#love you too honey

[kidotomy]

I lovbe you

Chat, he loves me 😳

[sinsydia]

Sebastian being a menace Pt. 2

[ghost-proofbaby]

too sweet (astarion ancunin x reader)

"you know, you're bright as the morning, as soft as the rain. pretty as a vine, as sweet as a grape. [...] you're too sweet for me."

summary: astarion realizes you're too sweet for him, and he probably shouldn't let this go further than necessary. but, oh, he's going to. isn't he? (based on this request and the song 'too sweet' by hozier <3)

pairing: astarion ancunin x gn!reader

warnings: spoilers for games regarding camp dialogue with astarion, discussion of astarion's past trauma, talks of self-loathing/disgust with sex, vague mentions & allusions to sex having been had, manipulation at it's finest! minors dni.

wc: 2k+

a/n: i just wanted to get inside this man's mind when he drops that fucking line the second time he tries to sleep with us/tav. why does his face fall like that? why?

divider by @firefly-graphics <3

As Astarion observes the rise and fall of your chest in the soft morning light, he can only think one thing: shit. He fucked up. 

And he had spent most of the early hours trying to retrace his steps, trying to decipher exactly where his monumental mistake had begun, but it seemed useless. 

It could have been somewhere between the first and third bottle of wine shared with you last night during festivities, where he’d sweet-talked you to the high Hells until you’d agreed to return to his bedroll in the dead of night. Where he’d made the joke that wasn’t all that funny – the joke that he loved you. Three pretty words tried out on his tongue, and they hadn’t been nearly as light-hearted as he’d wanted them to be. More of an experiment, a quick sip to see if he liked the taste. And he had fucked up, because he did like the taste. He liked the sweetness that stuck to every corner of his mouth as he delivered the sugar-coated lie to you, his entire face falling as a new weight appeared in his chest. 

But perhaps it had been the first night he tasted you – well, your blood, that is. The night he’d awoken from a nightmare of Cazador and in his vulnerability, had chosen you as his victim of yet another experiment. A test to see if he was truly free. One drop of a thinking creature’s blood, that was all he needed. But you’d given more than he’d bargained for, and your cloy ichor had coated his taste buds so addictively, and he had just known that night was only the beginning. It was the first time, but certainly not the last. 

He thinks he could drink in whatever you offered him, and only that, for the rest of his days while still finding some sickly, twisted version of reprieve regardless. Not a drop more than he needed, always vying for more. 

He’d be okay with that type of hunger, that type of yearning, and that might have been his first real mistake. 

Or maybe, just possibly, it had been that very first meeting. Maybe he had doomed himself from the moment he’d pressed a blade to your neck, when he had dragged you to the ground with him and felt all that warmth, all that fear, radiating off of you. So frightful, and you still had offered your help to him when it was all said and done. Perhaps that was when he had well and truly screwed himself over. One simple introduction, void of his usual wine and flowers, and he’d locked himself in for pure trouble. 

Not even the fun kind, at that. What a shame. 

At the end of the day, or rather the beginning of the day as it is now, it doesn’t matter where his threads had started to unravel. All that matters is that they were – every carefully thought out line of his plans had all frayed, all detangled from the bigger picture, all because of you. 

Heart of gold, blood of honey. You were far too sweet for him, and he knew it. 

“Having fun, are you?” 

“I am, it’s hard not to with you.”

You’d taken each of his tactics in stride, hadn’t you? Whereas his face had nearly crumbled beneath the weight of that beautiful lie, insides twisting uncomfortable as the humor had slipped through his fingers, your eyes had only glittered as you bit back a smirk. To so lightly tease him, to banter right back with him, instead of see the truth behind it all. He didn’t know if you were simply that naive or if you were another kindred soul – Perhaps you were finding just as much safety, just as much sanctuary, in whatever dance he’d dragged you into. An entanglement of lies, a blithe facade, a daring smile that whispers come now, play with me. 

And play with him, you had. 

You’d played with him, you’d drank with him, and you’d now slept with him. Twice. 

“You’re up early,” your voice murmurs, silken tone cutting through all his racing thoughts. 

He hadn’t even noticed you had stirred, rousing yourself out from underneath his stolen blankets to peer at him curiously as he perched on the edge of the bedroll. As far from you, and as far from your sweetness, as possible. 

“Oh, you know what they say, my dear,” he chirps, rolling his shoulders as the act wraps him back up. The charismatic charmer. The illusive rogue, trained impeccably to coax you in and secure his safety, “No rest for the wicked.” 

He’d awoken before you last time, too. Had watched the sun rise and enjoyed the warmth of it plastering across his skin long before you’d ever woken up. He half-hopes you’ll be less talkative this time; he half-hopes you’ll try to rope him into whatever discussion you can, if only for a few extra seconds of your attention. 

You were too sweet. Too sugary on his tongue, too soothing in his chest. He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary. 

You hum thoughtfully, the blanket slipping and exposing more of your chest. With the light flickering in from his tent’s entrance, he can easily spot those two scarring dots along your jugular where his fangs fit perfectly, “I don’t know if I’d describe you as wicked, lover.” 

“No?” Roped into discussion, it is. “How would you describe me then?” 

He’s not comfortable in this lighting. He feels feverish beneath your steady stare, the way your eyes take their time as you look over every inch of him. The languid observation has him convinced you’re seeing right through him – your glance can pierce right through all his armor and expose every flaw. You see him for the monster he is, you see him for the bitter soul he’s become, you see him as the unworthy spawn he believes himself to be. 

He almost swears that you even see right through his nice, simple plan at hand, not so easily fooled as he had believed you to be. 

“Charming, certainly,” you suddenly sigh, sitting up and keeping your body mostly covered still with that knitted blanket. He’d only snagged it because the shade of the wool nearly matched your eyes – not that he was paying attention to your eyes, of course, “But then again, you’d have to be to have bedded me twice now, wouldn’t you?” 

“We can always make it thrice,” he banters back, ignoring the bile that builds at the insinuation. But if that’s what it takes – laying on his back over and over again – to guarantee your protection, he’ll do it. He’d do it a thousand times over to keep himself as far away from Cazador’s chokehold as possible, “Does that entice you, love?”

When he turns his body fully, beginning a carefully and calculated crawl up the bed roll, ready to slot his body back between your thighs and encourage you to have his way with him, you stop him. The heel of your foot delicately presses against his chest, your head tilted curiously before you shake it. 

“Who’s the eager pup now, Astarion?” 

He likes the way his name drips off your tongue. Almost as if he might be made of the same sugar and spice as you, the same pure honey flowing through your veins also inhabiting his. You say it like a song, articulate it like the sweetest fruit. 

He shouldn’t like it. It shouldn’t be able to overpower his lingering disgust with himself so easily. 

“It’s hard not to be eager when it comes to you,” he says the line with good practice, beckoning a purr to his tone that had always won over the victims he’d entrap in dark taverns back in the city, “I said the Gods had made you just to ruin me, and I meant it.”

He’d meant it more than he’d realized. It wasn’t just your body that had been sculpted to draw him in – it was everything. Your entire aura, your entire glacé demeanor. All that innocence and all that geniality enticed him more than he could ever admit. You were certainly going to ruin him, so wholly and so entirely. You’d already started to, really. 

You don’t respond at first, and he swears he has you. You’re locked in on his distraction, caught up in his web, just as he needs you to be. One lithe hand lifts to your ankle, cool fingers wrapping around your warm skin as he begins to lower his lips, ready to pepper kisses up your leg. Prepared to offer you his mouth, his body, in return for the one thing he needs. Self-loathing be damned. 

Old habits die hard, right along with pride, and he’s not quite ready to bury either at your grave yet. 

But just as he presses the first chaste kiss to your skin, nearly taken back by how your sweetness still breaks through the salty surface, you’re pulling the limb away from him. Your knee draws back and a disarming smile has risen on your cheeks, eyes glittering at him just as they had the night before. 

“I suppose I’ll have to come find you when everyone is asleep, then.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

What exactly had he been waiting for? You, of course. But had he been waiting for you to find him solely for what had transpired? To explore your portfolios of talents once more, as he had put it? Or had it been for something more… precarious? 

Was he nothing more than a prey, waiting for you to be his demise? 

Had he actually been waiting for this? 

The challenging look in your eyes as they reflected back stars, the warmth of your skin so close to him he nearly melts into you. The upturn of the corners of your mouth, outlining the way you certainly know something that he doesn’t. A look you wear well, a look that shakes his foundations and rattles his bones. 

“As tempting as you are, I’ll have to decline. Duty calls, as they say.” 

Can you see right through him? 

He should be more deflated when you start going through the motions; he should be pouting or overthinking it all as he watches you gather your clothes once more, covering up the few bite marks of his that litter your skin. Every moment you prepare to leave his tent should be one spent overthinking where he’d gone wrong – why didn’t you want him? Was his plan even going to work? 

Were you truly too sweet for him? Would he have been better off trying to romance the likes of Gale for the safety just shy of his grasp now?

He doesn’t, though. For once, his mind is quiet as he watches you patter about. The bile retreats, the disgust fades. For the first time in a very long time, Astarion is leaving this interaction not feeling used. 

Maybe it’s in the way you cheekily snatch one of his shirts as you both pretend he doesn’t notice it, or maybe it’s in the gentle caress of your fingers through his hair as you pass him to pick back up your discarded weapon. Maybe it’s in every shy glance you offer him, or maybe it’s in your ever present grin. 

Watching you leave should worry him, but it only feels like a breath of fresh air. A wind that comes sweeping in with the promise of next time just as you pull back the flap to his tent. 

And he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting patiently for you to turn back to him until you do just this, offering him one final glance that sets him aflame, “Oh, and before I forget – you can feed on me tonight, if you need to.” 

Heart of gold, blood of honey. He couldn’t say no even if he wanted to.

“Then I’ll see your delicious self tonight,” he takes a pause, one big and unnecessary breath filling his chest alongside that warmth you bring to him. The fearless leader, the kindest soul. His most apt nickname for you yet falls off his lips in a content sigh, “My sweet.”

He shouldn’t entertain you – he shouldn’t let this go further than necessary. 

But he’s going to. Gods, he is going to. 

After all, the sweetest fruits always fall from the most forbidden branches, do they not?

[rocketbirdie]

kunsel dump

[majosullivan]

Still not over how Pluto was completely down with trying to kill Annabel with Duke, with the only part of the process that he felt bad about was him touching her leg so they could push her off the balcony

<(48/??)>

[read more]

+Bonus!

[marlsswrites]

Summer camp AU, part 25!!

July 25th <3

Bundle - @jegulus-microfic - words: 396

First part Previous part

The group bundled themselves around the fire, its flames licking the crisp evening air as it hissed and spat sparks over the blabbering kids. They'd mixed a few of the groups together, apparently trying to save time and space. So here Regulus sat, he was with Barty, Evan, Dorcas and Dorcas' cabin mate - Marlene something if he has that correct. Oh, and James. James Potter - who had his head sleepily resting on Regulus' shoulder, hot breaths huffing against his neck every few seconds. 

It was driving Regulus more mental than he'd like to admit.

Music played quietly in the background, something by Fleetwood Mac surrounded them with the beautiful guitar strumming and the smooth vocals of Stevie Nicks.

"Love this song." James mumbled, head still on Regulus' shoulder. He slowly getting used to the flushing feeling of having James' weight on his shoulder, and he never wanted to move.

"Yeah?"

James nodded into his neck and hummed, before something in his head clearly caught his attention as he gasped. "Did you know that the album r-" James cut himself off as quickly as he spoke. "Sorry, rambling." He muttered.

Regulus frowned, why wouldn't he want to listen to James? He'd listen to that man talk and talk any day of his life, who ever made James feel like he couldn't speak? No, that just wont do. James voice deserves to be heard, his thoughts - the good and the strange, because everything that came out of James Potters mouth was perfect, no matter how weird it is. Even when it doesn't make sense, Regulus will happily bask in the sound of his deep, joyed, excitable voice for the rest of his time.

He just prayed he wasn't the one that made James feel like this, because of course he wanted James, so much that it was painful.

"No- wait." He looked down to James with a soft smile, the smile that he reserved for one person and one person only. "Carry on, what about the album?"

"What?"

"I want to listen, go on." He rested his own head onto James' as he could feel the heat of the brunettes smile before he burst out into facts about the band.

Regulus remembered and savoured every word of every sentence, listening and giving input when he could, he could never forget a word of what James Potter tells him.

Next part

[calicocas]

honey, honey, nearly kill me!

[cyanide-latte]

Forgive the terrible shot and lighting but

LOOK AT THE FINE GENTS WHO ARRIVED TODAY

[padawansuggest]

Obi-Wan: *helping plan Anakin and Padme’s anniversary vacation they’re all going on* Don’t worry, I got the brunch menus taken care of. I found five different types of sangria that I wanna try this weekend so I’m getting a fuckton of fruit and vodka. I don’t even think Fives will have any allergic reactions to any of these. Not like that time with the orange blossom honey that was apparently pollinated by an avocado tree.

Cody: I mean. I guess sangria doesn’t have as much alcohol as most, but considering it’s gonna be like nine in the morning, Imma tell you right now, whatever amount of vodka the recipe asks for, halve it.

Obi-Wan: It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make but I will also be bringing twice as much wine to make up for it.

Cody: Lovely. And the food menu?

Obi-Wan: …I knew I was forgetting something there…

Rex: *patting Cody on the shoulder* He’s a keeper.

Cody: Yeah, I keep him indoors for everyone’s safety. Mostly alcohol poisoning.

Rex: Solid plan.

[wowzoerz-blog]

You know it’s actually really nice being trans and true to myself as a person

Like, progress feels slow but every month I look back and think “Wow, that’s something unique I learned about myself!” And I am a much happier person because of that!

There is a girl under all of these repressed feelings that me and my friends are uncovering.

And she is just, Wonderful

[inspiteallthedanger]

Beatles fans, please indulge me and let me know in tags your most and least favourite songs on:

Please Please Me

With the Beatles

Hard Days Night

Beatles for Sale

Help!

Extra points for adding why.

[nothing-but-luv-for-you]

i need you more than anything. i need you more than air, than sleep, than food. i need you like how a windchime needs the wind to have any meaning. i need you like a shadow that needs something tangible to exist. i need you in the way that the moon needs to the sun to reflect its beauty.

i need you.

[iwaasfairy]

Okay but imagine if it was incel nii-chan or uncle (i haven't gotten over that one yet) gojo. How worse would he be 😭

I genuinely genuinely had to hold off on immediately turning it into cest when I gOt thAT ASK KFNFJFJJFJF but since you’re giving me a platform!!

Absolutely!!! Satoru nii as an incel would work soooo well brrrbbrrrrrrrr he’s just like a nasty guy, he’s mean, he’s impatient— and worst of all he thinks you owe him the right of snuggling up on you even tho he’s sweaty and gross and stinks and kissing up on you n shit

Also he doesn’t like women all that much bc he wants them to immediately jump on him even when he’s not willing to put in the least bit of effort. He’s just forced to be around you, that’s the only reason why you even talk to him :/ and he has to go and make stupid shit comments about your body and if you don’t get a boyfriend soon half your eggs will already be dead and you should really just,,, settle already

Preferably with him

Only with him

[kaiser1ns]

TAKIISHI CHIKA IN CHAPTER 153

[ashes-in-a-jar]

.

[takeyourpillsbitchh]

One Wish 🌙

Part 4 let’s goooo! @galladrabbles this week with the prompt of mine by @jrooc ✨

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂ ⠂⠄⠄⠂

Mickey was freaked the fuck out.

Ian fucked him into oblivion—whispered mine into his ear as he held Mickey close, tattooed fingers clawed at freckled skin when he noticed the ring…and Ian’s matching one.

There was no time to question anything. They finished together, an alarm went off and Ian rushed about saying he was late for work—pressed a kiss to Mickey's lips and shouted ‘love you, mick, later!’

The front door slammed, he flew from the bed, “Honey! Where the fuck are you?!”

“Yes, Mikhailo?”

“What the fuck is happening?!”

“This was your wish, was it not?”