#might make a masterlist for these??

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

dk why but im thinkin about shoto w a sweet tooth who follows you and hangs around the kitchen waiting for the cookies you made to finish baking while staring at the oven like a kid, soooooo.. (shoto might be a bit ooc, slight super small pinch of angst but super fluffy as usual ! gn reader, mentions of food, lemme know if i missed sum else ! <3)

"sho.." shoto hums in response, eyes fixed on the oven.

"the cookies aren't gonna bake faster if you stare at 'em."

you hold back a giggle when he slowly turns to look up at you from where he's crouched down on the floor. his eyes that were practically pasted to the oven widening the slightest bit like he'd been caught doing something bad. he blinks at you, then swiftly looks away.

"i'm just checking to make sure they don't burn." he explains. you don't know if you've seen him blink more than four times the entire time you've been staring at him staring at the chocolate chip marshmallow cookies you made together. (together meaning with him watching you most of the time and occasionally mixing. as much as you love your boyfriend, he should absolutely not be trusted around food.)

"that's what we have the timer for." you quip, leaning against the kitchen cupboard and crossing your arm with a smirk.

he looks up at you, then fixes the kitchen timer sitting on the stove with a little frown that you recognize as a pout, you huff out a light laugh at his cute expression. from his miniscule facial expressions you can see he's a little embarrassed at the fact you'd outsmarted him. he turns to look at the cookies again.

"i can see when they're done baking better from here. faster than the timer can."

"oh yeah ?"

he nods "very clearly."

you snort. after looking at him for a while longer you sigh to get his attention. it works immediately and he looks up at you, eyes occasionaly trailing back to the oven towards the cookies as he waits to hear what you want.

you wordlessly spread your arms out, batting your eyelashes at him. he blinks, then a small smile grows on his handsome face in realization. he slowly walks over to you before pulling you into a comfortable hug, he huffs out a chuckle when you squeeze his waist.

shoto buries his head into your shoulder, right into the crook of your neck, and breathes you in. he’s had a habit of doing that often—if not every time you hug—and you don’t really know why he does, but you definitely don’t mind.

"you could've just told me that you wanted to try the cookies first." you tease, giggling when he huffs against your shoulder. he turns his head to speak against your neck.

"that wasn't my intention." he mumbles weakly, nosing at your neck when you scoff out a laugh.

"right. that's why you were practically glued to the oven mere seconds ago."

"i did no such thing."

"don't lie !" you reprimand, tugging at his hair lightly in joking punishment "you're not getting any cookies if you do." you hear him huff and feel a slight smirk growing against you.

"i..may have been surveying them rather closely—"

"very closely."

"—but it was simply to check." he finishes, ignoring your comment. shoto noses at your shoulder and sighs "i felt like even though you wanted to make the cookies together, i was barely able to help you with anything.." he trails off. your eyebrows furrow, and you try pull shoto out of the nest he's made for himself inside your shoulder, but shoto could be extremely stubborn when he wanted to be. his arms tighten around your waist and he his hair tickles against your cheek when he tries to shove his head inside your shoulder somehow.

you sigh, giving up your attempts to get him to look at you and simply settle on running your fingers through his hair, soothing him as he sighs contently. "sho, you helped me out lots. you always took over for me when i didn't feel like mixing anymore and helped me out with those big strong arms of yours." you feel him smile against you and your smile grows mirroring his.

" but i really wanted to help you out more, i know i'm not really good at this.." he mutters sadly, a frown grows on his face and you feel the corners of your mouth turn down as well.

"but you're real good at a lot of other things ! i'm not great at everything either." you reason, absentmindeldly twirling a strand of his hair around your finger "but i could teach you some tips and tricks, if you want."

he looks up at you at that, the smile growing on his face makes your heart race. "really ? i might be a little hard to manage." he jests, running his hands up and down your sides. his eyes brighten the more he looks at you and you're 100% sure you mirror his expression when you throw him a smug smirk.

"don't you underestimate me, mr todoroki ! you're nothing compared to what i've dealt with before."

"oh ?" he hums, lifting a brow. you nod and his smiles grows " and what, if i may ask, have you dealt with before ?" he challenges.

"that is classified information that i cannot disclose. you're just gonna have to trust me." you shoot back and press your finger to his lips, snickering when his eyes widen a fraction before he looks down at you playfully. he takes hold of your hand and presses a kiss to each of your fingertips, making fireworks go off inside your stomach.

"well then," he presses a final lingering kiss to the back of your hand with a run of his thumb against your skin. his eyes glow with mischief when he looks at you.

"i'm in your care."

[crybaby-bkg]

“You’ve never had sex before, have you?” you spit the question out before you can help it. Choso’s eyes go wide at that, his eyebrow twitching ever so slightly, before he tries to quickly school his expression to one of indifference. you don’t believe him for a moment though, especially with the way his hands start to tap at the bedsheets beneath him.

“What makes you say that?” he asks you, his voice rough and low. this close, you can see the uncertainty laying there. his hair is still in his signature buns, his fringe covers dark plum eyes that can’t find a single place on your face to settle. they dart from your own gaze to your lips, to your chin where your lipgloss has smeared from kissing him. he squeezes your waist tightly before he places his hands back against the bed, seemingly unsure of what he should do with himself.

“Your mannerisms,” you mutter, head tilted to the side as you start running your finger down the column of his neck. “How unsteady and unsure you are about everything; my body, where your hands should go, how long you should suck on my tongue when you kiss me. You’re so in your head, I figured you’re either nervous because it’s me or because you’ve never done this before.”

“Both.” He answers in a rush of breath, palms finding your waist once more, his eyes a little wider than usual. “My father never taught me anything about sex, and I was too busy taking care of my brothers to really think about it. So this is all,” his voice slowly disappears with every inch of skin you reveal to him, a sly smirk spreading across your face.

“New?” You finish for him, shirt suddenly tossed across the room. He nods with a thick swallow, an obvious struggle to keep looking at your face, scared that he might objectify you and make you uncomfortable, but his look does everything but. “Do you want to fuck me, Choso?”

he groans so loud, you fear he’s cum in his pants already. it sure does feel like it, with how his cock twitches, thick where you rest on top of his pelvis, a wet spot suddenly growing between your legs. you can’t help but rock your hips ever so gently against him, grinning when his eyes fly shut and squeeze, his hands gripping you so tightly that you can’t tell whether or not he wants to stop you or encourage you.

“Do you?” you ask him again when he doesn’t answer, his lip bitten tightly between his teeth. “Do you wanna know what it feels like to be inside me? Feel me cum on your cock? Don’t you wanna fill me up with your cum?”

he seizes you before you can register his speed, his hands quick and fast and tight and pulling everything he can. you can’t help but laugh against his mouth and let him mold himself to your body in every way that he sees fit.

[osamusriceballs]

Last-Minute Plans

Ushijima x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW (cockwarming, rather soft)

Words: ~ 1,5 k

About: Wakatoshi got a ring for you, and he needs to make sure it fits.

A/n: Happy Birthday to our beloved Wakatoshi-kun~

"It fits,"

he mumbles with a sigh of relief, one he hadn't realized he was holding. He looks contently at the jewelry now adorning your ring finger.

Ushijima knows that he's late with this. He should have attempted this plan a long time ago; he despises last-minute actions. Lately, however, you've insisted on waiting until he returns home late from practice due to extended training sessions just before the crucial match, making it impossible for him to secretly slip that ring onto your finger to see if it fits. He's aware he hasn't been giving you the time you deserve lately, but he's determined to make it up as soon as he can. He intends to spoil you as soon as the match is over and his schedule finally allows him to have more free time, treating you like the princess you are.

He had nearly abandoned the idea of trying the ring on your finger. He considered simply hoping for the best, planning to alter the ring quickly after proposing if it didn't fit. He knows you wouldn't have minded, but he wanted this moment to be perfect. The first difficulty he had encountered, however, was that you had rings in various sizes in your jewelry box- probably for different fingers, but even after sorting through them, he was still not convinced that he chose the right size.

Relief washes over him as he sees the ring fitting comfortably, and for a short moment, he envisions your future together. He dreams of having you sleep beside him every night, of going on the vacation you've always dreamed of, and of giving you the beautiful wedding ceremony you've always wanted. He's already asked Tendou to be his best man and informed his parents of his plans. He even decided to send his father a notice that his son will be getting married soon—hopefully.

The ring looks stunning on your hand. It's noticeable yet subtly elegant. He's confident you'll love it; you've often praised his taste, describing him as simple in his choices, which you adore.

His gaze drifts to your peaceful sleeping form. You must be exhausted not to have woken up yet. Normally, you'd wait until he returns or awaken when he quietly lies down beside you, an act he's yet to master. You'd always greet him with a tender kiss, a gesture he cherishes most during his days and misses the most when he's away. Yet, you sleep soundly, your face soft, breathing steady. You're wearing one of his shirts, the old Shiratorizawa jersey you claim is the comfiest—adorable on you, he agrees.

He's fairly certain you're wearing only flimsy panties beneath, but he'll take his sweet time tomorrow to explore every inch of your body.

"Toshi," your sleepy voice pulls him from his daydreams, and he quickly hides the ring, clutching your hand in his. You stir, turning towards him, brows furrowing as you reach out blindly.

"Y/n, go back to sleep. It's late," he murmurs in a soothing tone, knowing you find his voice calming.

"I missed you," you groan, squinting your eyes as you try to make out his face in the dimly lit room.

"I missed you too," he replies, smiling softly and leaning down to press a tender kiss to your lips. You smile in return, bringing your free hand to his cheek, a bit clumsily—almost slapping his face, but he doesn't mind; he is simply happy having you close.

"You haven't shaved today," you mumble as you caress his cheek. He hums in response. "I forgot. Does it bother you?"

"No, it doesn't. But you never forget to shave. What was on your mind today?"

You, he thinks, but for once, he refrains from sharing his thoughts. He needs to distract you, to take back the ring unnoticed. How you haven't noticed it so far surprises him.

"I was thinking about…" he begins, his voice trailing off, unsure how to respond without you getting suspicious.

"Wakatoshi, come to bed. You seem really tired," you yawn, and he suddenly knows what he needs to do.

Ushijima leans down to kiss you again, this time deepening the kiss with more passion. He feels your response, your body arching into his touch, your lips moving in sync with his.

"Toshi," you're already breathless after a few kisses, and he finally feels your hand relax, fingers intertwining with his with the metal still on your finger. He typically holds your hand more firmly, but now he keeps his grip gentle, ensuring you don't feel the ring on your finger. With his free hand, he traces the hem of your shirt, his fingers gliding beneath the fabric, encountering the softness of your skin.

"Want you, but I'm tired," you whisper against his lips, prompting him to nuzzle against your neck. "Should I pleasure you? Should I make you feel full?" You moan softly and weakly nod, your eyes barely open in the dark room. Unbeknownst to you, a wave of relief washes over him. This may not be going exactly as he planned, but making love to you with the ring already on your finger is better than he could have imagined.

He quickly runs through potential scenarios in which he could smoothly slide the ring off your finger, deciding to position himself behind you while maintaining a hold on your hand in front of your body. Shifting his body weight, he maneuvers behind you until his chest presses against your back. He skillfully settles beneath the blanket without releasing your hand, making sure not to tighten his grip around your fingers. His lips find your neck, where he places the gentlest kisses against your skin, earning the softest, most beautiful moans from your lips. His hips begin to rhythmically move against your backside, and he feels how he hardens in his pants.

You contently hum while you lean into his touch, raising one leg to allow him to slip his thigh between yours. "Feels good," you murmur as he starts a grinding motion against your pussy. He feels his growing need, a nearly instinctive response to your body. His earlier suspicion about you wearing only his shirt and panties appears accurate; that much he notices when his shorts ride up and his bare thigh grinds against your cunt. As much as he wants the feeling of your bare skin against his, he knows that undressing might raise too much suspicion. Instead, he guides his free hand downward, gently tracing circles against your clothed center.

"You're so perfect. So beautiful. I love you so much," he whispers into your ear, causing you to shudder in his arms. Your grip on his hand tightens, while your other hand softly clutches the sheets. He understands your needs. Grateful that he's still wearing the soft shorts, he pushes them down slightly, quickly freeing his cock.

"Should I use some lube?" he asks, concern lacing his voice, worried about hurting you since he hasn't fully prepared you yet—a truly challenging task when ensuring your hand remains held and he can only use one hand properly.

"Think I'm wet enough," you mumble, and he dips two fingers between your folds to confirm, and he is rewarded with enough arousal to forget about his worries.

As much as he wants to ravish you right now, he knows you would probably drift off to sleep if he makes love to you tenderly—so that's precisely what he does. He gently spreads your legs further with his thigh, allowing his cock to rest between your legs. It has almost become a routine for him to set aside your panties and gradually ease his cock inside you- a practice that you often do after he comes home late from his practice sessions.

A breathy moan escapes your lips at the stretch, and he feels his own body tensing at the sensation of your soft walls around him. He continues to push until he's fully inside of you. You always take him so well—it feels breathtaking to be buried deep inside you. He still hopes you'll succumb to sleep in this embrace, even though he's surely wide awake himself.

"Feels good," you hum, your breathing gradually returning to a steady rhythm. He pulls you closer, inhaling the soothing flowery scent of your hair- a scent that always brings him comfort and calms his mind when he can't seem to rest. You might not fully grasp how much he loves you—how every fiber of his being yearns for you, how he wishes for you to be happy and to be his. This is precisely why he plans to propose to you tomorrow and to place the ring back on your finger. You wouldn't refuse him on his birthday, would you?

"Sleep well, my love."

[sebastianswallows]

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

This was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean💕

— WARNINGS: angst, fluff, smut, violence

— STATUS: ongoing → updated Mondays and Fridays

⸻ AO3 • MAIN TAG • MOODBOARD

CHAPTERS:

One • Two • Three • Four • Five • Six • Seven • Eight • Nine • Ten • Eleven • Twelve • Thirteen • Fourteen • Fifteen • Sixteen • Seventeen • Eighteen • Nineteen • Twenty • Twenty-one • Twenty-two • Twenty-three • Twenty-four • Twenty-five • Twenty-six • Twenty-seven • Twenty-eight • Twenty-nine • Thirty • Thirty-one • Thirty-two • Thirty-three • Thirty-four • Thirty-five • Thirty-six • Thirty-seven • Thirty-eight • Thirty-nine • Forty

[lovemeafterhrs]

need me a roommate with endless sexual tension

[scrollonso]

Strollonso Masterlist

A collection of all of my Strollonso AU's

First Kiss (Masterlist)

Crazy In Love (Masterlist)

Two Houses Down

Sharing

[beelmons]

My name is Morgan, I write for the many, many things I like. For short stories and blurbs, check out this post!

Criminal minds

Spencer Reid

One shots:

In short, I love you: Prompt | Tag

Christmas like no other | Comfort Fic challenge by @imagining-in-the-margins

The weight of presence (Angst)

If every book is a world, an Amazon Kindle is an entire galaxy (TIR 1)

No one is as hot, happy, or cool as Instagram shows, some people are bald (TIR 2)

Love comes in moments (Heavy angst, no happy ending)

⤷ Aftermath (light angst, blurb)

The mistakes of a lonely heart (NSFW) - Collab with loml @ihavemanyhusbands

Series:

Escapade (NSFW): 1 | 2 | 3 / 3: Bonus | 4 | 5 | 6

Technophobe in recovery (TIR): Series of unchained episodes about Spencer becoming more and more tech savvy. Tagged as: #TIR

Interactive (New! Stories you can control):

The downfall of Spencer Reid (NSFW) - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (4 possible endings)

Aaron Hotchner

Golf lessons pt. 2 (NSFW)

Not your subordinate (Light angst, happy ending)

Other Pairings

[Valentine's Special] Dr. Reid's Lonely Hearts Club (NSFW) - Spencer x Hotch x Fem!BAU!Reader

Games we play pt. 1 (NSFW) - Spencer x Hotch x Latina!Reader | Collab with my sister wife @ihavemanyhusbands

Mandatory team-building exercise (NSFW) - BAU x Fem!BAU!Reader (Hotch centered at the end)

Luxury Poker Nights pt. 2 (NSFW) - Hotch, Reid, Morgan x Fem!Reader

A different kind of teacher (NSFW) - Spencer x Hotch x Fem!Reader

Interactive (New! Stories you can control):

[luckycharms1701]

You’ve always loved turtles. If you’re truly pressed to say why, you would probably say that what you like about them most is the intermediate space they take up. Between land and water. Between soft and hard. Between big and small. They really do it all.

It doesn’t hurt that turtles are super cute.

So when your soulmark came in as an orange turtle on your bicep, you were beyond ecstatic. There is debate about the soulmark symbols and what they mean, but you hoped that meant your soulmate would share your same interest.

There’s really only one career choice for you.

When Channel 6 approaches you about doing a story on your turtle rescue, you are surprised to learn that reporter April O’Neil is going to be the lead. She’s an amazing investigative journalist, not known for this kind of fluff piece.

You understand when you meet her for the first time. She’s as obsessed with turtles as you are. You almost forget it’s an interview as the two of you chat and chat.

Despite the easy rapport you and April have, you are surprised when she contacts you after the piece runs. All she would say is that some people want to thank you in person, can you meet up with her? The mystery has you intrigued, so you agree.

You are not expecting four giant turtles and their rat father. Once you apologize for being rude and they insist it’s fine, open-mouthed staring is the most minor reaction they can think of, they thank you sincerely for your help with their “kinda, sorta brothers???” as the orange-banded one put it. It seems that when they saw the story your passion for your work moved them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Out of this unusual meeting friendship is born.

You, Mikey, and Raph hit it off immediately. They often sneak off during patrol to come help you with your turtle rescue, much to Leo’s chagrin. He can’t really be mad at them though, they are a huge help to you. You have employees and volunteers, but none of them can understand the turtles you rescue like the guys can.

It’s one such night when you realize that friendship isn’t the only thing on your mind when you think of Mikey.

The two of you are passing in the outdoor enclosure, him with a box of his “little bros” in hand, when you trip on a rock. Without even looking at you, he reaches out, catches you with one arm and a “Woah there angelcakes!” and spins to set you back on your feet. He turns and continues on his way, cooing down at the baby turtles in the box.

You, meanwhile, are frozen in place. The way he just… did that, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Just casually picked you up with one arm and put you back down, as if you weighed no more than a feather. The way he acted like it was normal, reminding you that he is not. The way his scales felt, cool through your shirt. Paradoxically the thought lit a fire in you.

It’s a little harder, interacting with Mikey after that. Every touch causes your heart to stutter, and Mikey likes to touch you a lot. He throws his arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair. When you are able to successfully rehabilitate a particularly ornery softshell turtle, he picks you up in a hug and spins you around, nearly causing you to faint from the sensation.

And he’s so sweet, especially to the turtles in your care. Your heart swells three sizes whenever you see him handle the turtles with such care, as if they are made of hopes and dreams instead of shells and teeth. He doesn’t even mind when they draw his blood, simply laughing and apologizing for scaring them. Even you curse at them for biting sometimes, on your worst days.

He’s a little too perfect, and sometimes when you think of him you find your hand on your bicep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are thinking of him while you and Raph are building an additional enclosure for a leopard tortoise that isn’t playing well with the others. You feel an itch in your bicep, possibly psychosomatic but annoying nonetheless. You push up your sleeve with the hammer in your hand and scratch at your soulmark with it while you line up the next nail.

“The fuck is that?”

You look up at Raph and blink. That was pretty abrupt, even for him. You follow his gaze to your bicep. “My soulmark?”

A kaleidoscope of emotions flash across his face, too quick to follow. He settles on exasperation. “That’s your soulmark? ‘Nd you never thought to, I dunno, talk to him?”

“Talk to who?”

Raph throws his hands in the air and stalks off. You hear a mutter that sounds suspiciously like “made for each other” as you watch him go.

Part of you wants to follow, to figure out what’s going on, but you really don’t want to have to wrestle this lumber you’re nailing back into place. It took long enough the first time. So you turn back to the task at hand, trying not to get distracted while you hammer the nail in.

It doesn’t take long for Raph to come back, his protesting little brother in tow. He comes up to where you are bandaging your finger after hitting it with the hammer and grabs you as well. He sits the two of you down on the pile of lumber.

“Bro, wha-” Mikey cuts himself off, staring as Raph lifts your sleeve and reveals your soulmark to him.

Raph steps away, letting your sleeve fall back into place, then points between you. “Talk.” He stalks off once again.

You turn to Mikey, hoping he can shed some light on what’s going on. He’s still staring at your bicep, a little slack-jawed. You wave your hand in front of his face, and his gaze snaps up to your face. He starts fumbling with the bracelets around his arm.

When he manages to push them off his wrist to reveal the matching orange turtle, it’s your turn to gape at his arm. You’re moving before you really process everything, and he meets you in the middle for a searing kiss.

“That’s not talking!” Raph’s annoyed yell comes from the other end of the enclosure. You and Mikey pull away simultaneously and start to laugh.

[a-list-of-dumbass-quotes]

"This fish seems kind of dumb"

-marine ecology professor

[deiaiko]

Two Sides of the Same Coin - ToG Time Travel AU (Masterlist)

☕ Buy me coffee ☕

Read on AO3

2nd Floor (Season 1)

#1.1 Arrival + #1 - Introduction + #1.2 New beginning

#2 - Discovery

#3 - Future + #3.1 Haunted

#4 - Weary + #4.1 Lost & found

Time difference

#5.1 Bliss + #5 - Reconnect + #5.2 FUG + #5.3 Hwaryun

Grace's backstory

Rak's dramatic entrance

#6.1 Hoh +#6 - Promise + #6.2 Grace

Grace's outfit

Grace's ways of relaxing

About Rachel

About Laure

Shibisu's thoughts on Grace

Bam's thoughts on Grace

Khun's thoughts on Grace

Grace's relationship

Grace's plan for Rachel

Grace's arrival

#7.1 Silent Conversation + #7 - Disappearance

#8 - Grief

End of Season 1 - art, a/n, and announcement

Season 2 setting

Hatz and Endorsi's thoughts on Grace + hide and seek test

Names

18th Floor (Season 2)

🔥 #1 Testing the water (explicit) 🔥

#9 - Rescue

Grace and Viole - by @cheer-soli-art

#10 - Relatives

#11 - Encounter

#12 - Sorrow

#13 - Reunion

What did Khun figure?

Viole's opinion on the reunion

Agni's face

Marriage

Grace and Agni's design

Agni's reason to climb early

#14 - Partner

Off-screen Braiding scene - by @ylge Doodles - by @cheer-soli-doodles

#15 - Memento + #15.1 Alliance + #15.2 News

#16 - Myself + #16.1 Favor + #16.2 Rachel

#17 - Doppelganger + #17.1 Call + #17.2 - Auri + #17.3 Wind up

🎂 Khun birthday art (2023) 🎂 | 🎉 One-year anniversary art (2023)🎉 | 😘 GraceAgni almost kissing meme 😘 | 👗 GraceAgni with maid outfits 👗

Reflection Review - by @jusalilweird A possible future - by @cheer-soli-art

Agni and Khun's differences

#18 - Whereabouts + #18.1 Rak + #18.2 Decision

#19 - Abode + #19.1 Anticipation + #19.2 Dinner + #19.3 Unravel

GraceAgni hurt comfort - by @cheer-soli-art

#20.1 Sulk + #20 - Visit + #20.2 Spell + #20.3 Company + #20.4 Icebreaking + #20.5 Care + #20.6 Concern + #20.7 Reason + #20.8 Spar + #20.9 Heads up + #20.10 Chat

#21.1 Order + #21 - Wall + #21.2 Unavoidable + #21.3 Thoughts

(Will be updated)

[crybaby-bkg]

Quirkless college AU where Keigo is your annoying teachers assistant for one of your majors classes. He never seems to give you that A you deserve, and is hellbent on going back and forth with you about every little thing. About every little grade, every little answer you submit, every little note he likes to leave on the corners of your papers. He mocks your handwriting with his own chicken scratch, even writes a ‘wtf are you trying to say???? is that supposed to say RHETORIC?????’ on one of your papers.

You wanna complain about him to your professor when it comes to his attitude and nitpicking, but the prof always just tells you to take it up with the TA yourself. And that’s exactly what the golden haired man wants, and it’s so painstakingly obvious with the way he absolutely grins when you drag your feet into his ‘office hours’ (aka him sitting in the library for the same amount of time every week).

“I was wondering when you’d ask me to round your grade up.” Keigo doesn’t even greet you, just leans back in his chair as he folds his arms over his chest. His smile grows even wider when you narrow your eyes and huff at him, snatching the chair out from across him to plop down heavily.

“Give me the grade I deserve, and not the grade that drags me here to be with you.” You’re all snaps and irritation, and Keigo loves it—eats up the way your bottom lip juts and your brows furrow down and, oh, you’re so goddamn cute when you’re annoyed.

“Go on a date with me this weekend, and I’ll change it.” Keigo blurts out with a lilt of his lips, eyes squinting when you reel back with a scoff. You stare at him for a while before answering, and he can’t help but notice how shifty your hands have gotten and how it grows harder to look him in the eye now.

“I feel like that goes against policy.” You mutter, picking at your nails before glaring through your lashes. Keigo cocks his head to the side, smiling.

“Don’t tell me you’re a goody two shoes.” He teases, tilts his head in your direction, watches the gears turning in your head as you narrow your eyes at him.

“Fine. One date, and you give me extra credit on the last paper.” You bargain with him, glaring at his hand when he holds it out for you to shake. You pause before you take it, frowning when Keigo grins wider and leans across the table.

“Looks like you’ve got yourself a deal there, birdie.”

And after that, it becomes routine for you both. Keigo enters the most foul grade he can until you show up at his dorm room furious and seething, all so he can pull you in to his space and kiss your puffy cheeks while you enter your own grade in the system. He’s a bit of a jackass, but you think it’s all worth it, especially when he shows you the expansive winged tattoo on his back and the quickest and most efficient way to do eyeliner. He’s good for something, you guess.

[whump-kitty]

"What's your name?" Darius asks offhandedly while reading the newspaper, as Allison is setting the table.

"My... my name? Well, you usually call me Allison." Allison stops moving as they ponder the question, clearly surprised.

"I know I do, pet, but is that your real name? Do you even remember what it was?" Darius seems pretty amused, peering at them expectantly above their newspaper.

"I..." Allison trails off, looking somewhat panicked now. "Am... am I supposed to? I-I mean even if I try, I just... can't..." they laugh nervously as they finish setting the table.

"No... I suppose you're not, your old name is unimportant by now anyways, as it's not like you need to listen to it anymore" Darius seems even more amused, smirking, and he pats the top of their head, leaving Allison to their thoughts and the panicked realization that they don't seem to remember anything from their life before meeting him.

[sebastianswallows]

The English Client — One

— PAIRING: Tom Riddle x F!Reader

— SYNOPSIS: The year is 1952. Tom is working for Borgin and Burkes. He is sent to Rome to acquire three ancient books of magic by any means necessary. One in particular proves challenging to reach, and the only path forward is through a pretty, young bookseller. A foreigner like him, she lives alone, obsessed with her work... until Tom comes into her life.

— WARNINGS: none for this chapter, just Tom being grumpy and hating the world

— WORDCOUNT: 3k

— A/N: This is a fic that was commissioned by @localravenclaw as a gift for @esolean 💕 It's going to be a bit of a rollercoaster, with angst and fluff and smut galore. I plan to post twice a week, Mondays and Fridays. I had a lot of fun writing it, and I hope you will have fun reading it, my dears! 💚

I

Tom was twenty-five. It had been seven years since he graduated from Hogwarts, and just as many since he started working at Borgin and Burkes. Now, he found himself in a sweltering place with the world passing him by. Trapped, for his sins, in a moving metal coffin. If this was hell, it looked like rolling hills, houses nestled in the fog, narrow rows of poplars and puffs of grazing sheep, all set to the tune of clinking chains and carriage shuffles. He hated this assignment.

After taking the train from London to Dover, he caught the ferry that sailed to Calais, and from there took a series of coaches and trains meant to take him on to Italy. To Rome. They had just stopped in Lyon to pick up more passengers, and now they were on their way again.

He had fought with Burke regarding the logistics of the whole thing. Why couldn’t he just use Floo like a normal wizard? But the miserable old stoat said he’d sooner trust muggle transportation than Tom’s pronunciation of Italian or French — and besides, was Floo even networked all the way down there? It didn’t matter anymore.

Tom was convinced it was all done to save costs, and perhaps for Burke to not have to call in any favours. So off he went with one measly suitcase and two billfolds of franks and lira — all of which were merely enchanted oak leaves. They would inevitably transfigure back to their original form in a couple of weeks or so, but by then Tom should be long gone. Who said money didn’t grow on trees?

He tried to distract himself from all this misery by checking his notes again. His little book cracked open, snapping at the spine, and its insides were revealed to him like a cadaver cut through with a black spidery scrawl. It was a list of books and authors, with observations added vertically on the side to save space.

“The Secrets of Wisdom, N. Tamisso 1650 — high priority, any edition. The Lost Word, B. Trevisan 1661 — low priority, optional. Delomelanicon (or The Invocation of Darkness), A. Torchia 1666 — first edition, mandatory.” The latter word was underlined three times. His notes continued with the instructions Burke had given. “Check the rare book dealers, antiquaries, private collectors if necessary. If you can not find it, find out who can. If they will not sell it, take it anyway.”

Tom’s lip curled. Whatever joy there was in being away from the squalor of Knockturn Alley was soiled by what he had to do in Rome. It wasn’t the books he minded, and in fact, he quite admired Burke’s taste in this matter. But to be flung so far away from home on such short notice, and for such a length of time, was pitiful to him. The heir of Slytherin turned errand boy…

“Excuse-moi, est-ce que — Oh, bonjour.”

Tom turned his frown toward the sliding doors of the compartment, between which stood a young man in his twenties. Lanky brown locks fell into his eyes veiling the crinkles of a smile.

“Yes?” sighed Tom.

“I was wondering if this was free,” said the boy. And without waiting for an answer, he dragged his luggage inside — three suitcases, all leather with copper fittings looking ready to burst — and closed the doors behind him.

“I suppose it is,” mumbled Tom. He subtly closed his notebook and tucked it back into the messenger bag at his feet while he kept track of the stranger from the corner of his eyes.

The fine quality of the newcomer’s clothes was somewhat disguised by how carelessly they hung around him. His white and starched shirt was loosened at the top, revealing a hint of tanned skin sprinkled with sparse curls. A golden pin kept a red and blue striped tie affixed to it, and around his pinky finger was a silver ring thickly laid with marcasites and crowned with a malachite stone. His lips were full and purple-stained from wine. His eyes were a bright blue. Judging by his pressed trousers and clean leather shoes, he was a gentleman who had arrived at the station by car — or, at least, he was the spoilt brat of one.

“Clement,” the boy grinned, extending his hand.

“Tom,” he replied, giving him a firm, brief shake.

“I’m on my way to Rome!” Clement sighed, plopping down onto the seat opposite him. Almost immediately, he cracked open a cigarette case and started fishing for a lighter in his trouser pocket. His luggage lay strewn all around the floor, suitcases filled with junk, no doubt. “You?”

“The same,” Tom said and instantly regretted sharing anything at all. With people like these — the overly friendly types — it was best to not encourage conversation.

“Oh, magnificent. Vacation?”

“Work.”

“How sad,” tutted Clement as he popped a cigarette between his lips. He offered one to Tom as well.

“Don’t smoke.”

“Ah.”

He closed the case with a loud click and set it on the table between them. With a smooth, almost theatrical motion, he lit up his pocket lighter — silver, older than him, probably an heirloom, engraved with an elaborate floral motif featuring a fleur-de-lis — and let the flame dance on the tip of his cigarette until he was satisfied.

“Don’t talk much, either,” the boy chuckled. He kept his eyes on Tom as he took a drag, then started puffing away without a care. He attempted to blow rings of smoke but failed. “What do you use your mouth for, then?”

“Cursing, mostly.”

Clement laughed. “The same!”

Tom doubted it.

The compartment soon filled with smoke, and the narrow window open at the top only made it dance around inside. The muggy summer fumes were driving Tom to madness already, and he could only hope the train moved fast enough to clear the air. But as they went further into the rural parts of France, the scent of sheep took over. Maybe it’s not too late to try to Apparate directly at the station, he thought.

“So, what do you do?” asked the French boy, vowels gliding altogether in one breath between his lips. His arm extended elegantly to tap the ash into a cheap tray by the window.

It took Tom a moment to look at him and answer. “I’m in, er, publishing.”

“Truly?” he said, excited enough to lean over the table. “That’s magnificent. I intend to be published too.”

“Oh? What do you write?”

“Poesies.”

“Poetry? Ah, not my area, I’m afraid.”

“But you must know some people…”

Tom wanted to tell him that if he were any good he’d have found a publisher already, but intuition told him to temper himself.

“I might,” he said, “but I’m afraid I’m full up at the moment.”

The boy puffed away nervously as he tapped the round gemstone of his ring against the window, and kept his eyes on him. Tom turned to watch the view rolling past them, seeing without seeing. The sensation of being watched was as familiar as it was discomforting. It crawled down his thin cheeks, his narrow neck, and from there sank into his clothes like sweat. He gazed briefly at the tapping ring from the corner of his eyes in irritation, before focusing away again. For a few moments, he thought he’d successfully ended their conversation.

“Well, I’m in show business,” Clement said instead, grinning brilliantly. There was a gap between his first incisors that made him look boyish and pure. “Theatre.”

“Your parents must be very happy.”

“No,” he laughed. “Miserable. But,” he shrugged, “it is not their decision.”

Tom hummed and said nothing else.

“Your parents are happy with your job, no? You go on important business trips to France, to Rome, and… erm. Well, it is a good job, for sure. Makes them proud, yes?”

Whatever sunshine beamed through the window was chilled and clouded by the glare in Tom’s dark eyes. Why did this bothersome Frenchman have to talk to him? He wasn’t going to keep doing it the whole way to Rome, surely…

“I wouldn’t know,” he finally said. “They’re dead.”

“Oh… Oh, I am so sorry...”

“I’m not,” he mumbled. He didn’t think Clement had heard him, but he wouldn’t care even if he did.

The boy pulled the ashtray closer and put out his cigarette, then leaned his head against the glass. Fidgeting, he held the silver case in his hands and clicked it open and closed, open and closed… He did that for quite a while.

Tom could feel him staring. Could even sense to some extent the messy thoughts inside that head: curiosity, intrigue, and joy.

What could be joyful about that moment?

Well, if Tom was being honest, this wasn’t the first time he’d had such an effect on people. Memories of Burke’s clients came back to him accompanied by the customary shiver down his spine. Clement had the same flippant merriment about him that all the others did, those careless old witches and wizards. That unguarded look of innocence surrounded by the fog of greed. An airy absence of thought and feeling. Must’ve been the side effect of all that money.

Tom had once envied such people. Had even flattered himself with the knowledge that he, however distantly, was one of them. What greater destiny than to be born to glorious old blood? What greater tragedy than to be fallen from it…? He could even remember, with much clarity and shame, how he’d spent several months during his third year obsessing over the Gaunts and Riddles, chasing up on genealogies, and smattering the back pages of his diary with heraldic designs.

But the more he understood the upper classes — their uselessness, their inborn idiocy, their paradoxical sense of superiority which stood impervious to anything reality threw at them — the more he grew to hate them.

“I am sorry if I offended…” said Clement rather softly. “Sometimes, I talk too much.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t notice.”

“No, but I do, I do…”

Tom had overshot his subtleties, apparently.

“So you are not happy with your job? Forgive me for asking…”

“No, it’s quite alright.”

“A pity, you know…”

“Why?”

“To not like it.”

“Oh, it’s not too much trouble most of the time. Why? Do you like your job?”

“But of course!” he said, blue eyes twinkling.

Tom cast a scathing look his way. How strange… He couldn’t imagine enjoying any form of employment — other than the coveted post of DADA professor at Hogwarts.

“Why are you in Rome, then?” Tom asked.

“On vacation. I am, erm, meeting a friend,” he whispered with a grin.

“A girlfriend?” asked Tom with a smirk.

Clement shook his head and giggled. “A boy friend.”

Tom’s brows nearly reached his hairline. He’d never heard of such things being bandied about quite that openly before, at least not in England. Clement seemed not to care. Must’ve been a habit of his, as he seemed to not care about much at all other than enjoying life.

“You have a fun vacation ahead of you, then.”

“More than you know,” he winked.

Tom curled his nose at that and sat back, away from the whole conversation. But Clement leaned closer, arms braced over the table lazily, eyes flashing excitedly.

“We will rob this old fool, and run with his money.”

That captured Tom’s attention again. The boy was waiting eagerly for his reaction, and not a thought ran through his head that Tom might’ve been untrustworthy. Of course, far be it from him to ruin someone else’s fun, but the scenario Clement proposed was too absurd to be believed.

So what else could Tom do but laugh? The sound of it filled the cabin, and so out of use were those muscles that his cheeks began to ache. The sight of it seemed to delight young Clement. He leaned back and gave another one of his brilliant smiles.

“You can join us, if you like,” he offered smoothly.

“Sorry,” said Tom, his cheeks still flushed. “My schedule is full.”

“Oh, pity, pity… You would like my friend, I think. His name is Donatien. He is more serious, like you.”

“Is that so,” said Tom distractedly.

“By the way, what is your hotel?”

II

They entered Rome on a train that ran six hours late, and wobbled on its tracks, and stank of mouldy cheese and wine rust.

Clement talked most of the way there, and seemed to be satisfied with Tom mostly reacting with brief hums and tilted smiles. They even exchanged gifts. The French boy was enchanted by what was, in Tom’s estimation, a fairly average switchblade. He’d only taken it out to peel an orange. It was something he’d bought in London right before his seventh year, and although it was quite plain, it did have some delicate embellishments on its ivory handle of two writhing snakes. That seemed to appeal to Clement, who offered his own blade in exchange — a Swiss army knife that also had a screwdriver and bottle opener tucked in its red body. Considering it a more efficient deal, Tom shrugged and accepted the trade.

Faint details came up now and then about his plans with this Donatien, but most of it was lost in smoke and loud metallic rattles. As much as Tom hated flying on brooms, even he could agree it would’ve been preferable to this…

But at least he didn’t have to fear any Ministry or Aurors in these parts. Not any that were familiar with him, anyway. The Italians had their own Ministry of Magic, of course, but it was all the way down in Mirto, Sicily, and foreigners were a low priority for them. There were so many people from all over the world in Italy those days that it wasn’t worth keeping track of them all, or at least so Burke had told him.

The train slowed and pulled into the station, and pulled, and pulled… It groaned as if in pain. Clement took the jolt of inertia as it all came to a stop with cheerful clapping, and promptly got up to collect his bags.

“So, we are agreed?”

“Absolutely not agreed. Besides, I doubt my lodgings would be to your taste.”

“Ah Tom, you do not know my taste!”

“Very well, but best keep your complaints to a minimum once we get there.”

They struggled to get everything off the train with four suitcases between them. Tom was travelling light with just the one, about which Clement made some snide comment that he soon forgot, but he helped him anyway. His own belongings consisted of plain muggle clothes and some books that Burke wished him to barter with, if it came to that. Between the lines, and between Burke’s sparse and slimy brows, Tom understood he was expected to use his charms to get a bargain price — as per usual — but he did not intend to let some fat old antiquary put his grimy hands on him. Not this time. Besides, conversing with Clement had stained his dignity enough.

Being away on the continent had one advantage, at least: he was no longer under the vulturous watch of his employer.

Tom stepped out onto the platform, muscles sore from days of sitting down, and looked ahead as if he knew where he was going. People were chatting all around him, filling the cool hall with murmurs all the way up to its dome — some in German, some in French, others in variously accented English. Tom wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve and picked up his suitcase to follow Clement, who was hunting for a trolley to load his luggage onto.

As soon as they stepped out onto the street, the heat of Rome in August hit Tom in the face like an oven door and he, frail and pallid thing, was not prepared for it. He squinted in displeasure, to Clement’s great amusement.

“This way, Tom!” he said as he popped on a pair of sunglasses. “I see a taxi!”

Tom had spent most of the journey brushing up on his Italian with the help of a conversation guide he picked up at the Gare du Nord. His extensive knowledge of Latin came in pretty handy. But now that he saw Clement handle things, perhaps he needn’t have bothered. His companion could easily direct the driver to the dingy old hotel Tom was staying at, the Gallienus on Via Domenichino, and chatted a bit more besides.

“Vacation in Rome often, then?” he asked.

“I just know some phrases,” Clement smiled. “You don’t need much with these people.”

The driver pretended not to understand the slight.

“Where do you want to have lunch, then?” Clement asked.

“Lunch? I’m certainly not in the mood, not now.”

“Oh come ooon…”

“You can eat on your own.”

“We can leave our stuff and take the taxi to this place I know on Via della Mercede. They make the best seafood, the best!”

It had not been until now, with this journey to somewhere far away, that Tom realised how limited his world had been at Hogwarts. He’d once felt equal parts ashamed and at a strange advantage next to the other Slytherins, his peers, all purebloods, for knowing both the magical and muggle worlds. Now, exiled for this assignment among strangers, it seemed to Tom as if he were starting life all over again. He looked out the window and everything was new, everything was strange. The buildings, the street, the people, even the clothes were different. The city, like London, was massive, but the streets were broader, blazing white. Some disappeared into little alleyways that slithered like dark serpents. Tom could easily see himself getting lost in such a place.

It was… humbling. He didn’t like it.

[saradika]

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