like how he is to you, with others. Not even close.
With him leaning down like this, you use this opportunity to kiss his forehead.
"Thanks," you whisper, smiling fondly.
"Of course," Astarion grins, looking up at you. "Now, let's talk about a reward..."
You scoff softly and pulls his head towards you, tucking his face into your neck. Astarion's arms soon are wrapped around your middle, eagerly accepting this physical comfort that you're giving him so freely.
With his white curls in your vision, you smile softly, petting his head. He gets so adorable when it comes to physical touch, like a mere hug or cuddling. It's like he's melting into you. It feels silly now, thinking back on why you were upset. You should've just wrapped your arms around Astarion and all your problems would be solved.
Which is, really, not surprising. He likes to stare at you—especially you. At all of you that he can get the chance to lay his eyes on. Your eyes that shows so much of your intelligence when you look at things that are not him, oh, how he loves to look at you when you're not looking. It feels almost forbidden, like this is something he should not indulge himself in, should not have—deep down in his heart he knows that—like you're precious a treasure, a lovely secret. Your hands, how meticulously they do their job, how carefully they handle the world, your world, how they handle him. His skin feels like it burns when you touch him with those sacred hands of yours, giving him a foreign yet tempting warmth that he has never felt in centuries. The warmth that makes him wonder if this was meant for him, if he should indulge himself further in it.
Your skin—gods, he will never forget the first time he penetrated his teeth into your skin, the same skin that has gone through so much and what he found, what he tasted was heavenly. It just kept tasting better and better each time you granted him the opportunity of feeding on you. No amount of enemies could ever compare to your blood, not even if he was given a sea of blood—still nothing compared to yours.
And then there's you. You, just—you. Of course, you are more than your blood, so much more. You've showed him that, and even showed him that he's more than just his body. You've opened up your heart to him, and his heart answered it, reciprocated it. Hard. He doesn't really know what happened, but you've gotten so, so enticing since then. He hates to admit this, but he needs your blood, or perhaps, want, because the two of you did establish that he can feed on the bad guys you'd be coming across during your travels. You're already allowing him that and he can't believe himself that he's asking for more. How—
"You're unusually quiet," you comment from beside Astarion, a book in your hands yet your gaze on him. You must've caught him staring at your neck. He feels almost embarrassed, ashamed even. "Something's wrong."
How easy it is for him to be so vulnerable around you, too vulnerable that the dark and unpleasant emotions that are gnawing at his heart threaten to show, bit by bit.
"Why, missing my voice already?" Astarion asks smoothly, too smoothly. Practised.
"It's hard not to," you reply as smoothly, giving him a smile. You're now placing your book down and Astarion has to restrain himself from swallowing due to his nervousness. Here you are, willingly paying attention to him, making him the centre of your attention. "So, what is it?"
"Well, darling..." Astarion starts, a smirk forming on his lips, but he makes the mistake of looking into your eyes, the windows to your soul, and he can't help the fondness that grows immensely within him. One that stops him from lying to you, because he realises you're looking at him the same manner he would look at you. He's not quite sure how to handle that.
Of course, this is uncharacteristic of him—no matter how speechless he gets, he'd always have something to say, something to fill the dreadful silence. But you... you make it so hard. Yet so easy.
"Okay," you say, smile dropping slowly and a brow raised in suspicion. "We need to talk."
Though before Astarion can reply, you tilt your head slightly, and adding, "Wait, no. No one likes hearing that. Let's talk. Let's discuss. Let's have a... an emotionally present conversation between two loving people, yes?"
He can't help but to smile. Adorable. "Quite the jester."
"Says you," you reply without missing a beat, witty as always. "So, what's wrong?"
Astarion leans closer, a smile on his face, intending to take your mind off the topic. He doesn't want to share you away. Absolutely not. Not when everything is going so well.
"You're looking at my neck again."
The brief noise of surprise that erupts from Astarion's throat is rather embarrassing.
"What?" you ask, clueless, confused at his evident surprise. You lean closer, peering into his eyes. Adorable, he thinks once more. "You were. Again."
Again? How embarrassing. Caught behaving like a starved vampire. He wonders what you think, about his habit of staring at your neck. He likes to think he stares at other parts of you the most, not just the neck. Would you think that way? Would you be okay with him? He thinks you would. You're too kind to him, making him feel like his centuries worth of prayers have been answered, but there's no divine intervention here, just you and him. The only divine being he sees here is you.
"Sorry, dear," Astarion sighs, leaning back. You're too blunt at times, straightforward. Saves him from saying out the difficult things, despite how much he loves talking, but it certainly doesn't save him from the humiliation he's feeling right now.
"Why?" you ask softly, and he notices it, the soft tone. It makes him soft, all sad inside. You then add in a slightly playful tone, "You can stare. Can even bite too, if you want."
"You never offered."
Astarion can just feel that it's the wrong thing to say, with how you freeze beside him, and how you don't respond for a few seconds.
"I'm sorry," you apologises sincerely, leaning closer.
"No, no, darling, it's not your fault," Astarion reassures, gazing into your eyes. Again, too kind to him. "I have other things on the menu to occupy myself with."
Fuck. Now that's the wrong thing to say. He doesn't want you to think he sees you as food. Or replaceable. Gods, no.
"You can always ask for my blood, though. You can put it on top of the list in the menu, too."
Astarion tilts his head down, feeling slightly uneasy at your words, despite how that is what he wants to hear. Of course you'd say that. And unfortunately, he can't think of anything to stop this conversation immediately. He's caught off guard when your hand comes into view to his face and soon lifts his face up, making him face you. He melts almost instantly when you kiss him, his eyes closing automatically, with familiarity, as he indulges himself in this warm kiss from you.
It's a brief one, but every kiss, every peck, reminds him that you do love him. They keep his torturous thoughts at bay, like a holy ray of light seeping through layers and layers of darkness that seemed impenetrable at first. Until you, of course.
He's smiling softly now, face held by your loving hand that seems to be able to carry the weight of the world, that's so easy for him to trust. He can't believe the silence this act from you brings, and the absolute love it fills him with.
"My sweet star," you say, so lovingly and he melts even more, at sweet star and that damn tone you use on him and only him that he just cannot pull away from. "Talk to me."
It wouldn't hurt to indulge himself. Indulge himself in this opportunity.
"Please," he whispers, practically purring. "Let me have a taste."
You smile and turn your head slightly, giving access to your neck. As if that wasn't enough, you murmur, "Go ahead, Star."
Pale hands reach over to you, one to your arm and the other to the back of your head, keeping you close to him. He kisses your neck in gratitude, for gracing him with this opportunity, for letting his fangs get near you, something so tainted to the most sacred thing he knows. He feels sorry, for doing this to you, but you gave him permission. You're allowing him.
His fangs pierce his skin, and when he starts drinking, he cannot suppress the sigh that the taste elicits from him. You taste heavenly, for someone who hasn't and never will feel even a hint of heaven. He knows this is better than the real thing. He drinks and drinks, like a starved man, even though he did feed from a boar earlier. But what is that compared to you? What is anything compared to you?
He presses his body against yours eagerly when he feels your hands sneak up to his back, hugging him. Such luxury you're giving him—he wonders just what exactly he did to be granted this.
He feels almost disappointed when he pulls himself away, as he's panting, and licking his lips to savour each and every drop of your blood. When he sees a few drops trailing down your neck, the vibrant red against your skin, he doesn't hesitate to lick it up. But just that. He won't drink again. You've been so kind to him, even though he's a greedy, greedy man.
"Thank... you," Astarion whispers, pressing his nose to your cheek, his eyes closed. His hands goes down to your hips, appreciating every contact, before his arms are wrapped around you.
"Oh, Astarion," you laugh softly, your petting the back of his head. That feels nice. This feels nice. "You really should drink from me more often. You get so cute."
He opens his eyes and pulls away slightly, enough to look into your eyes. The proximity makes him want to kiss you. "Then I shall."
"I mean it."
He pauses. "Yes, you do."
He can see it clearly, hear it clearly. The sincere offer from you. It doesn't feel right for him to take from you. What has he given you, if not the potential issue of loss of blood? And burden? Centuries worth of baggage?
"Astarion," you whisper, with a sad smile on your lips. "Talk to me. Talk to me. I don't like that look in your eyes."
He frowns slightly. "What look?"
"That troubled look. The look you have when you feel bad, terrible even. You don't look peaceful."
Astarion tries to chuckle, but he's sure he's just letting out a sigh. "Darling, we have better things to do."
You scoff softly. "If I had a day left to live, I'd dedicate every second to you."
He pauses. How can you say that so easily? He doesn't get it. He does—he would say the same thing about you but why would you say the same about him? The more he knows you, the more he feels this overwhelming fondness for you, and you simply become higher, taller and so much more, but—him? The more you unravel him, the more he feels like you're inevitably going to find something so terrible and dark that would scare you away, his precious light. His only light. He didn't think he'd be protecting you against himself, so foolishly and deeply in love. He's scared for you. For him. He wants to keep you.
"Come here," you speak up softly, pulling his head towards you and resting it on your shoulder.
He can't help it. It feels to strange that he just has to make a joke out of it. "You're going to kiss it better next?"
That elicits a small laugh out of you. "I will."
There's silence again. You're not going to let this go. He knows you. Your stubbornness. You'll make him talk without even making him talk. He turns his head, so that his face is buried into the fabric of your shirt. He trusts you. Being in your arms like this, being cradled by you—this makes him so weak. So many things he had told you, and you never cowered away, never looked at him differently. Would this be different? Why would this be different?
"You're too good to me and I refuse to ask for too much from you. More than what you already give me," he admits quietly. It's so easy for you to make him say these things. So easy for the words to slip out.
"Nothing wrong with asking."
"It is if it's too much," Astarion replies quickly, lifting his head up to look at you just to emphasise his point. He rests his head on your shoulder once more.
You sigh softly. "I'll decide that, okay? I want you to want things. You should want things. You deserve to, actually."
"You're always talking about what I deserve and they're always good things," Astarion points out, sounding unsatisfied.
"Why wouldn't they be?" you ask slowly, a hint of confusion in your voice. "...You do deserve good things, Astarion."
"Like your blood," he suggests softly.
"Yes, if you think so," you agree, scratching his scalp lightly. He doesn't feel as tense anymore. "But that's a basic need, for you, that I am able to provide."
"It's more than that," he says, almost defensively. It's offensive that you think your blood is something of basic.
"I know it is to you," you whisper, and he feels a kiss on his temple, which pushes those thoughts away further. "What I'm saying is, I don't mind giving it to you. To me, it's your basic need, and to you, it's... something more. But I'm sure you acknowledge that you need it too. Which is why it's okay for you to ask for it."
"But I have other sources," Astarion mumbles, his hand absentmindedly playing with the hem of your shirt near your hip.
"We have water yet I still look for the wine," you say, in a light tone.
He clicks his tongue. "Wine is not a basic need, darling."
"It is for an alcoholic," you reply, ruffling his white hair playfully. "And... your other sources should not remove me from the menu."
"Why?" Astarion asks, lifting his head up, looking at you with such scrutiny. "Shouldn't they?"
"I would appreciate it if my lover would sink his teeth into me as well, thank you," you say, smiling softly. How can you smile? How can you be so... okay?
"You're not my food," Astarion says stubbornly, brows furrowing.
"I'm your lover, Star. It's natural for me to want to give things to you. To go out of my way to do things to you. Can you let me do that?"
Astarion looks down. This issue has been weighing him down, for days, perhaps more than a week now. It has absolutely been more than a week. He doesn't forget the moments where he drinks from you. Talking about this now... it's heavy. Painful. How can he talk without sounding so pathetic? Without sounding like he's desperate for your blood?
"Hey," you say softly, tilting your head to meet his eyes. "This... problem. We don't have to solve it now. But we will. I just want you to know you can ask things from me. Even my blood. Hell, especially my blood because you need it. I want you to."
"Why would you want me to?"
"It's quite romantic, no?" you suggest, tone light once more and a smile appearing once more. "No one else gets to drink my blood but my Astarion himself. Plus, people in the past used to see kissing as inhaling the soul of another, you know? So you drinking my blood is like... you internalising me. My... love."
He senses you're embarrassed at what you said, as you clear your throat and look away, while speaking, "Of course, that only applies to us. Our thing."
He chuckles. How odd you are, and endearing. He leans in and kisses your cheek, then your jaw. "I think you're right, my dear."
You're right. This doesn't have to be solved now—whatever that is wrong with him. You had helped him through it all, saved him even. He has no doubt you'd do it again, and again. He hopes, one day, he'll be what you are to him. Despite everything that he is, there's a small light in him, that comes from him himself, that tells him that perhaps he isn't entirely ruined. Not when you're holding him like he's whole, like he's something precious and you're afraid to break him.
With your fingers playing with his white curls, Astarion has everything he needs and wants, and the darkness can only watch him from a distance, unable to reach him with the radiant light surrounding him protectively.
Summary: It's an off day. Off fucking day, and Leon decides to use this day to edge the hell out of you. You hate it and love it at the same time. He'll always turn you into nothing but a whining and demanding mess whenever he does this, and you just find it so awfully embarrassing. Leon doesn't though. The asshole loves it.
(Leon edges you.)
afab!reader
"Leon, you fucking—"
Your words are cut off when you feel your lover's slender fingers on the soft folds of flesh between your thighs once more, his fingers circling your bundle of nerves skillfully. Your nose scrunches up and eyes close, as a whine escapes your throat, a whine of both pleasure and dissatisfaction, because it feels so damn good but you know what's going to happen, again and again.
You buck your hips up to Leon's hand, and it certainly does help in getting more friction between his fingers and your clit. You swear you hear a chuckle from him at your action, and you feel him resting his other hand on your thigh, simply resting it there, and it helps to remind you of his presence, and the comfort that it brings as the pleasure was just starting to get overwhelming for you.
It's an off day. Off fucking day, and Leon decides to use this day to edge the hell out of you. You hate it and love it at the same time. He'll always turn you into nothing but a whining and demanding mess whenever he does this, and you just find it so awfully embarrassing. Leon doesn't though. The asshole loves it.
You start to pant, and all you can hear are the wet sounds from between your thighs and your own heavy, stuttered breathing. Your thighs are threatening to close, but the pleasure makes you keep them open wide, as if it'll help you to get to your release faster.
Then, you feel it. The familiar build up. A naive part of you think that, maybe, Leon is thinking how you look so pathetic right now and would finally, finally grant you this.
Your voice turns high-pitched when you get closer to your orgasm that you desire so much. Your hands grip the sheets and your back arch and—
"Not yet."
No! You want to cry out, but you can't find it in you, not when your orgasm is being denied once more, when you were so, so damn close.
You can only let out a whine, sounding like you're crying but no, at least not yet. You simply throw your head back and your face turns into a dissatisfied frown.
You manage to speak up, "I hate you..."
"Of course you do, baby," is all Leon says in return, and that just annoys you further, irritates you even.
"I do!" you exclaim, finally opening your eyes and looking up at him sitting beside your lying form on the bed.
And God, he looks beautiful. Handsome. Attractive fucking tease.
He has that smirk on his face that tells you what he's feeling about the situation. He finds this so amusing, so entertaining and you're just close to snapping and crying. And he definitely knows that.
"Come on," Leon then murmurs, his fingers finding their way to your clit once more, this time rubbing it up and down. His ministration is slower this time, really taking his time, and he adds, "This will feel so good for you later."
Oh, it feels so good. Your arousal is leaking so much that you can even feel it trailing down to your other hole, and your wetness probably hit the bed too. You don't care about that right now though, that's something to feel embarrassed about later.
Right now, you feel like sulking but you still want it more. Your pride is clashing with your desires, and you don't know what to pick. You're definitely not in the best state of mind, no, you're fucking horny and it's clouding your mind.
"You're just gonna..." you whine, voice wavering. "You're just gonna do it again..."
Leon snorts. "Of course."
Ugh! You're so mad! So angry at him! And so, so damn desperate.
Sulking, you turn your body to the side and press your thighs together, giving him your back. You press your face into the mattress and whine. You feel pathetic, and you probably look pathetic.
"Hey, hey now," Leon says softly, and you feel the mattress shifting, indicating he's moving closer to you. "Are you crying yet?"
"I'm not!" you whine, burying your face deeper into the mattress. You don't know how to speak your words without whining now.
"You can't be sulking," Leon says and you hate that you can hear the amusement in his tone. You feel his hand on the side of your thigh, and then it slides towards your inner thigh, soon lifting it up. "That won't work, not right now. Even though you're looking real cute."
Your heart skips a beat, and you have to remind yourself that you're sulking. You think your heart just start to beat faster at how you feel the dip in the bed behind you, and how he's moving to lie behind you, his chest against your back and your thigh being rested on his knee so it stays open.
"I promise, I'll spoil you so, so good," Leon persuades you, murmuring in your ear as his hand squeezes your hip playfully. "You wanna be spoiled, don't you?"
"You're a liar," you remark, your voice slightly muffled by the sheets.
He laughs at that—a beautiful sound. "Not always."
He then leans his head down, wanting to take a look at your face. His hand has moved down from your hip to your inner thigh, just caressing the area.
"Kiss me while I play with your pretty pussy, won't you?"
He's saying it so nicely that you can't help but to lift your head, vulnerable to what he wants, always giving in. You let out a soft whine, leaning your face up to kiss his lips, needy.
"There we go," he whispers against your mouth, as his fingers come into contact with your pussy once more. He's so, so good to you.
His fingers are circling your clit again, that ever so familiar motion that you love so much. You lean your back more against his chest, eager to consume more of his kiss, pouring your love into the kiss alone, despite your earlier annoyance at him, and perhaps the tiny bit annoyance that is still present as well.
"You wanna cum?" he murmurs against your mouth, and your breath hitches in excitement.
Finally. "Yeah... I do, I do."
"Yeah?" Leon whispers, his fingers speeding up their motion. You spread your thighs more, hips thrusting slightly to enhance the sensation of his fingers. You're close, you're so close!
"Go ahead, baby," he urges softly, his breath hitching, growing even more excited himself. You're not even kissing anymore, lips just few centimetres away from each other, his mouth consuming your sounds. "Fucking cum."
You moan, your hand gripping the sheet and the other gripping the pillow above your head, and your body twitching occasionally, too sensitive from the amount of times Leon has edged you. Your eyes are not even open, while your lips are parted, panting softly as you're growing closer to your peak.
His fingers are so good. God. They're playing with your clit so fast and it just elicits more and more noises out of you, noises you didn't even know you could make.
"Cumming... cum—!"
Leon abruptly pulls his hand away from between your thighs, almost as if he had to force himself to pull his hand away. You hear his ragged breathing behind you, accompanied with the sound of your loud whine, one of annoyance and genuine disappointment.
He's such a goddamn liar, and you feel your tears start to prick your eyes.
You're just about to turn to face him, to whine, yell at him, curse him, but he's doing that for you first, his hand on your shoulder and pulling you so you're lying flat on your back.
You could hear his brief and quiet growl before he positions himself above you, his palms flat on the mattress with your head between them.
"You lied," you whispers, lips trembling and glaring up at him as best you can.
You receive a hasty kiss on your forehead which causes your eyes to flutter, and also helps to ease your annoyance and the unbearable need to cry and kick.
Those those urges seem to disappear almost instantaneously, as Leon lifts up your thighs and positions his knees below them. Oh.
"I know," Leon murmurs softly as response, positioning himself to your entrance. "I want you to cum on my cock, and you can do it as many times as you want, okay?"
He pushes in, and you think about how you'll be spending double the time he spent edging you, with him fucking you.
Hey! I know you might be used to hearing this, but you write so immaculately. Every single fic you post are so deliciously written that I wish I could devour each and every word. Your writing is so poetic, and the best part is how you're able to capture Tom's character personality with a little element of your own. You made me tear up when I first read the fic about being loved by Tom. It's not because it's sad, but because of how absolutely beautiful it was written. I am feeling sentimental today, so I thought of writing my compliments to you. I think the world is a bit more tolerable with writers like you. You keep it creative and colourful. Thank you so much for all your masterpieces. I'm sorry for being a bit too sappy. I love you sm x
oh my god!!!!! I know I'm late in responding to this, anon, but oh my god!!!!!! I have to admit that I am actually not used to hearing this, no matter how many times someone can throw compliments at me about my work because each one would be different and each would make me feel a different type of happiness. one thing I find in common is that people like the way I write Tom Riddle and that makes me so, so happy! and to me, anon, the world is so much better when I remember there are people like you, so kind with your words. thank you for going out of your way to type this and leave it in my inbox. this is so, so sweet and I will cherish these words forever ♡
