#i wanna be good for you my readers

[thefandomcassandra]

Malaprop (3/9): Clean Up the Debris and Tie the Noose

mal·a·prop — /ˈmaləˌpräp/ (n) - the mistaken use of a word in place of a similar-sounding one, often with unintentionally amusing effect, as in, for example, “dance a flamingo ” (instead of flamenco ). — He shouldn't be here. (Sequel to Champion)

Content Warning: disordered eating, smoking, alcohol, drug use, suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, body horror

Reigen's alarm woke him with screaming klaxons. It was tinny, pitchy, and the same every morning. He had set it half an hour in advance so he could slam snooze and roll over. He did just that.

Twelve minutes later, his alarm went off again. He hit snooze.

Twelve minutes later, his alarm went off again. This time he got up and slowly made his way to the bathroom.

Face, hair, teeth. Shower if he had the time or energy—not today, it seemed. Keys, wallet, shoes, out the door. Lock it. Check to see if he locked it. Double-check.

Doubt himself the whole way to work, even though he had his keys in his damn pocket.

His stomach hurt. It'd been doing that lately, little twinges that turned into pangs if he thought about it too long. He should really invest in quick food. Some kind of granola. Hell, even fucking smoothies. Anything to take the edge off.

Work was...it was work. It was always work. He pretended to be some kind of good person. He lied about being psychic. He gave some foolish sod a massage and force-fed them spoonfuls of self help platitudes about this, that, or the other and then it was a couple thousand yen in the lockbox and see you next week.

Sometimes there was something new here and there. The kid the other week who thought he was being haunted (it was a small cat that lived near his house causing a fuss), the woman two days ago who said she felt like she was being watched (stalker, easily taken care of), and the man yesterday who insisted he was also a psychic (he just wanted someone to talk to after his children grew up and left home). But overall? Same thing day in, day out.

Close shop, lock up, and walk home. There was this black cat that followed him sometimes. Today it was there so he bent down and pet it. It meowed at him and purred.

("Do you know how incredibly lucky you are that you haven't starved like this before? What was feeding you? It was keeping you alive. You will not have that luxury here.")

He walked past the convenience store and, giving in to the desire itching at his lungs, bought a carton of cigarettes so he wouldn't have to stop by tomorrow. He was going through them faster and faster these days. If he wasn't careful, he might wind up like his pops, with a pack a day habit. That'd be an easy way to hemorrhage money that he couldn't afford. So one carton for a month, no more no less, and he could cut back.

The pang in his stomach flared up so he bought a hamburger from MobDonalds. A treat. He deserved a treat every now and then.

It didn't help all that much.

He fumbled his keys on the way back in, dropped them, hit his head on the doorknob when he bent down, hit his head on the way back up too, then finally unlocked his door. Dinner was cup ramen. It also wasn't as filling as he would have liked. He collapsed in his bed and stared at the ceiling.

It was getting harder and harder to go to sleep these days.

His alarm woke him with screaming klaxons.

("I wonder," the fly on his garbage can posited, "how long you can keep this up. Already you are fraying at the edges. You're strong-willed, even without your past emboldening you, but I can see the scars beneath the surface. This is the truest version of yourself." It rubbed its feet together and fluttered its wings, bluebottle eyes watching with scrutiny. "When you finally give way, it will be an implosion, beautiful and catastrophic. I cannot begin to express my delight at the thought.")

Reigen took another smoke break. He shouldn't be smoking as much but it cut the hunger—the strange hunger that he could not place or satiate—so why wouldn't he? If it made the discomfort go away, even as a stop-gap, then it would be worth the monetary cost. As he exhaled a plume of smoke, he wondered what his life would be like if he just kept his head down and did as he was told.

It would be easier, sure, but certainly more boring. He liked fighting for what he wanted, tooth and claw. He was a stubborn kind of man.

("When you finally choose to debase yourself, lower yourself to that of an animal," the crow on the telephone pole pointed out, "you will truly be your most authentic self. What a pity your little friend won't be able to see the process. He might learn something from the whole ordeal.")

Laying in bed at night was a ritual more than a relief. Sleep never came, no matter how hard Reigen tried. Warm milk, alcohol, more medication than he probably should take, no matter how much of what cure he used, sleep eluded him. So lately he just laid there, stared at the ceiling, and silently screamed.

He knew how many cracks were on his bedroom ceiling. He knew when his neighbor's mistress left and his wife came back. He knew when the children across the hall had a holiday break. He knew every intricacy of the people upstairs' sex life. He knew the exact minute every morning that the dog upstairs was taken for a walk, like clockwork.

He wanted this to stop. He wanted it to end. He wanted to sleep more than anything in the world, the screaming hollow in his chest stealing any joy he might have had in his miserable life. He felt grey and washed out, as dark as the night.

And then the sun came up and he finally found respite, eyelids iron curtains slamming shutters on his mental shop. His childish complaints faded to bitter grumbles and his consciousness melted into nothingness.

Minutes later, his alarm went off.

Read the Rest on AO3

[lightseoul]

a/n. feeling soft and yearning for 30-something boyfriend!bkg, so i just had to write something down on him real quick. enjoy! (0.5k)

thinking about quiet saturday evenings with bakugou, spent in the comfortable silence you've both worked towards in the brief time you've spent officially together.

you're in your early 30s now, and people your age are rushing to get rich or get buff or get hitched, but with bakugou it's surprisingly peaceful. you're in no rush, just seven months into this budding relationship, but that doesn't mean the people around you aren't.

"denki's getting married next year," bakugou shares out of the blue, breaking the quiet and sprawled so nonchalantly on his leather couch. you whip to look at him from where you're seated to his right, stunned.

"seriously?"

at that, he snorts. "crazy, right?"

you try to frown at his tone, but the corners of your lips refuse and fight to turn upward instead. "be nice, kats. i was referring to how fast they're going, not to the fact that he's getting married."

bakugou merely hums in neither affirmation nor disagreement. leaning forward, he places the mug of tea he's been nursing on top of the coffee table. "it's gonna be a pain in the ass either way. he asked me to be a groomsman."

you don't even try to tamp down the excitement that shoots through you. "he did? that's great, babe! that's so sweet of him."

he shrugs. "yeah, well. i told him i'll only agree if he included blue as one of the colors for the guests."

you feel your eyebrows furrow. "...blue? what's with that, specifically?"

bakugou frowns at you like you just told him the sky was green. "because that's your color?"

he says it so as a matter-of-factly that you buffer for a second, not knowing how to respond.

"…but the wedding won't be until late next year, right?" you finally ask when you get your words back, voice small.

"yeah?" he retorts without missing a beat. "what're you getting at?"

he asks the question in such a way that's bordering on challenging you, shutting you right up. the thing is, you've never thought much about the future, let alone one shared with bakugou, mainly because you didn't want to get way ahead of yourself and potentially get disappointed, yet...

here he is, talking so casually about it.

you look back up to see that he's still staring at you, goading you for an answer, and for a moment, you debate whether or not to have the conversation now.

the conversation where you talk about what the future looks like ahead of you.

but as you gaze back at bakugou's waiting, crimson eyes, and drink in the softness of his skin that perfectly juxtaposes the sharpness of his features, you decide to save it for another day.

shaking your head, you toss him the gentlest smile you can muster. "it'll be my honor to be your date to the wedding, katsuki."

at that, bakugou scoffs, but there's no missing the tinge of pink now decorating the high planes of his cheeks.

"who else would it be, dumbass?"

˖⁺‧₊ as always, reblogs, replies, and tags are appreciated <3 have a nice day!

[letmehornypostonmain]

gripping choso’s hair to make him look up at you while he sucks on your fingers. you started with just grazing your thumb over his lips but when you noticed how they parted? how he chased after it? you had to see where this would go. now here he is with two of your fingers in his mouth. they easily glide along his tongue as you thrust them in and out, in and out. his mouth is so hot. inviting. he’s watching you so carefully. gazing up at you with hazy eyes, wet with unshed tears. he wouldn’t wanna miss a second of your satisfied expression - he’s good boy after all. you keep a firm grip in his hair, helping him along before forcing him deep into your digits. he gags, but holds eye contact nonetheless.

“such a sweet thing” you tut in admiration.

“m-mphf..” he tries to nod and agree but just ends up whining brokenly.

all you can hear is the wet sounds of his mouth and his muffled little whimpers. how cute. you make him gag again. this time his eyes flutter closed when they roll back. it makes you throb. your fingers must be raisined by now but that damn fucked out look is so priceless you cant stop. his tears fall when his eyes open. they find you immediately. fuck.

you pull out, slipping your fingers down to smear his drool on his chin. you cradle his cheek with your soaked hand and he nuzzles into it without hesitation.

you smile, proud of him. “beautiful.” his eyes dart away for a second. how is he shy after doing all of that?

you’ve been sitting in choso’s lap this whole time, not close enough for the friction you both need but just enough to feel his hard-on beneath your thigh. he lets out a shaky breath as he grinds up against it. he thinks he’s being subtle. he wouldnt dare disobey you but he’s so, so desperate. you’ll get him back for it later. right now, you’re enjoying the view.

[tojisun]

day ??? of trying to write that price x throat training but getting derailed by how soft he becomes :((

all crooning and outpouring petnames because more than anything, the fact that you're letting him use you is the biggest turn-on. it has him swelling under his sweats, chub filling up at every of your shy looks. it has him pinching your chin, thumb swiping over your mouth like he can't fathom how those pretty lips would be soon wrapped around his flesh.

christ.

"open up f'me, darlin'?" he asks, breaths turning ragged when you drop your jaw open, following his every quiet beckoning. he presses his thumb on the flat of your tongue, unable to hold himself back now that you've presented him the wetness that'd take all of him down.

and you would, wouldn't you? you'd swallow all of him, greedily and impatiently?

(of course, you would.)

[catscidr]

I come with more brain rot that occurred to me during my shift.

Xiao being so so nervous to hold your hand with his gloves off. Please kiss the emos hands. He's so scared he's gonna hurt you, but he also wants to make you happy. I personally thing he has sharper canines so the look like fangs, kisses when he mentions them are maditory. He might Telenor away the first few times but after that he might pick up and try and get more kisses.

Scaramouche doesn't know how to complement people. His Kazuha voice line is proof of that. He will try so hard, bur they just come out so wrong. Please teach him how, or ask Nahida to help him. He does love you he's just gotta figure out how to say it.

sharper canines Yes but also xiao with longer and sharper nails…. xiao-with-more-birdlike-design-characteristics my beloved ueueghghh..... anyways moving on

start by taking off his gauntlets first n then kiss his gloved hands to get him used to it! help him get less nervous about handling you by doing small things like that, interlocking your fingers together (still without the gauntlet) and, when he’s finally almost to the point where he’s comfortable ditching his gloves, suggest wearing his gloves in his stead!

there’s still going to be a barrier between your skin and his, so, using his logic, it should be fine! plus the added intimacy points because you’re wearing his gloves….. they might not quite fit but it’s the thought that counts anyways

ooh and when he gives you the green light to hold hands without any gloves… give him so many smooches he’ll forget why he was nervous in the first place ♡ and it opens up a whole buncha new things you can do together! like now you can do each other’s nails! (or just his, if you’re not the biggest fan of manicures)— either way, he’ll still come to you to file his talons nails

he could do it himself by either using the nail file you got him, or by going out to clear some monster camps without the help of his spear, but he prefers the gentle way you handle him instead ♡

scaramouche my beloved. my awkward, maladroit, clumsy, beloved. he knows what he wants to say, and he's so sure of himself that he can say it, but as soon as he opens his mouth it’s like he just…. short circuits.

it's something he never wants to admit, but when he notices that you stopped smiling as much as before when he started... trying to compliment you? because he just ends up confusing you, and eventually frustrating you with the strange "insults" he ends up throwing your way? he can't stand it

but you catch on easily (because he's easy to read once you get used to his attitude), and gradually just play up the act of being hurt whenever he tries to compliment you

he eventually drags his feet to nahida for help, but she already knows why he's scoffing more than usual because you went to her for advice. but she still helps him and pretends she doesn't know why he's asking her "how to compliment people without making their smile droop immediately"; and when he goes to use his newfound skills, you beat him to the punch by complimenting him instead

needless to say, he knows how to compliment you now ( ͡º ꒳ ͡º) will he do it? ehhh, give him some time and eventually he will ♡

[ghost-proofbaby]

OH SAY LESS 14 WITH ASTARION PLEASE

so this is my first time publicly writing and posting astarion, so please be gentle. higher word count solely because i felt the need to add lore because, ya know, first time writing him! also, i changed the line just a tiny bit to better fit the character and scene. ALSO, uh... this is a little fade to black. i'm sorry. it just got too long.

14. "Oh, you're hard to please."

warnings: foreplay, sorta fade to black smut (it's there if you squint your eyes), an ungodly amount of pet names, mentions of past sexual abuse and healing from it, technical game spoilers, not edited, 18+ so minors do not interact

pairings: astarion x afab!reader (no pronouns used)

wc: 4.4k+

join the smutty party! send me one of these smut dialogue prompts with a character

How long had it been since Astarion had actually enjoyed sex? Craved it, even? 

If he recalls correctly, it had to have started to become tainted well over a century ago. Somewhere between the first and the third victim, when he’d realized how every single beautiful soul he had entrapped were simply being lured to their own death. And then, the sour taste left in his mouth only became more pungent the longer it went on, the more he came to the realization of just how used he felt. His body was no longer his own – it technically hadn’t been his from the very second he’d emerged from his own grave, and Cazador had been waiting for him – and everything about the act became an old rehearsed dance that he’d grit his teeth through. A chore, something to make his stomach churn, something to regret. A means to an end. 

Plainly put, it had been a while. 

But then you happened. You, who hadn’t blinked an eye when the first time you met him, he’d literally threatened you with a gods damned blade to your throat. You, who had repeatedly trusted him, even when it had been an objectively stupid thing to do. You, who had always offered him the utmost patience and genuine understanding, to the point in which if he thought about it too hard, he’d probably cry. You, who had led your group of misfits with brain worms right into victory, with plenty of personal demons defeated along the way. 

Personal demons including Cazador. 

Maybe that’s when things changed for Astarion. He’d already fallen for you before your group had reached Baldur’s Gate, he’d already gotten to know your body intimately before ever laying eyes on that ridiculously oversized brain you somehow made look easy to defeat. But that had been different, hadn’t it? He hadn’t really wanted to do that (not meant as an offense to you – certainly not after all was said and done), but had thought he needed to. To gain your trust, to gain your protection. And in the end, it turned out he never needed to do such a thing. You’d never said it outloud, probably at risk of making him feel even more regret after you’d learned all his secrets and darkest corners, but he knew. 

And knowing that you didn’t view him as something purely sexual, as a means to an end, as an item to use – well, it had the opposite effect of his request to no longer be viewed in that light. 

“What are you doing?” he says as he quickly looks up from his current book he’d been pursuing the moment you’d entered the room. He hardly cared for the words on the page – he just needed a way to pass the hours until you were available again. 

It was a hard habit to kick. Being so codependent on you, even with the end of the world resolved and the gift of safety being handed over to him on a silver platter. 

“We received mail,” you’re grinning wickedly as you hold up an embellished envelope, delicate fingers pinching the parchment as if it were the greatest gift to ever exist. He’d argue the real gift at hand was the last three months – time spent with you, in a place he can call home. But nothing could impede on your good mood as you throw yourself down on the mattress beside him, “From Withers, of all people!” 

His brows shoot up for just a moment before his face twists up with something akin to distrust, “Withers? What in the Hells does that sack of dust and bones wan-” 

“A reunion,” you cut him off, the look on your face warning enough against his attempt at an insult. “He’s reaching out to all of us to bring us together for a celebration, to check in on everyone, let us see each other again. Apparently, we were the easiest of the bunch to find.”

Astarion quickly lets out a tut as he snaps the book shut and discards it on the bedside table closest to him, “Well, we certainly need to fix that. Soon enough all of those little shits are going to end up on our doorstep, preaching about the power of friendship and how they want to check in on us.” 

You snort at that, laying flat on your back with your hair wildly spread out in a makeshift halo behind you. The sight causes something to stir within him, his gut twisting as he watches the way your knees knock together before slowly falling apart, your legs settling down as flat as the rest of your body.

He hadn’t taken you since that night at his grave. Before the epic final battle, before the two of you had made the decision to settle down somewhere for some well-earned peace and quiet. 

The moonlight dances past the open curtains, and his breath catches in his throat at the way the blue shadows dance across your skin. It almost reminds him of the first time he’d seen you fight. It hadn’t just been the blood splattered across your cheeks that had really gotten the better of his curiosity (even if that’s what he had told you when you asked), it had been the sunlight. Those rays of gold that had mingled with your own aura of warmth after you had helped the tieflings for the first time. 

You put the sun to shame, truly. And he missed it – Gods, did he miss it – but he was content to bask in the peace of night for a few months more before he finally cut you loose from the leash to begin your next phase of adventures to find him a cure. You had promised him you would, had already dedicated plenty of free time to research, and all you really needed was his word to begin. 

He’s selfish. The two of you can find a way for him to walk in the sun once more another day; all he wants right now is to bury himself in your warmth, to slot his body between your thighs, to hear every breathy gasp and the way you’d practically sing his name-

“Star?” you’re looking up at him from an awkward angle, eyes owlish and chin tilted painfully far back as you clearly await an answer to a question he’d been too lost in a daydream to overhear, “Did you hear me?” 

He clears his throat and adjusts the pillows behind his back, keeping him propped up as he admires you, “Of course I did, darling.” 

“Then what did I just say?”

“Something about how we’re absolutely not going to this reunion, yes?” 

Your smile is nothing but patient as you flip onto your stomach. He watches the way your shorts ride up your thighs, how the top of the soft fabric bunches at your waist. His fingers practically twitch with the need to weasel their way under it, to press his cold fingertips into warm flesh and hear you preen. 

Whenever you’re ready, you had whispered to him one night shortly after saving the world. Just tell me when, and I’m yours. 

He was ready. Insatiably ready, really. 

“Very funny. I said we should go, though. It’d be nice to see everyone again, wouldn’t it? All our friends?” 

You’re still talking about this damned reunion. Astarion has half the mind to figure out a way to summon the insufferable skeleton right here, right now, and drive a dagger into his bones until he’s truly nothing but dust. Solely for the distraction. 

“Your friends, my dear,” he corrects gently, “We both know they’re only overly fond of one of us in this relationship, and it certainly isn’t the one that they repeatedly threatened to stake.” 

The furrow of your brows is impossibly cute – he knows that look of determination. It’s the same one you wore when he mentioned it was likely that the two of you would never find a cure to his condition. 

“Our friends,” you insist, “Karlach adores you, Star. And Wyll has always been proud of you, whether he told you as much or not.”

“And what of Gale?” 

Your lips twitch at that, “Gale… certainly wouldn’t stake you on sight.”

“Ah, yes,” he flourishes, trying to keep his eyes from wandering anywhere but where your hands press into your cheeks as you prop your face up to speak to him, “Not staking me. The ultimate sign of kinship.” 

Focusing is a losing battle when you roll your eyes, and he finds his mind overtaken with insatiable lust again. Imaginative ways that he could have your eyes rolling for him under different circumstances. 

“You’re not getting out of this. They are your friends just as well as mine – so argue all you want, but we’re going to the reunion.” 

“Are you sure there’s no other way I might be able to…” he pauses with intent, finally lifting one of his docile hands to your cheek, letting his finger graze the skin with a feather light touch before it travels back into the mess of your hair, “Persuade you otherwise?” 

You almost fall for it, too. Your eyes flutter shut, your head tilts into his touch as if you were starved for the connection. But even with the lack of sexual intimacy, you both know there hasn’t been a day that has gone by in the last three months where Astarion hasn’t found a way to get his hands on you.

Holding your own, resting his cheek on your shoulder, spinning you like a child in the kitchen – he had quite the sudden arsenal of romantic gestures that didn’t involve old wounds. It had been awkward here and there, some of them landing and some of them leaving you both looking like fools, but he was trying.

Almost as hard as he was currently trying to not jump your bones. 

When you recognize the innuendo for what it is, however, you harden immediately. Your shoulders set, a frown settles, and your eyes open with set determination he knows he can’t falter without speaking plainly to you. 

“No.”

“No?”

You’re quick to lift yourself up onto your knees, putting distance between yourself and his hands, “The days of weaponizing sex are over. I don’t even want to joke about that.” 

And, oh, he’s finding himself in quite the mood tonight, because as soon as you’re retracting, he’s following. As you settle on the haunches of your calves, he’s lifting up from his reclined position, leaning forward so that his face is breaths away from yours. 

“I mean it,” you warn, narrowing your eyes and holding up a finger in that small space between you two. 

He tests his luck, wasting no time in snapping his fangs just millimeters from your skin. You both know he wouldn’t actually bite you, but it still humors him to see the way you whip your hand out of his reach. 

“Were you not the one who insisted that we ask before we bite?” you snap, and his smile only worsens. Like a cheshire cat, like a child never scorned by the world – he’s radiant and basking in the moment. 

He lets out a small hmph before saying, “You’re no fun, my dear. Come on – just play with me for a moment, won’t you?” 

Your face softens at his teasing tone, and he can see the way he’s withering away your defenses one by one. There was once a time where he’d done it with malicious intent, but this time around, it’s with nothing but good intentions. 

If you asked him, he’d go as far as to swear it on his own grave. 

“I’m sorry,” you apologize as if you’d done something wrong, and it makes more than half of his own playfulness drain from his face in absolute displeasure. Before he can so much as open his mouth to scold you about unnecessary apologies, you’re continuing on, “I just… After everything we’ve been through, it’s not something I find particularly joyous to joke about.”

What a rare thing, to have found someone to bare your soul and all your burdens to, and watch them offer to help you shoulder the weight without second thought or regret. 

He’s never met someone like you in all his years, and he might never again. 

“And if I told you I wasn’t joking?” he asks slowly, carefully, trying to choose each word with the utmost care, “I’m not weaponizing – I’m offering.” 

Whenever you’re ready. Just tell me when, and I’m yours.

He was ready. Very, desperately, sorely ready. 

The topic of the reunion is all but forgotten as you process his words, nose twitching as you decipher all that’s he laying out before you. “I want more than an offer.” 

“Excuse me?” 

He can’t help the small laugh that leaves him as he sits up properly, leaning into your space fully now with one hand pressing into the mattress just beside one of your thighs. He can feel the heat radiating from you, smell your blood rushing to your head as you try to be sensible. It’s a pitiful excuse for an internal war; all he has to do is close that conveniently small distance between your lips with his own, and you’ll have lost all sense of logic. 

“You’re…” you trail off, searching his eyes as if he holds the answer you’re currently looking for, “You’re sacred to me, Astarion. You must know that. And it will take much more than some joking offer to convince me to have sex with you when I know-”

“I’m not joking,” he’s nearly whining, letting his forehead fall forward to press to yours, “Gods, I am not joking about this. Cross my heart and hope to die again.” 

If he has to beg, he will. 

He’s spent two hundred years in an insufferable position of pure misery, pure shit, and the realization that he’s finally free has everything clicking into place. Proof of the change exists solely in the fact that he could have resorted to his tired old seduction routine from his life before to get what he wanted, but instead, he’s trying to just communicate. 

It was a novel moment. 

But he could appreciate it later, when the crotch of his pants wasn’t becoming increasingly uncomfortably tight and he wasn’t watching you closer than prey. When his stomach wasn’t so tight with desire and anticipation, just waiting for your word to indulge. 

“Do I need to beg?” he sighs, his lips brushing against yours ever so slightly from proximity. He catches the shiver that runs up your spine. “We both know I’m not particularly fond of it, but if I have to get on my knees for you- well, actually, that’s the entire point of what I’m asking.” 

You laugh at that, and his gut twists again, because it’s the most beautiful sound he’s ever had the opportunity to hear. Something more breath than any vocality, something sharp and spelling out the loss of words on your tongue. 

Your silence is enough for him to push it all a step further. Forehead still leaning against yours, he properly presses his lips to yours this time, slotting them between softer than a feather’s caress. Finding home as he can physically feel himself steal your breath away. His fangs just barely nip your bottom lip, unintentionally but still eliciting a delicious reaction of a gasp that makes him graze you a second time just to feel the way you’re leaning into him more, becoming absolute putty in his hands. Pliable for his taking, and Gods, he wants to take you. 

Something snaps. 

All hesitation has vanished as he grabs at your hips quickly, making use of the way your brain has gone blank from a simple kiss in order to lay you out below him. He moves you with ease, incredible speed in slotting himself between your legs before he’s caging your entire body in with his own. The squeak that leaves your lips from his manhandling affects him even more than your gasps had, a low growl shaking his chest as he kisses you deeper. Tasting, begging, searching – he wants this, but he needs to know that you want this just as badly. 

Your hands find purchase on each of his shoulders, squeezing tightly as if needing something to tether yourself to. You pull him in closer for a second, eagerly returning the kiss, almost feverish in the way you drink him in. But the next, you’re pushing him away, a game of want and sensibility still clouding your judgment impossibly. 

You always were stubborn about things like morals. And, well, it wasn’t very moral to just jump right into sex with your traumatized boyfriend who had explicitly said not to view him in terms of sex, was it? 

It was Astarion’s own damn fault. 

He could have just acted like a normal person, initiated a normal conversation in which he renegotiated his boundaries. But you’ve been on his mind all day, and he’s long since proven since the very day that you met him that he has little to none impulse control. 

“My, my,” he murmurs, pulling back from the kiss, eyes wild, looking at you with even more hunger than he had the first night you’d given him a taste of your blood in camp, “You’re just an impossible thing to please, aren’t you? Do you want me near, do you want me far? Tell me, my love, what do you want?” 

He settles all his weight onto one of his forearms as the other slowly brings his hand to your side, caressing over the soft fabric of your shirt – a shirt he’s quickly realizing is actually his own. He recognizes those flowy sleeves, that lacing across the chest, the off-white tone that had seen better days. Given all its wear and tear, he’s almost sure that it’s one of his shirts he had grown most comfortable wearing during the nights of your adventures against the Netherbrain. 

It’s cute. A sort of domesticity that he can ponder over later, when your legs aren’t hanging on his hips and your breaths aren’t coming out staccato as he hovers just out of reach from you. 

“I want whatever you want,” you whisper. Your eyes flutter open, looking at him with pupils so dilated they could swallow him whole. 

“Let me be very clear, then,” he hums, cold fingers creeping their way to the hem of the shirt, slipping beneath with practiced ease to find the smooth skin of your hips below. They dance and skitter up, up, up until he’s brushing against your ribs, “I want you. I want that warm cunt of yours, I want to feel every gasp and breath as your walls squeeze around me. I want to fuck you until you’re unable to walk on your own two legs, until you can only remember my name. I want to watch you come undone, my dear, and for it to be my own undoing.”

Your lips quiver in anticipation, and he feels your thighs tighten their hold on him, “Such pretty words. And… and no ulterior motives? No sense of obligation?” 

“None at all,” he smiles, a predator closing in on his prey, “I’m choosing this. If you want it, if you’ll have me, then I’m ready, pet.” 

Pet. The nickname rolls off his tongue, and he can imagine your walls fluttering just as your eyes do. 

Your hands lift from his shoulders to bury in his hair instead. One cradling the back of his head, the other resting on the nape of his neck as you toy with a snowy curl. It unfurls him further, has him humming lowly as he dips down to recapture your lips and bring you into him even closer. Closer. He needs all and any space between the two of you to become nonexistent. To feel every inch of your skin pressed to his, to allow you to physically curl up into his chest just as you had his mind all those moons ago, to make a home in a room with your name on it already somewhere between his third and fourth rib. 

“Do you really have to doubt if I’ll have you, my love?” you mutter against his mouth, smile breaking the kiss momentarily before he’s back with a vengeance. You don’t care – you’re apparently in a chatty mood, dodging his kiss to get your last words in, “There’s been a space in my heart for you since the moment I first met yo-”

“Yes, yes, very romantic,” he interrupts urgently, suddenly tugging your shirt up, “But, truth be told, love? I’m hoping there’s a space between your legs for me at this moment.” 

You snort, eyes pinched shut as you attempt to shake your head at the ridiculousness of the words that just left his mouth. At any other moment, you might point out how the outrageous comment is just another defense mechanism, veering him away from having to acknowledge the gentle sentiment behind your own words, but now’s not the time. When you open your mouth, probably to say something exactly along those lines, he rolls his hips down against yours, pinning your lower half deep into the mattress. You feel just how hard he is through his trousers – it’s impossible to miss, but he’s deliberating being sure that you feel it as he lets the tips of his fangs sink into your bottom lip. 

The resolve of fighting against his wishes is quickly dissolved. One thing after another, and Astarion has you bare beneath him before any other distractions or annoying conversation can send the two of you further off track. Your, his, shirt is tossed to one side of the room. Your parents fly to the other side of the bed. Only once he has the entire spanse of your body nude and vulnerable to him does he take the time to pause, to look down at you with absolute adoration. 

“Gods, you’re beautiful.” 

He’s said those words to you a million times before. Consistently greeting you with them, muttering them in the dead of night, whispering them as he kisses you awake. But they never lose their weight. And certainly not now, as he’s looking down at you like it’s the first time he’s ever seen that freckle on your chest or the curve of your stomach barren before him. 

“Please, if you’re comfortable with it…” you start, voice laced with desperation, but he shakes his head. 

He’s full of interruptions tonight, “Consider me comfortable with anything unless stated otherwise for this moment, my sweet.” 

“Take off your clothes, Astarion.”

His giddy smile should annoy you. That smug satisfaction in finally, finally getting his way as he undresses himself at almost twice the speed that he had stripped you. And yet he knows you’re enjoying yourself just as much as he is. You’re reveling in drinking in the bare caricatures of his body, every inch and every curve exposed to you just as you are to him. And when his cool skin meets yours again, his body sinking right into that space between your thighs that you’ve granted to him, you let out a short gasp that reminds him that you want this just as badly as he does.

You’ve waited just as long as he has. 

It almost mirrors that night on his grave. The slow descent of his body against yours, the way he slides a leg up to spread your own even further for him as he crawls his way back home to your lips. Unlike that night, however, he isn’t taking quite as much care, his movements far faster and far more needy. 

He’s been waiting long enough. He’s denied himself long enough. 

It really doesn’t matter when the last time he had enjoyed sex had been, because all that he cares about is that here and now, in this moment with you, there’s not a trace of imperfections to taint his enjoyment. 

Cazador is dead. The brain has long since been defeated. You are both safe. 

As he sinks into your heat, the only thing on his mind is that contentment, overwhelmed with the feel and smell of just you. 

He’ll never be a slave again. Never be viewed as something to simply be used and disregarded again, if you have any say. And one day, some day, he’ll even feel the warmth of the sun again. Thanks to you.

But until that day, the warmth of your love is enough.

When you sigh his name out so delicately, jaw all but unhinging itself in bliss as your back arches in reaction to his touches, he knows he’s made the right choice. 

And he supposes he lied, in a way, earlier. 

You’re not that hard to please – not when it comes to him, at least. Not when it’s his hands trailing along your skin, not when it’s his lips and fangs nipping at every opportunity. And certainly not when it’s his name that’s being chanted like a prayer from your lips in time with every thrust, every stroke, every single movement with the sole purpose of making both of you come undone. 

Astarion no longer questions when the last time he enjoyed sex was in the aftermath of it all. With you, pressed into his side, sweaty forehead nuzzling his chest, the only thing he cares about is the next time he’ll be able to do so. 

“We’re still going to that reunion,” you murmur, half asleep, fading away from him quickly to fall into blissful unconsciousness. 

He almost doesn’t breathe in fear of disturbing you. He’ll waste the night away, laying here, still as a statue for your comfort. 

It’s no surprise when he refuses to put up a fight, instead his hand simply drawing soft stars across the back of your bare shoulder blades as he sighs, “Yes, dear. We will. Now sleep.”

“I love you.” 

The words tumble from your lips so carelessly, so easily and without hesitation, he nearly shakes you awake to hear them once more. Again and again, he needs to hear them, to be reassured that you feel for him as ardently as he does you. 

But he has the rest of your forever to hear them. So he lets you sleep, sending you away with a simple press of his lips to your temples as your breathing evens.

“And I love you, my dearest sun.”

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck analysis speedrun: As a hardworking half-foot who grew up poor and discriminated against and had his gullibility taken advantage of multiple times in his early adventuring days, Chilchuck thinks optimism is a dangerous flaw. He’s stressed and strict all the time because his job is noticing details like traps that could get everyone killed before anyone knows it, he takes the lives of everyone to be on his shoulders, and with the way he speaks about it that probably partly reflects how he felt about taking it upon himself to provide for his family too. His life’s always been pretty centered around work and has become even moreso now that his wife left and everyone is independent, and due to past events he’s very iffy with bonding with coworkers. He thinks feelings and job are a disaster mix. Like with his wife or with parties hiring him as sacrifice, being open or having good faith is vulnerability which can get you hurt, so he processes and shows all his stress as anger instead of worry. Doing strict dieting probably isn’t helping the irritability what with hunger, and on top of being a hunger suppressant alcohol might be the main stress reliever he has.

His grey hairs are so earned

[yuwuta]

gojo would kill your work husband. but if he were the work husband, that's a different story

REAL!! he’s such a hypocrite because if someone mentioned you had a work husband, his entire world would stop and he wold devise the absolute worst plans to make sure that your co-worker, everyone at your job, and everyone in the next building over knew that he was happily committed to you 

but if he is the work husband, he’s very........ dutiful in his role. there’s a loose office/lawyer au in my head where satoru is your secretary, and for all intents and purposes, your personal assistant, and he’s good at his job, but mostly because he considers his job to be pleasing you. he has coffee for you when you arrive, he moves your schedule around without you asking, he has answers to questions before you can even ask them, he has fresh flowers on your desk weekly, pokes into your meetings to pretend to hand you a file that’s really just maybe a single document in a manilla folder with candy on top of it—he’s made himself your business, your partner; he’s made himself irreplaceable, and he loves to remind everybody of that fact. 

he’s also extremely loyal. sure, he could day a week’s worth of work done in about a day, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just use his talents for anybody. he’s your secretary, so he’s at your beck and call, and everyone knows it. they know he’s the best, but also that he’s off limits—not because you won’t share him, but because satoru won’t let himself be shared. 

he also extends his duties beyond work, of course. when he hands you a print out of your schedule for the day and you’re confused by the three-hour block of time you have in the middle of the day, satoru just helps you shrug your coat of your shoulders and smiles, “that’s for the lunch date you have with me, of course!” hanging up your coat in your closet for you, “i’m paying, see you soon, sweets.” and because you’re great at your job, and satoru helps you be great, nobody really questions when the two of you have time for a 13-course tasting menu at 1pm on a tuesday afternoon. and if they did, all satoru would say that you two had a lovely date 

[imrllytootiredforthis]

sub yuta okkotsu agenda 😔

no bc i got THOUGHTS, i got so many thoughts about my babygirl named yuuta okkotsu, you don't even UNDERSTAND how badly i want him

him in the movie-*aggressive eye twitch*, his big sweet innocent puppy eyes-fuck it just *short circuits*

AND THEN afterwards when he's his anxious, tired, emo self (me too fr), like he's still just my cutie patootie and it's a literal CRIME how little sub fics of him there are bc take one look at that baby AND TELL ME that he is a daddy dom in bed-you'd be lying to yourself and me-and we do not tolerate lying in this house

no but fr, he is not domming for his life. a service top-perhaps, he would still cry a lot though and if you were making HIM fuck YOU he would beg for you to just take over, his arms shaking on either side of your head as he tries to make you feel good. because it's not the same like this-he wants you to fuck him, he wants to ride you as your hands grope over his body, he wants to pinned against a wall and fucked hard and rough within an inch of his life.

babyboy just wants to be loved and taken care of by his so

[sukunasteeth]

Made by Ogariane She makes dreams come true <3

[wosemi-sama]

HEY CHAT. the silly (it was mammon. we all knew it was going to be mammon) won the poll so i am now legally obligated to write smth for our first man. hope u guys like it 🫶 also. i dont. have. yellow on mobile. so we have to. deal with it. and. use orange instead. #sad

mammon relationship hcs

OH THIS FUCKING GUY.

Loser.

Will do stupid shit to impress you.

"Hey, watch me carry this comically large box!"

"Mammon, I don't think that's a good idea."

"Don't be ridiculous! Look!" *dies*

You mention it's kind of cold? He will immediately take off his jacket and have you wear it. His brothers will not hear the end of it.

"Hey, guys! Guess who wore my jacket? That's right, it was-"

"Mammon, nobody cares."

After a lecture from Lucifer, Mammon will look for you in search of comfort (and cuddles)

He'll bury his face in your shoulder and complain while you rub circles on his back

He loves affection, but he gets embarrassed easily

Super clingy once he's comfortable in your relationship, but don't be fooled, he gets flustered all the time.

He's amazing at giving gifts. He knows exactly what you want without fail. Mammon just knows you best.

He's also surprisingly good at knowing where you are??? Like, Lucifer will ask him where you are and he'll respond with "I dunno, try the cat cafè." And you're there??? You didn't even tell him where you were going, he just guessed.

So annoying about you. He won't shut up about you, but he can't help himself!! He just loves you so much and everything about you is so perfect that the list would be over 30 pages long! Don't tell him I said that-

He may not be the Avatar of Envy, but he tends to get jealous easy.

You're hanging out with his brothers a little too much for his liking? That's it, you're legally obligated to spend the day with him now.

Physically cannot be more than 30 feet away from you or else he will implode.

So, so many movie marathons. At least once a week.

He tends to fall asleep easily though, so they usually never get finished.

Wakes you up in the middle of the night for the dumbest reasons and pokes you until he's sure you're awake.

"Hey. Hey hey hey hey hey hey-"

"...What..?"

"Ya hungry?"

He would never admit this, but he likes making you laugh. He just finds the way you scrunch up your face so adorable. And your laugh too. He loves your laugh. He could never get tired of it, even if he wanted to.

It is genuinely so difficult to get this guy to say "I love you" because he recharges his courage to actually say it every 6 weeks because he thinks it's SO embarrassing.

Just because he doesn't say it a lot doesn't mean he doesn't. Mammon just finds it difficult to say. So remember that he loves you, will you?

[b-o-e]

the plan

Wally Darling x Reader

Warnings: you are called dumb by frank lol (he refers to himself as the same GAHSGAH)

although it is not necessary, I highly suggest reading my fics in their recommended order for the best experience! here is the link to all my silly lil wally fics in order. this is #4 :)

Wally, desperate to get you to pick up on his feelings for you, sits down to try and sort out a plan with his wingmen.

“Okay,”

Frank set his hands on the table top, leaning over it. These were important matters!

“We need to brainstorm here,” he said, eyes roaming between the other two seated at the table. “Things Wally can do that our target might actually pick up on,” he stood at his full height, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Oh!” Eddie exclaimed, raising his arm with a smile.

“You don’t have to raise your hand, Eddie.”

“Right,” the mailman smiled sheepishly, hand finding the back on his neck instead. “We can go with the obvious option and have him write a letter or two?” He pitched. 

“That did work on me…” Frank noted, nodding his head as he tapped his finger to his chin. “What do you think of that, Wally?” 

“I've… tried that,” Wally piped in, his cheeks flushing slightly. He wasn’t very proud of his attempt. 

“Oh. You have?” Eddie quirked a brow, puzzled. “I haven’t seen any letters between the two of you recently. Did you deliver it yourself?” 

“...I got shy,” he admitted bashfully.

“Writing a letter made you shy?”

“When I write, I tend to overthink it... When I speak, my words simply flow,” 

“That… actually makes a lot of sense for you in a way,” Frank commented, brow slightly furrowed. He shook his head, getting his thoughts back on track.

“But, what about the smaller things?” Frank then questioned. “You could try to be a little more physical with them?” 

“Yeah, have you tried a hand on their knee when you're sitting with them? Your shoulders close when you're walking together?” Eddie asked. 

“I do that,” Wally sighed. You guys were at the point of touching nearly every second you spent together. He would rest his leg against yours when you sat next to each other, he would rub your arm when consoling you, he would place a hand on your back when moving by or leading you somewhere, among any other thing he possibly could. He did all that!

“Eye contact obviously isn’t an issue,” Eddie giggled to himself.

Wally agreed with that fact. How could it be an issue? Wally couldn’t help but to gaze into your pretty eyes. He often found himself getting lost in them, losing track of the conversation sometimes as well.

“Treating them to something, perhaps? Maybe a sweet treat from Howdy’s?”

“Every Sunday. We’ve made it routine,” He said. He was fairly certain he could name all of your favourite snacks from there by heart, at this point.

“Compliments?”

“Constantly,”

“Hand-holding? Hugs?” 

“Every moment I can find an excuse to.”

“And you already tried a kiss on the cheek..?”

“Yeah…”  Wally deflated, his head resting against the table as nothing came of the interrogation. Was there no hope for him if all these attempts have failed already?

“Huh. They’re just dense, aren't they?” Frank deadpanned.

“Frank!” Eddie scolded.

“What? So were we,” he shrugged.

“Anything I try, they mistake it as me just being friendly,” Wally lifted his head, offering a defeated smile. “Is a friend all I’m meant to be?” He questioned, eyes like those of a kicked down puppy.

“I mean, I don't think so. It’s pretty clear they– ow!”

Frank had stepped on Eddie’s toe under the table, leaving the man pouting.

“It’s pretty clear they think you do these things in a friendly manner, " Frank took over the sentence. 

“How do I make it so that they don’t think of it that way?” Wally asked. 

“Well…” Frank began.

Wally was open to any suggestions at this point. He was done beating around the bush, and ready to face his feelings toward you head on if need be.

Wally had only one question on his mind. How?

hi!!! here is a lil snippet for today B) next is the one I've been most excited for! I hope that you guys enjoyed this lil inside thing for how Wally gets his advice lol.

here is a link to my silly lil wally fics in their recommended order if you would like :) these can also be found on my ao3 B) I also have a ko-fi if you'd like to support me!

thank you for reading, likes and reblogs are appreciated RAHHH DOPAMINE, and have a great day!!

Posted Sunday, April 30, 2023 at 10:28 AM

[clownsuu]

Hi! I know sometimes Tumblr notifs don’t work so I wanted to say I love love love your WH Mob AU and I wrote something for it! I hope you like it :]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/47676580

man I am a S U C K E R for long detailed fics AAAAA

[blindmagdalena]

The picture with Homelander holding a little plushie of him while he sleeps was TOO DAMN CUTE!!! sorry. But I can see his partner sleeping with the same plushie when she gets lonely and he isn't around, and when he sees her holding it while sleeping, he is happy and jealous at the same time, because that isn't him in her arms.

yes, this one!!!

Homelander comes home in the middle of the night, silent as always.

You're passed out, bedside lamp still on, a book in your lap, phone unplugged nearby. It's painfully obvious that you were trying to keep yourself awake long enough to greet him when he came home.

Tucked under your chin, he's met with the beady little eyes of his very own tiny doppelganger.

That most definitely should have been him tonight, the evening spent curled up in your arms, soaking up the warmth of your words and your body, your hands in his hair, your lips brushing his forehead. Smug little bastard, he thinks, lips quirked as he stares at the lopsided grin of the stuffed, well... him.

He clicks his tongue softly.

"Sorry pal. Only space enough for one of us," he says, deftly plucking it out of your grasp. He does it carefully, hangs the toy by its little cape, but you still wake with a deep breath. Your eyes are bleary with sleep, disoriented for the handful of seconds you transition from dream to reality. Still, the second you recognize him, you relax.

The way you smile at him stirs eager little butterflies in his stomach. He spent his whole life fantasizing about being looked at with the love you have in your eyes.

"Hey," you say softly. You open your arms, an invitation he can never resist.

He sinks down into you, tucking his head under your chin in precisely the same way you held the plush. He gives his own sigh as you wrap your arms around him.

Looking over his shoulder, you see the plush dangling precariously from the bed. You laugh quietly. "Jealous?"

"Caught you in bed with another man," he says, words slightly muffled against your collarbone, where he's nuzzling at you like an overgrown cat. "Couldn't help myself, he was terribly handsome," you reply, earning a chuckle from him. "You have a type." "I do. Blondes in primary colors. Can't get enough of them."

It's a wonder how easy you make it all feel. Laughter, domesticity, love. With you, it comes as naturally to him as breathing.

It makes the rest of his life difficult to understand. Why did it all have to be so hard before? Why couldn't he have found you sooner?

He holds you tight that night, stays nestled close to your heart.

All he knows is he's never going back to the chill of a life without you.

[toruskiii]

Fuck them taxes boy how bout you come tax this pu

[harpy-space]

POSTING ABOUT HIM ON ALL MY SOCIALS

LOOK AT THIS MAN❗❗ THEY DID HIM SO GOOD, I'LL FORGIVE THEM FOR TAKING HIS DOC MARTINGS IM SOSMSMSKMSMDMDMGMKSKDD

NORMAL IM SO NORMAL ABOUT HIM GRRRR