#skinny reader

[iamnotdeadyet]

1 , 2 , 3 , 4

I wanna be your whore!!

5 , 6 , 7 , 8

Call me slut , it feels great!!

Idk, these men probably:

HONORABLE MENTIONS ALSO GO TO:

YUJI ITADORI, NOBARA, Sukuna. HINATA SHOYO, TERUSHIMA, OIKAWA TOORU, KURO TETSURO, Atsumu Miya, BOKUTO. DAZAI. + UR FAVS!!

°•°•°•°•°•°°•°•°•°

iamnotdeadyet owns this

[ionlyeverwantedtobeyourequal]

I need kpop x reader fics where the reader is insecure about being too skinny😭 like I always try to wear hoodies and jogging pants bc I’m too small and I don’t like it

[mushyroom-stories]

Imagine Husband!Alcazar

Rated 18+ — mature short content ahead

Husband!Alcazar xF!skinnyreader IMAGINE

CW: mature content, fluffy scenes, swearing(?), use of Google translate.

a/n: english is not my native language so pls be kind if I have misspelled anything, and this is actually my first time writing some imagines just hope I won't mess it up. Enjoy reading(or not):)

✧ Husband!Alcazar that loves you so much, he decided to spoil you every single day. He buys you expensive gifts, gifts that are not yet released, gifts that are rare to find or even hard to buy. You always told him, "Baby, don't spend that much money on me." Well, after you said that, let's just say you forgot you even mentioned it. Who could blame you? He was pounding into your cunt like a wolf in heat. Feeling up your walls so good, making you forget everything you say or even mentioned, just how he likes it.

✧ Husband!Alcazar Who just absolutely loves groping your boobs. You have body insecurities, but he is right there, usually touching all over you reminding you that your always gorgeous, making sure nothing is left untouched. "Fuck, Милая, you look gorgeous today," he says, having eyes on you with hunger and literally being able to become a predator anytime just by looking at you wearing that dress(a/n: that he bought just for you, did I say it's limited edition?). "You always say that, babe, but how do I really look?" you ask, somewhat sounding nervous. His big hand strokes your flat chest, groping it affectionately. "I told you-you're gorgeous, Любимая. Forget the party. I want you right here, right now." He's a sweetheart, although you can hardly walk for two days afterwards, but who cares?.

✧ Husband!Alcazar Who will take risks being able to fuck you anywhere-on the stairs, kitchen, living room, porch, backyard, his office, etc. This man has a high sex drive and can go multiple rounds without even finishing after the first two. That just shows how much he loves you, pleasuring you first until his satisfied❤️

✧ Husband!Alcazar Who's very clingy with you. The second you go to the bathroom after finishing up, he immediately carries you to the bed to cuddle. This man is not shy about showing PDA with you; he’s always touching your hand, shoulder, lower back, hips, and hugging you from behind. In short, he is very clingy with you.

✧ Husband!Alcazar Who buys you lingerie on your birthday, valentines, Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. But oh, how he absolutely loves the lingerie that he bought for you on Halloween and Christmas. Pounding into your cunt like a mad man, your moans and skin slapping filling up the room, "that's right Милая, cum for me." He said in a lowly tone, his fingers playing with your clit, you were shaking letting out a big moan as you came down from your orgasm, his cock and fingers now coated from your cum "fuck, ты выглядишь так великолепно, кончая на меня вот так" before following suit after you, filling you up with his hot seed. Sigh, thoughts.😮‍💨

[iceprincessviviane]

Why do you note that the reader is skinny? Just curious!

Hi!

I wanted something to write for very skinny readers ^^

I don't see a lot of that specific content and I can pretty relate to the case.

Thank you!

[lilly-townshend]

I can't fix him but you know what I can do?

I can draw him naked+smoking, that's my god-given ability

[eccentricallygothic]

| Too Sweet |

Description: You and Steve try to put 'it' in for the first time after his serum procedure. 

Pairing: Soft-Dark 40's Post-Serum Steve Rogers | Lover!You. 

Warning(s): Soft-Dark!Steve, 40's misogyny and courting bc let's be so fr, obsession, daddy kink, allusions to spanking, dumbification, power imbalance, corruption kink, fluffy smut, p-in-v penetration that y'all are STRUGGLING with, dash of breeding kink, they love each other, smut with plot.  

Note: @chxrryhansen 's new Too Sweet Steve edit is responsible for this and she doesn't even know it, pfft!

.

"Steve!" Your protest is half giggle and half whine as you wince before landing a punishing smack to your lover's shoulders. "Ouch!" His body is also vibrating due to the humor that the two of you find in this strange situation. 

"Come on, baby" he rasps out against your ear, his elbow that presses into your pillow besides your head causing it to dip towards itself. "I am trying my best here, bear with me a little" try he sure is doing. You can almost feel him fighting against his impulse to just fuck all and push inside your tiny entrance that has never faced a girth this big. 

"I knowww~" you whine as you press your knees against his sides that have become wide and muscular since the procedure. "But it's still ouchie" Steve sighs as he freezes the little bit of pushing that he was doing.

You feel bad, you really do. 

Because it is as hard for you to hold back as it is for him.

Pressed up against your lover that you haven't properly had like this in a week, your bare skins nearly leeched to each other's, one of his rough manly hands fondling your breasts as the one he's holding up his heavy body with strokes your hair to comfort you, the feeling of his stern muscles digging into the tender insides of your thighs and then his cock that you need to save your life at this point so close to your weeping walls yet so far away that you can lose your mind from the frustration. 

But it just hurts so fucking much! 

You had always thought your lover's size to be a decent one because it kept you satisfied and very happy. 

But now…

This. 

You did not want to be an ungrateful brat, as Steve would say, because you weren't a stranger to the valor that he held for his country and you had always done your best to cheer him on so you weren't to be misunderstood.

But good Lord above, they had swapped your cotton candy lover for a rough and tough beast who couldn't bear you being out of his sight for more than a few minutes. 

It seemed that whatever voodoo they worked in that fancy machine had also amplified his obsession with you, like everything else. 

Steve sighs as he kisses your cheek softly. You understand that he's a man and he has his needs that he has been compromising for a week because you recoil at the sight of his cock each time he tries to seduce you. "I've already stretched you out with three fingers, baby. At this point I might as well put my fist in there" you're on thin ice and you know it. 

No man is as considerate as he has been all these days as it is. 

Your cheeks burn and you flush hotly in embarrassment, letting out another whine as a result before landing a flustered punch on his arm. "I- It's not my fault if your fist would still be smaller than your dick!" Though your tone is one that has gotten you bent across his lap more times than you can count, the manner in which the indirect praise boosts his ego saves you this one time.

And his fingers weren't the easiest thing in the world either because they've grown three times their size!

"Aw, is Daddy's cock too big for your little baby pussy, honey?" You cannot help but let out a horrified guffaw as you cover your mouth, eyes wide. 

"Oh, my GOD, Steve!" He is grinning at how appalled you look because of his obscene words. "Stop with that! I told you the other day that it's not right!" You have no idea how, but two months ago your lover had picked up this strange pet name for himself that he liked to use whenever you two were having an intimate moment. 

"Oh, but baby" your back arches in an instant as you grunt and feel your claws fly to his shoulders that they dig into. He has started to push again. But your pussy is nearly as stubborn as he is, it seems. Because neither wants to back down. "Who put it in your pretty little head that you can decide what's right and wrong around here?" 

Your thighs tremble at the authority in his tone and you whine, feeling your ass cheeks clench at the way the girth of his tip feels around your sore band of muscles. Fuck, this is like losing your virginity all over again but only worse. 

You almost feel mad at yourself.

Because you're so wet and prepared.

Ready.

Just why can't it go where you need it most?!

"N- No…" The smell of his shampoo hits your nose when he dips his head into the crook of your neck to make a new love bite, both to try and distract you as well as mark you as his. "D- Didn't mean that, Shtevie, sowwy~" you mumble meekly and he deeply hums against your skin. 

"Good girl" if it weren't for the way in which one of his hands lovingly caress your scalp, you would have teared up due to how small you suddenly feel. "Now shush up for Daddy and let him do this bratty little pussy in" an involuntary gasp leaves you again but you suppress it by kissing his moist temple so he can't hear it and think you are being disrespectful. Your baby pussy has irritated him enough this past whole week already. 

"Owiee…" You grunt again as you feel it breach its way into the initial curve as it has been doing for hours now. "S- So big, Daddy" what? No! You're not like your naughty lover! Y- You're just trying to somehow calm him down so you don't get in trouble! 

Like you did when you initially did not respond to his unrelenting advances in school and he ended up scoring really low in a test because of that so he dragged you out of drama class to bend you over and teach you a thing or two about manners and how to treat those who are nice to you. Then he made you apologize, kiss his cheek and cook him dinner at your house to make it up to him. 

You are glad he did that though, because Steve is your once in a lifetime and there can never be another like him. 

He just knows best. 

But that doesn't mean you are okay with getting punished just because your pussy is too tiny!

"Good babygirl" your lover grunts against your nipple that his mouth is latched onto now, hips doing their best to not damage you but still weasel his cock past the hard round shaped barricade of your pubic bone. "I know it's scary but you can trust Daddy because he knows that if that pretty little pussy can push out his brats one day, it can surely take this cock too." Steve loves how you shudder under him at the thought but still answer him Yes, Daddy. 

Because you are all his to do with whatever he pleases.

That is the reason why he shook hands with HYDRA and wiped out SHIELD the day he was transformed. 

Because HYDRA had promised him a comfortable future with you where he would not have to part with you for too long but still provide you the life that you truly deserved as his sweet little girl who loved and accepted him in a state that everyone had treated as a laughing stock. 

You were worthy of the world.

And he was determined to give it to you. 

.

I didn't mention the hydra plot twist up there because well, surprise! 

[daintylovers]

oh yeah

[robolvrr]

I hope you’re having a good day/night! Can we have tfa starscream and tfp starscream with a female cybertronian that’s taller than them and got the hips?😼

Also just wanted to say I love your writing!! Happy to request my brainrot here and not feel embarrassed 😖💜

she's a brick house! ◜⁠✧*ﾟ⁠+

and if i said this freak helped cultivate my voice kink, then what?

warnings: nsfw under cut. i LOVE me a skinny twig x powerhouse ship real bad.

"don't be preposterous. i don't fear you, no matter what you hear otherwise."

tfp! starscream

him and that sass of his is often too frustrating for his associates to develop anything further than a common goal oriented relationship.

the closest? knockout. and that's simply because their snark and combined chaos doesn't edge to flat hatred or harm as his other dynamics tend to.

he's not interested in your arrival at first, until megatron mentions in passing that you were a personally selected recruit. now, his pace is measured as he mutters to himself — the last thing he needs is to be fighting for a spot at the table.

not with all the aft-kissing and manipulating he's done to establish his reputation.

your introduction is short. starscream pretends not to care.

however... you don't make it easy.

starscream had always found his frame perfection. he's slender, lithe and regardless of the many repercussions with his boss, it's no surprise his metal armor is just as opulent as the nemesis itself.

there is rarely a creature or mech he has to crane his neck for.

though when he does drink you in, his intake opens, then closes, then opens once more. those razor-sharp brows are as expressive as they are obvious.

not only do you tower over him, closer to megatron's shoulder, your paint is a deep maude and your general frame is.. well. he's not complaining.

you're not as polished.. though he can tell you take hot oil baths and your curves are well-melded. his frown blooms even more. he doesn't need to be thinking about that.

wide hips. wide legs. there's an arch of ruby metal nestled at your hips that crest similar to one of these planet's filthy paradise birds.

his sneer as he realizes of course you can't fly either is enough to prevent any concerning thoughts flooding his processor.

"i see. and just what can you do?"

"what is asked of me, starscream. i do hope there won't be issues with my presence on the bridge. we are to be working close from now on, after all."

"ah, yes, o— what?! b-but lord megatron!"

turns out that megatron has had enough of his scrap. you are within the same rank but as he quickly and scornfully realizes, perform as an overqualified sparkling-sitter.

it doesn't help that you're so painfully professional. he wants to despise you, but you firmly push him from his schemes and don't have a bucket of bolts in your helm.

he's clever. you read him and his lies. he tries and fails several assassination attempts that always end with him feeling foolish and riled.

his respect, as well as his attraction, is mournfully earned. sometimes he ponders if you know this, which makes the torture of his spark crackling in your wake worse.

"oho? but of course, my sweet!"

tfa! starscream

unlike prime starscream, he is overtly flashy and unabashed with his interest. after all, what good is rule if not with competition?

he does not fear you — he did manage with sabotaging his boss and avoiding execution while doing so. the decepitcon ranks were truly mech eat mech mentality.

let's hope you're not a gentle giant, because he's got a silver glossa and isn't afraid to use it to woo.

"is it just me, or is that chrome sparkling, darling? and here i thought you were just a brute."

alright. he's just as much of a brat.

he takes pride in reaction. not only is he a skilled strategist and fighter but he knows how to ruffle feathers.

and like the boastful seeker he is, he's going to find what makes you tick.

needles for your attention just short of pushy.

walks behind you with that crooked grin of his, even though he usually likes to glide in front of his subordinates associates. hmm, wonder why?

expect him on patrols to fly above you, flaunting off in his element. what was just a simple recon turns into a full on flight show.

no personal space. he enjoys almost, just almost, pressing up against your chassis. aren't you lucky? he's wrapped around your digit.

finds excuses to touch you. never lecherously, but in the sort of a manner a feline rubs between legs.

speaking of which... he adores yours. so strong. so shapely. just how were you forged? he wants to thank primus.

nsfw headcanons.

tfp! starscream

he desires to be in control. with how much he's realistically gotten knocked around he isn't interested in getting on his knees in the berthroom.

at least... not for now. it'll take time.

imagine his surprise when you lay on your back anyways, lips curved and valve throbbing.

it ends up with him nestled and secured deep, spike bursting with transfluid between messy, sharp thrusts.

his claws dig at your frame and leave jagged marks behind, which he doesn't apologize for because you keen so approvingly he wonders just how much you'd let him get away with.

"look at you. mewling like pleasureware. pathetic."

the praise you give is music he doesn't care to admit about. suddenly he's jackhammering and his fans and vents are blasting, metal and arousal schlicking through the darkness of your habsuite.

"and here.. the mighty.. fall."

garnet optics glare down at the slope of your neck, before he's caressing up and down and nipping near your audials.

he takes you like a conquest. his, all his. and no one is taking that from him.

"for you, lord starscream. i would fall a thousand times."

interfacing is fast, uncouth but tender. you are his prized possession.

tfa! starscream

slut. that's all i have to say.

he wants you to be rough, to break him, to make him see stars. he wants you to lose your cool and force him into submission. this within itself is a sign of his obsession, for he would rather die than ever admit defeat.

his e.m. field is constantly thrumming with want. half the time you have to wear him out so he doesn't project to the entire ship that he wants to be treated like shareware.

seductive, impish mech from pit. you question if he's been sent down to drive you to insanity.

which is why he's currently hoisted over your desk, knocking over datapads and slamming into panels with a shriek that borders pain and pleasure.

your spike is bigger than his. that doesn't mean he can't keep up with you.

he will have you work for it. even when his valve squeezes and you swear he's the tightest you've ever speared, he still manages to take it.

meanwhile, he's whispering the dirtiest commands, demanding you flip him over so he can feel you.

"ha haaaa.. so easy to wind you up, commander! d-do you always have to be so cruel?"

then he's yanking you down by the hips and feeling all over, dermas stretched to an wicked smile.

"harder. don't you want to make me overload?"

you can tell he's just finding excuses to grope you, especially as he uses the grip on your aft to speed up the pace. even with dimmed optics you can feel his gaze, appreciative.

thoughts and prayers to the poor vehicon that has to wipe down after you're through.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

O Chilly Night

Warnings: no warnings because I let this be a sweet one. however I could see this Steve getting dark after this story hehe.

Summary: You go skating and fall in a way you don't expect. (plus!reader)

Character: skinny!Steve Rogers

Day Twenty-Two of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - i didn't fall on the ice, it was a trick 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The blades glide beneath your feet as your legs move without thinking. The noise of sharp edges slice across the ice as bodies float in pairs and trios, swirling and swerving in laps around the grand oval rink. Electric lights sparkle all around, intertwined with holly and berries in a festive scene. Cheery laughter and cutting whoops fill the crisp air around the clouds of warm breaths. 

Patricia and Joyce skate behind you, slower as they aren’t so confident in their balance. You keep a relaxed pace and spin to face them, moving backwards as they cling to each other. Joyce chatters and touches her cheek. 

“It’s awfully cold out,” she complains. 

“We’ve been inside all month,” you counter. “I’d rather this than to sit at the typewriter a moment longer.” 

“Mm, I’d rather the warm office,” she grips and Patricia nods in agreement. 

You chuckle, “well, Merry Christmas to you.” 

“I’d like it a lot more if it was in June,” Joyce leans into Patricia. 

“We can get some cocoa after, there’s a stall nearby,” you say. “I told you to bring a scarf.” 

“Thank you, mother,” Joyce sneers. 

“Would you like mine?” You ignore her venomous retort. 

“No, I want to stop. I’m dizzy. This is boring,” she whines. 

“Well, there are benches,” you shrug, “you could take a rest.” 

“Fine, but I’m not waiting on you all night,” she sniffles and cups her nose. 

“I’ll come with you. These skates are too small.” 

You smile through the tug in your cheeks. You thought your new coworkers would enjoy the night out. The rink seemed to be a nice seasonal attraction. Market stalls, skating, and even a horse-drawn sleigh. You might try that next. They seem more comfortable sitting down. 

The head for the closest exit and you turn to skim away, keeping a mellow pace. A raucous thunder of laughter and jeers rise from the other end of the rink and you peek over to see the reason. A group of six men pass by a body on the cold surface. The ice seems to steam around the small figure splayed there. 

No one stops. No one even seems to care and more laugh at the poor soul’s plight than worry for it. You sweep down the center of the ice, swooping between other skaters, and stop to bend over the man in his wool coat. His cap is off his head, pillowing it over the ice, and his scarf is twisted down his front. You didn’t expect a man, not at his size. He's rather spindly and the fall might’ve broken something. 

“Sir,” you eke out, “are you alright?” 

He groans and opens his eyes. They are big and blue around his beakish nose. His gives a pained grimace. “I must be. I thought if I kept my eyes closed I might melt into the ice.” 

“Did you hit your head?” You wonder. “Can you get up?” 

He stares at you, his irises gleaming in confusion as he searches your face. He looks around then nods. “Yeah... I’m good,” he assures you. “Thanks for asking.” 

“Here,” you offer your mittened hand. “You shouldn’t stay down there or you might stick.” 

His forehead creases and his mouth upturns. He snorts, “that’s silly.” 

He looks at your hand and reaches for it hesitantly. You grasp him and do your best to plant your skates. He’s not very heavy. You get him on his blades but he wobbles precariously. 

“Sorry, I’m no good at this.” He clings to you as his feet slip. “My friend wanted to come but...” he glances around. “He’s late.” 

He’s not very tall, even on the skates. And somehow standing, he doesn’t look much bigger than he did on the ice. The hollow of his throat is deep and his jacket is at least two sizes too big. His cheeks and nose are red from the cold. 

He finally lets you go and puts his hand out to balance himself. You bend and scoop up his hat. You hand it over as your cheeks bulb in a smile. 

“You sure you didn’t hurt anything?” 

He stares at the hat before he takes it and covers his messy blond hair. “Just my ego.” 

“We all fall when we learn. That's how you learn, what matters is you get back up,” you say. 

“Yeah? Well, it helps if we have someone to help us up,” he snorts. 

“I guess,” you shrug. “It’s just what you do.” 

“Really? Cause everyone else just laughed at me.” 

“That’s more their problem than yours, I’d say,” you tut. 

“Well, thanks. I appreciate it.” 

“Not at all. Merry Christmas, sir.” 

“Yeah, uh, you too,” he looks down sheepishly. “Can I ask how you got so good at this?” 

“Not by honest means. I used to sneak out when my mother wasn’t looking,” you snicker. “Kept a better eye on me after I fell under the ice.” 

He laughs, “hm, guess I’ll have to keep practicing.” 

“Um, I hope your friend shows up soon. Mine are waiting,” you point over your shoulder. “But, uh, do you want some help to the edge? You can lean on the posts.” 

“I think you’ve done enough,” he chews his cheek. “Think I see my buddy.” 

He raises his hand and you turn to look. You can’t see much over the bodies all around you. You’re not sure how he can see more than you. Oh well. 

“Well, have fun and... be careful,” you slowly turn and drift away. You should go find Patricia and Joyce. 

You step off the ice and sidle to the side. You look up and down the benches but don’t see them. There’s families, dads on one knee tying their kids’ skates, mothers checking their coat buttons, and adolescents impatient to go out and find their friends. 

You go around the perimeter, walking on your blades, but don’t find your fellow typists. You stop to change into your shoes, knotting the laces of your skates to hang over your shoulder. You hook your bag strap over them and get up to search the picnic tables. 

Your feet hurt as you come up fruitless in your hunt. You finally give into the disappointment and sit on your own. You stare at the stall as you mull over whether to get a cider or cocoa to soothe the wound. They left you. So much for friends. 

You untangle your skates and set them on the bench next to you. You rub your mitts together and contemplate whether it’s even worth it to spend the nickel. You shield your hurt behind a smile that aches in your cheeks. You miss home. You don’t know why you moved to the city. Like that man said, people just laugh at your pain. 

“Excuse me, miss,” his voice startles you as the thought of him seems to summon his appearance, “I didn’t get your name.” 

You look up at the thin man, his nose even redder than before. He holds two steaming mugs. You blink and utter your name. “What’s your name?” You ask. 

“Steve,” he grins. 

You look at the cups, “you found your friend?” 

“Sure did, he’s racing on the ice,” he says. “I don’t wanna break my tailbone so I thought I’d step off. Er...” he looks down at his hands, “can I sit with you?” 

“Oh,” you look around at the full tables. “I guess. I’m taking up a lot of room, aren’t I?” 

He sets the mugs down and sits. He sniffs and scratches his nose as he beams at you. He’s speechless as you try to figure out what to say. 

“Um, I got you cocoa,” he slides a cup across. “To say thanks.” 

“You...did?” Your brows rise in surprise. “That’s so sweet, you didn’t have to do that.” 

“I don’t mind,” he assures you. “So, where are your friends?” 

Your lips straighten. You can’t lie, you’ve never been any good at it. You reach for the mug, your mitten brushing his, and you pull it closer. 

“They left.” 

He hums, “really? Why would they do that?” 

You shrug, “too cold, maybe.” 

“Nah, I'd say they’re too cold,” he scoffs. 

You laugh softly, “you’re too nice. It’s my fault. I asked them and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I just thought...” you trail off. “Well, it doesn’t matter what I thought.” 

“Sure it does,” he leans his elbows on the table as he cups his hands around the mug. “If they don’t think so, then toss them. They’re missing out.” 

You look up at him and blink away the heat in your eyes. Perhaps he isn’t the friend you expected, but you think you made one nonetheless. You smile and blow over the mug. 

“Thank you, Steve,” you lift the cup, “for everything.” 

“It’s nothing,” he pushes his shoulders up as he stares at you with his bright eyes. “It’s just a cup of cocoa. You’re the sorta girl who deserves anything she could dream of.” 

[iamnotdeadyet]

"The duality of man"

GETO SUGURU

[mushyroom-stories]

×`°~WELCOME TO MY BLOG~°`×

Requests: Open(for now)

Hello! I'm mushi, 19. Fan of jjk and hazbin and etc. This is my first time making stories or oneshots and imagines, I will post about my ocs (if any one wants to know about them) big huge fan of monsters and yanderes and especially @bunnis_monsters!. This blog will be more of a 18+ but not too much. I do have rules of writing I dos/and donts. And feel free to ask any questions and will absolutely love to hear your requests and questions!(pls I'm a lonely sad person) All my posts will be chubby reader and skinny reader if in mind! 18+ minors/ ageless Blogs DNI!

RULES FOR REQUESTING:

When sending a request pls follow these simple and easy rules:

#1 be clear of what you want to request.

#2 be polite and do not spam my ask box, I might block you.

#3 and pls understand that I won't get any asks, pls don't pressure me to answer things (makes me very uncomfortable)

#4 make sure you write your age in your bio or in your requests, I do not accept request from minors who requests 18+.

#5 don't hate me when I didn't do/ or see your request, and pls be patient or wait patiently.

#6 I do not know if you know this already or not I'm just gonna say it, all my ocs are 18+ which means all of them are (matured)adults!

I WILL NOT WRITE FOR:

-incest/stepcest/(you already know)

-rape/harassment(just no)

-pedophilic situations and relationships

-vomit/and gross stuff

-Selfharm

-Fem x fem(I am terribly sorry, Im terrible of writting fem x fem)

-anything I'm uncomfortable with(just makes me very very uncomfortable)

𓇼₊MASTERLIST₊𓇼

✧᱖𓇼₊NAVIGATION₊𓇼᱖✧

★MEET THE... YANDERES★

[ronearoundblindly]

Some Steve for you to enjoy 🥰🫶🏻

Gurl, this f***ed me up! I wanted to try to make it a snippet of Item 107 or The Cinder King, but the muses were just like "you know what you need? emotional damage." So now here we have my first semi-legit period piece (which has zero useful era detail eh) and truly is just the carrier for skinny!Steve love. Hint: It's thirsty, smutty love with hardly any plot ANGST.

Hello and welcome to Lexi's most self-indulgent fic ever. It's got everything: crippling insecurities about my real-life stuff, horniness unmatched even if there were sex pollen shot directly into their faces, and everyone is touch-starved. \o/ Enjoy! WC probably close to 3k but idk because I'm too afraid to look back at it. *slams post button*

Turned away again, Steve "4F" Rogers steps out of the recruitment center to see you standing there, staring up at the posters promising glory.

People hustle around you, several even knocking into you, but you remain transfixed, invisible. You're clutching your purse like a lifeline.

Down one step, worn-through shoes barely hiding every seam in the cobblestone, Steve has to get closer because that's the direction of home and a lonely, empty apartment he can hardly afford. He has to pass by. He has to, but then he sees the amber light reflect on trails of tears down your cheeks.

He has to stop.

"Miss?" Steve clears his throat, his own arm smacked by a rowdy man who then swats at your ass just as Steve tries to get your attention again.

You jolt and turn to him in surprise, hand flying up to cover a sob, sweeping to wipe the evidence of emotion from your face.

Fast--faster than Steve really processes--he's shouting for the guy to apologize before the guy makes to advance, Steve presses himself between you and the asshole still laughing at disrespecting you, and then he--Steve--is getting shoved into the alley with you still at his back.

It's dusk. The alley is nearly black. Steve can hear you crying but he's slipped on the stones wet from an afternoon rain. He scrambles to right himself.

Amidst the cries, he hears grunts of anger and resistance, terror creeping into his chest as Steve thinks you're being assaulted.

"Piece of shit," you bite out. The silhouette of you hurling your bag at the man's face repeatedly is clear from where Steve crouches, backlit as you are by the movie theater marquee.

Then the guy is down on the ground, too, being stomped on by your two-inch heel. "Piece of fucking shit."

"Woah," Steve jumps forward to hold you back. "Woah, language, ma'am. Let's go. Just leave him."

He has a weak arm around your waist, but you kick at the man one more time for good measure, hissing "liar" before turning to follow.

Your hand in his, Steve hurries through the streets, picking the ones he knows are busier but maneuverable to make sure you're not being pursued. Each time he looks back, he sees your sinking face, more tears, more exhaustion, and he makes a flash decision.

He doesn't stop until he locks the door of his apartment behind you both, and you break down on the bare wood floor.

"You hurt? Did he hurt you?" Steve's boney knees land a few inches from yours and he leans over, his long fingers brushing over your pinned hair and stiff curls that dislodged in the commotion. "You're alright. You're safe here."

Where your legs crumple underneath you, your slip lays over your thigh, uncovered by the skirt pooling on the other side of your hip. He can see the outline of a garter strap and the top of your stocking beneath the silky material. Steve's always loved pretty, delicate things. He also loves the faint bulge of flesh around the restraints.

There's meat on your bones, something to hold onto, and he shakes his head, chastising himself for noticing all the wrong things about the crying woman in his home. His lonely, empty home.

Steve attempts to think of anything other than your body.

"Do you know him? What'd you call him a liar for?"

You sigh in defeat, hands flopping into your lap, and confess that it wasn't about him so much as a man not here anymore. Gone. To war. You tell Steve a rambling tale of excuses and snide comments, of a parting that left you wondering why that man--any man--bothered to be with you in the first place, of a surety that you weren't ever wanted.

"I thought he loved me but he lied."

Steve sits cross-legged in front of you now, enthralled and utterly confused. Why would anyone...?

"That's the worst part," you exclaim, voice cracking. "I don't know. I'll never know." Your fingers fiddle with the hem of your skirt. "I heard today that he died. Don't know where. Don't know when. And I hate that I still care."

"But he wasn't good to you," Steve soothes and wraps his hand around yours, "and he wasn't good for you."

All you do is shrug and hide your face. Tears falls to the fabric below your eyes and seep through in dark patches.

He scoots forward and lifts your chin with a gentle nudge. When your puffy red eyes meet his, he's struck by how lucky he feels to see you like this. It's odd to think someone who knew you more and for so much longer couldn't feel infinitely more attached and protective. You're so vulnerable, so open, so...

"You're beautiful." Steve's tongue swipes over his dry lips. "You're so beautiful."

The words are loaded heavier than tanks and pack the punch of a bomb. He can tell you don't truly hear him by the way you shrink and shake your head out of his hold.

"Don't do that," he pleads. "Please don't hide from me."

"You don't know me."

"No, but I--"

"You don't even know my name!"

He sits back and offers his hand.

"Hi, I'm Steve. It's nice to meet you, and I think you're beautiful."

"That's stupid," you lash out, bitterly spitting the half-hearted, heart-breaking words. "You must be an idiot, Steve."

It's not the first time he's heard it, but it is the first time he's not mad at hearing it. He believed those things, too, long ago, before his mom convinced him to see the possibilities in one's struggles. If you perceive it as an obstacle, it is an obstacle. Perceive it as an opportunity instead and use it. Those aren't her exact words, but Sarah Rogers has so many different ways of teaching the same fundamental lessons that Steve can't remember the phrases anymore.

He can remember the feeling. He remembers seeing both obstacles and opportunities.

"Is it stupid to want to touch you?" he whispers. "Because I would love to touch you."

The question is purposefully leading since he knows from your story that's exactly what you long for. It'll be more impactful if he shows you he longs for that too.

Slowly--so slowly--his hand comes up to your cheek again, his fingers tucking behind your neck.

"I don't want your pity." There's still bitterness but no power behind it. You gently shift closer and meet him halfway.

He's kissed girls before, he's fooled around, and he has, in fact, slept with one girl. They went all the way--twice--which means Steve knows what it is to be pitied intimately. He knows what it's like to want something so badly you don't care what the motivation is.

You deserve to know his motives.

"I don't pity you." His focus falls to your quivering lip. "I want to make you happy." He's close. He's so close his breath rolls warm over your face. "I want to make you smile."

A soft whimper leaves you just as his mouth arrives.

"I want you," he says into the kiss.

Instead of fighting, you grab at his jacket, pulling him until you're both falling into the stand lamp. You taste of salt and something sweet he can't put his finger on. Steve resolves to put that on the list of things to find out about you.

He keeps kissing you as you both fall, the lamp now wedged at an angle by the side table. Despite the tangle of tongues, Steve keeps his hands to himself. He doesn't quite have enough answers.

"What do you want, beautiful?"

Hesitant as he pulls away, gripping worn leather like your purse in the street, your eyes dart between his. You're a dream beneath him, but that sounds too selfish to voice.

"May I..." Steve is already panting "...get you off the floor? More comfortable?"

Maybe you haven't been able to say the words, but Steve doesn't need more convincing to know you want him.

He could tell from the way you pawed at him. He could tell from the multiple times you crashed him into the walls along the hall to makeout more. He could tell from the way you melted like hot butter at his every returned touch, but finally, you two made it to his bed.

He'd be embarrassed by the lumpy old thing if there weren't a curvy, luscious dame standing with wide legs at the foot of it, letting his tie slip through your hands as he sits stunned.

Steve swallows thickly.

"Let me see you." It comes out as more of an order than the hopeful question he intended, but when he sees the command shiver through you, he feels six-foot-six and powerful as all hell.

You two share the burden of unbuttoning all of your layers, spinning you a few times to release front and back and side to side. His hands spread and roam to relish each garment, each moment, until you're top half is naked.

He stares, fierce blue irises muted by the dim light on his bedside table, 'beautiful' on his lips every second you spend with your finger yanking the knot of his tie and sliding off the bond. When you lean to pop his shirt buttons, your breasts hang in his face.

Steve stops you by your wrists, peaking up at you through his long lashes as he takes a nipple in his mouth. He keeps thinking it--beautiful--while his tongue sweeps flat across pebbling flesh. Each subsequent swirl has you melting again, pressing more of you to his face, dragging nails up his chest, sighing long and deep. When he switches to the other side, your fingers bury in his hair. He takes his time to worship you, tracing his own fingertips around the hem of your slip and garters.

He doesn't get impatient, if anything Steve feels greedy for wanting more, for praying this lasts forever, for needing all you're willing to give.

His teeth graze your skin in wanton lust, and you flinch in surprise, knocking you off-balance.

You fall to your knees on the mattress, straddling Steve's slender body beneath your hot core.

"Sorry," you mutter, wriggling to stand, forcing Steve to wrap his arms around you and halt your retreat. "I'm sorry. I don't want to hurt you."

"You can sit on me morning, noon, and night," he rasps. "I won't complain. I'll thank you, beautiful."

He groans pathetically when you relax, the grind of your ass making his slacks pinch tighter and tighter. Steve lets his head fall back on the sheets, eyes fluttering shut. The army might not want him, the world outside may forget he ever existed, but you see. He could get addicted to this feeling. He might get lonely without it.

Steve isn't strong enough to keep hold of you, but your weight never leaves, his erection still slotted between your cheeks. His mouth drops wide when your hips roll. Steve whines when you rise up enough to resume unbuttoning him. His lungs and heart go into overdrive, but even so, Steve doesn't want you doing all the work.

He flips you--using the sum total of his strength--and shuffles backward to stand, ripping the tails of his shirt from beneath his belt and shucking off his trousers. That part he could have been more patient for, but Steve smirks and brushes away the hair falling in his eyes, chest heaving from exertion.

He's pleased to see you watching him, ogling his body without judgment. You look like you want to eat him alive, and he is perfectly fine with that.

His palm lands on your knee to sneak higher beneath your slip, nimble fingers popping the clasps along your stockings and hooking through the band of your underwear. You lifting for him is all the permission he needs. Steve leaves your slip, garter belt, and stockings in place, and in a cheeky twist, he lets your underwear hang off one of your ankles, kissing your inner thigh, pushing your knees wider for him to fit.

He throbs in his boxers at the sight of your sex.

Nerves roil in his belly at the idea he is solely responsible for your pleasure. As he glances up to you, propped up on your elbows with a fearful and expectant gaze, he sees a poster promising honor and glory, a service to be proud of, and for the first time, he has doubts.

You see it in his eyes.

"Steve?"

He wants to participate and show that he's worthy of you.

This isn't about him though, and Steve Rogers is nothing if not dedicated anyone other than himself.

"Right here." He snaps back to reality, laying his hand to your thatch of hair and gently teasing his thumb along your folds. "I'm right here, beautiful."

It's an honor to touch you. He's proud of the moan elicited because he strokes over your clit rhythmically. The glory of watching you writhe is all his.

Steve's breath stays rapid as yours picks up. You're fisting the sheets, slick pooling beneath the pad of his thumb, helping him pick up speed. He dips into you, tests the breach while pushing his boxers down, and crawls over the edge of the bed. Like magnets, you guide each other higher till the pillows cradle you.

You're a broken record, repeating a desperate loop.

"Steve," you whimper.

"Won't ever lie to you." He captures your lips again. "Want you so badly. I'll want you all the time."

Steve doesn't understand why you won't talk to him, so he slows, eyes questioning and brow furrowed. You have to see. The light is right there.

Bottom lip trapped, you still say nothing, but your arms raise to his smooth face and plead in the silence.

He wants the same thing. He wants to feel. Not just the sting of rejection. Not just the slippery, rough stones through his shoes. Not just the empty ache inside. He wants to feel like someone cares whether he lives or dies.

You care even when you don't want to, but Steve can earn you, your care, your smile and your tears. He'll get up and come home to you every time. He needs you to come home to.

Otherwise, this is a lonely, empty apartment. Otherwise, he is a lonely, empty man.

Your hands bring him close, lips pausing just before contact while Steve sinks two fingers into you.

You gasp. His fingers curl. His thumb goes back to work. You kiss him with what little breath you can hold between muted cries until Steve notices your roving hands tug at his waist.

He wants the same thing.

Sitting back on his heels, Steve drapes your thighs over his, his slick fingers spreading you. He's mesmerized watching his cock disappear inch by inch, and the caress of your walls shuts down all other brain function. All he can do is slide against you, bent into your soft body, your breasts padding his jerky thrusts, the base of him perfectly laving the hood of your clit in the growing mess.

You're wet, and he's driven wild by the need to make you come. He tries to sit up again, to play with you properly, but he's stopped by the weight of your legs crossed behind his ass, the strength of your thighs anchoring him in place.

Steve takes huge, deep breaths through his nose because he won't last concentrating on how your body bounces and ripples, plush beneath his boney form.

You get wetter, looser in a welcoming way that spurs him to drive himself home faster. He sucks in air, though it's futile once his heavy balls start to seize.

Suddenly, you shout, stretching to push yourself completely flush with his pelvis, and he has to pull out, keeping aligned with the cut of you as aftershocks make you mindlessly hump him. Steve's cum shoots all over his belly and your chest, some drops dampening what clothes he didn't discard, stains of joy replacing stains of sadness.

His chest might explode. He's gasping, taxed beyond his naughtiest dreams, head lolling toward the ceiling with his throat high.

He feels your legs fall away, and Steve hopes for an instant that you embrace him even though he might suffocate in the process.

The envelopment never comes. The world is fuzzy and too warm beyond him.

He hears the sink in his bathroom turn on just as he lands palms-down on sweaty sheets. He tries every trick he knows to calm down. The water still runs after all the time it takes for him to recover and stand. The closer he gets to the doorway, the clearer the sound really is.

Sobbing.

"Beautiful? What's wrong? Did I--"

The faucet squeaks off, and you barrel out, nearly running him over, your arms covering your chest and your disheveled hair hiding your face.

"What are you doing? Are you cold?" Steve tries.

"I'm disgusting," you hiss in a mad dash for the pile of clothes on the floor.

He trips over his feet to stop you, corralling you as best he can, but you're quick. You certainly have fight in you. Steve only want to show you you do not have to fight him.

"Come back to bed," he commands hopefully, grabbing your wrist as you scoop up your wrinkled dress. "I should clean up, but please, please, come back to bed."

There is something broken and fearful in the way you finally meet his eye. He's torn apart, shredded down to nothing in a single look. That's not how a feral animal sees the world; that's how an animal, abused and betrayed, locks the world out.

Your protection is what you really took off for him. Your thick armor is what Steve got past.

"I didn't lie." He lets go of you and steps back as calm as his rasping breaths can manage. "I want you. I want you to stay." He wonders whether he ought to cover himself, too, because perhaps total vulnerability makes you more nervous.

So he presents himself as an opportunity, not an obstacle.

Steve finds his boxers a foot away and says one more time, "I hope you stay."

Unmoving, your eyes follow his walk to the bathroom, and in the split second he's looking down to turn the tap, you're gone.

Disappointment floods his system, but like all the other stamped failures in his record, Steve goes through the motions of caring for a body that thwarts his desire to live at every turn. In fact, it tries to die so often, he's always surprised to find himself here, staring at this mirror again, wondering why he gets back up.

He's also surprised to find you here, in the bed with the sheet pulled up to your chin, nodding to the side table where you've placed a cup of water.

The tiniest of genuine smiles curves your lips.

Steve's home is neither lonely nor empty anymore. He could cry.

A/N: this got so incredibly out of hand... I'm so sorry. But also, thank you for reading!

Tags: @supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555

@yiiiikesmish @ashesofblackroses @brandycranby @buckysprettybaby @ellethespaceunicorn

@late-to-the-party-81 @bigtreefest @mistressmkay @astheskycries

@rogersbarber @blogbog710 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads

[teddybeartoji]

Attention please 🗣non sexual nudity with bf/bsf satoru...

ATTENTION!!!!!! ATTENTION!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 🗣🗣🗣🗣

going skinny dipping with best friend!gojo.

it's a warm sunny day and satoru has dragged you outside. he heard about a new hidden hiking trail and he obviously wanted to check it out with you.

so, that's how you find yourself on a beautiful-beautiful forest trail. the birds are singing their little love songs above your heads as you let satoru lead you through the woods. sweat dribbles from your temples and your feet are beginning to hurt but you're not complaining.

you can't. you can't complain when satoru turns around and shows you his bashful smile, letting his dimples shine freely. his cheeks are completely flushed and his hair is starting to stick to his forehead and he just looks so fucking good.

"you gotta keep up with me! c'mon-c'mon!"

you roll your eyes at his words. "i am literally on your ass, satoru."

"ohhh, sexy!" he winks at you and laughs when you flip him off. you follow him up the little hill and you're met with gorgeous scenery. the sun is still high in the pretty blue sky with no clouds anywhere in sight and the trees paint almost a perfect circle around the shore of a lake.

"satoru! you didn't tell me we could go swimming!" you scream at him and he hears the pout in your voice.

your eyes are glued to the sight before you, making you miss the way satoru stares at you. "i didn't know! i didn't know! i didn't know!"

"wait..." you face him with a quirked brow. "what do you mean 'you didn't know'? you didn't properly look up the trail beforehand?"

he's quiet as his expression tells you everything you need to know and he earns a slap against his chest.

"what is wrong with you?! what if we got lost?!"

"it's just one trail? one road? how would we get lost?" he questions, surpressing his laughter at your fake-angry tone.

you just shake your head at him. "i hate you."

he sends you an air kiss back and you thank the sun for successfully hiding the growing tint on your cheeks. dick. you brush by him and start making your way to the wooden dock that floats in the water. satoru watches how you skip down with a smile on your lips and his heart is doing flips in his chest. he watches you drop to your knees and reach your hand in the water before turning to him with an even bigger grin.

"it's so warm!"

"yeah?"

you nod excitedly and immediately start stripping your bag and your clothes, leaving satoru staring at you like a dumb fish out of the water. "what... are you doing?"

"going swimming, duh." you rip off your shoes and your pants, only leaving you in your shirt and socks.

"but..."

you stare at him with a big grin, the corners of your eyes crinkling in the hot sun. "what? you scared?"

"wha— i'm not scared." satoru stammers back, fiddling with his fingers, clearly a little flustered. he's silly.

"get naked then."

"i—"

"or don't. i'm not pressuring you, but i am going in." you take off the socks and the shirt and satoru glues his eyes at the lake behind you. unable to hold back your laugh, you tease your best friend. "yeah, if a little skin gets too scary for you, just look at the water."

the tips of his ears grow red and he drops his bag in defeat. "i am not scared of you or your body, alright?"

"look at me then."

satoru gojo - the man with thee biggest staring problem in the world cannot hold eye contact for the life of him right now. and your cheeks hurt from smiling.

his best friend is standing a few feet from him, only clad in their underwear and well... how is he supposed to keep eye contact? it's not like he likes you or anything. it's not that at all.

"do you like me or something, satoru?"

it's not that at all.

you laugh behind your hand and watch the heat bloom on his face.

"you don't have to come in, it's okay. i'll make it quick, yeah?"

taking a step closer, satoru's breath hitches. you raise your hand to swipe over his face, closing his eyes with a giggle and he wraps his fingers around your wrist with a pout. "i wanna come too."

"yeah? you wanna come too?"

"see, sometimes i think you're just so much worse than me." satoru tugs on your hand when you try to run away, keeping you close to him. the flush on his cheeks seems to be permanent but the corners of his lips are starting to curl upwards again. "you're so much worse actually."

"oh, nooo... i'm soo terrifyingly funny.... nooo....."

the sun has nothing on your bright big smile as you blink up at him.

"are you gonna join me then?"

he nods.

his grin widens when you finally yank your hand from his grasp and take a few steps back toward the edge of the dock. "well, c'mon– get naked, stupid."

he starts by peeling off his own shirt. "you're stupid."

"i'm faster though!" without giving him another second to catch up, you pull of your underwear and jump into the lake. submerged under the refreshing water, your heart beats louder than ever, giddy from sharing this moment with satoru. you poke your head back out and push the water from your eyes with a smile that reaches back behind your ears and are met with a stumbling satoru trying to take off his socks.

"hey, you had a head start!" he's jumping from one leg to another and he looks so cute. "dick!"

laughter echoes over the lake and through the woods, a sound resembling the lovesongs of the little birds that live there. he removes his boxers and then he's already cannonballing into the water right next to you.

his soaked head of hear pops up and he's pulling in big breaths of air, making you choke on your own giggles.

"OH FUCK! THAT'S NOT WARM AT ALL." he splashes you, reveling in the smile lines that rest on your skin. "i think i lost a couple of inches."

his joke makes you actually cough and his head falls back toward the sun, eyes closed, as he bellows out a laugh.

"oh no, poor little satoru..." his head whips towards you and you take the moment to splash him back.

"what did you just call me?!"

you let out a loud shriek when he suddenly starts swimming to you and you decide to dive in order to escape his wrath. it just feels so good. the water washes off the built up sweat from the hike and gives you life.

coming up for air, you have a second to look for satoru before he's bursting out from under the water, shaking his head and hair at you like a dog.

"you're dumb."

"you're an idiot."

silence.

satoru counts the freckles on your face and you count the stars in his eyes.

"aren't you glad i dragged you here, hm?" he wiggles his brows at you, expecting another splash that never comes.

a soft little mhmm is what he gets instead. full of fondness and admiration; the scenery, the sun, the water, the boy before you —

you are glad he dragged you here.

+ thank u nonnie for this cute little idea<33333

[shaisuki]

my blog is clearly for chubby/fat/plus size readers. just don't request for a skinny reader. please. the whole x reader community is almost catered for that category without being explicitly stated.

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Take a Chance of Me (Skinny!Steve Rogers)

Summary: Steve visits the Metropolitan Museum of Art on 5th Ave. in NYC and meets you there. Skinny!Steve AU

WC: 550

Warnings: preserum steve, fluff

A/N: i'm locating all of old fics on here. i'm located a TON of them already. *Most* of them are already on ao3 or you to enjoy.

Read on Ao3!

-

Being as he was, Steve always felt out of place. He never held a girl’s attention like his best friend, Bucky. He never had a first kiss, a first date, nothing. He was always stuck at home with his mother to care for him. Of course, Bucky was always hanging about or dragging him places– which Steve never minded. He held Bucky to high standards because, for once, Steve had someone to hang with, someone who didn’t treat him like he was so fragile. Someone who saw Steve for who he was.

Steve had met Bucky a few years ago. He was maybe thirteen or fourteen. Who really remembered? He was fighting a bully in an alleyway next to an ice cream shop. Well, the bully was fighting, and Steve was groaning and hacking up a lung, trying to defend the poor cat that the bully had been torturing.

Bucky had heard the grunts and trash cans being knocked over and of course, he was drawn to the noise. He’d watched for only a second before he had sighed and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, preparing to lay one on this bigger guy. Bucky had taken a few steps into the alley and clocked his fist right into the man’s skull, causing him to stumble forward and lose his balance. “Come on, punk.” He called, beckoning over to the little blonde man, who had a bloody and what looked to be a broken nose. He’d taken the shorter man back to his home, where Bucky’s mother had helped him heal. Steve stayed at Bucky’s house every day after school for the rest of the month.

So now, it was years later. Bucky had gone off to fight in a war America had no business fighting in. Steve had walked around, finally making a stop at the  Metropolitan Museum of Art, where he studied the paintings and sculptures to pass the time. He thought about everything in his mind. He thought about how he’d wanted to become a professional painter. He thought about his friendship with Bucky. He thought about his mother and how grateful he was that she was with him.

Steve thought about many things as he strolled through the rooms, looking at everything around him. He’d been so busy looking he hadn’t noticed you were just as preoccupied looking as well. He’d bumped into you, knocking you both onto the ground.

You let out a surprised cry as your butt had collided with the marble flooring, knocking the brochure out of your hand.

“I’m-I’m sorry,” Steve mumbled as he scurried to his feet and helped you to your own.

“It’s okay!” you nearly giggle at the redness on his face.

“Are you hurt?” he asked you, voice timid and unsure.

You shook your head, grinning at the small, handsome blond man. “No, of course not. It was hardly a fall.”

He nodded, running a hand through his short locks of hair. “Um-”

You only shrugged before gently intertwining your arms together, making Steve stutter even more. “Would you like to take a tour with me?”

“Yes.” He blinked, not knowing what else to say, thinking about how proud Bucky would be of him had he been standing next to him. “Of course, I would.”

“Great!”

--

Please give this a reblog if you enjoyed <3

[chaoticbardlady99]

Nobody's Fool (Astarion x GN! Reader) Part 1

Synopsis: You approach Astarion at the Tiefling party and get rejected. Everyone else and Astarion knows he made a mistake, but you certainly don't.

Author Note: I LOVE Shadowheart- okay. Love her, but she is also my favorite hot girl rival in my fiction. No idea why. I just also love the idea of her being best friends with a Selunite by the end of her journey (or ship her hardcore with an Oathbreaker Paladin)

CW: Sad boi rejection hours, mentions of sex, mentions of Dead Dove.

Based off of a post by @golden-baby

(I also listened to Avril Lavigne’s Nobody’s Fool while writing this and it’s very good if you haven’t heard it)

(IDK Who this gif belongs too, but it is not mine)

You have always been the first person to throw yourself into a situation and help others- it was what had drawn you to being a Cleric of Selune in the first place. 

 You miss being a young cleric studying the life domain under the stars and the bright moon. You miss not feeling so terrified. 

 All this tadpole has brought you is anxiety and fear, you have a feeling it will be okay. You are here for a reason and you trust that Selune needs you to trust her. 

 Meeting Shadowheart had certainly confirmed that- she obviously was plummeting down the wrong path, but she has also flipped this thinking on you a few times. Only, you cannot understand following a Goddess as cruel as Shar. She has obviously brought serious damage to Shadowheart’s life and you are determined to support her- whether she gets away from Shar’s doctrine now or fifty years from now, you will be here to help her when the time comes.

 In spite of your differences, you actually go to the same spot and pray together- farther away from each other, but the sentiment is still there. Occasionally you drink together after a particularly weird or bad day. You find you both can talk about your religious beliefs and you are open to hers which in turn has begun to show her how to be open to your religious doctrine. It’s nice to have someone to talk about the bigger powers at play- even if that person opposes your Goddess so viciously. You don’t really care- you know followers of Shar are hurt people hurting people. They need love just as much as the next person. 

 Lae’zel has been a tougher nut to crack, but you have provided sympathy where you can and support her. You promised her that you would all head to the mountains and search for the Creché. If the cure is there- she will get it. That has made Lae’zel feel better a few times.

 Karlach just wants a good life and to talk about the joys of Life, Gale wants someone to talk to about magic and help finding magic items, and Wyll just wants to feel accepted and like he is still the mighty Blade of Frontiers.

 Then there is Astarion.

 You have been head over heels for the man since he knocked you to the ground and questioned you. You could probably stare at him forever if it wasn’t so Gods damn creepy. 

 You practically bend over backwards to help him- far more than you do for others, anyhow. He seems to like you and you have definitely thought about asking him to go on a date with you at some point. 

 But then you think about how not romantic having a tadpole in your head is and nix the idea. 

  You listen to him whenever he speaks to you, any books you find usually end up going to him. Gale is still pretty upset about the Necromancy of Thay. 

 Any new short swords, daggers, arrows, bows, crossbows, armor, potions, etc- you name it, you probably already gave it to him. You often think you may be far too obvious with your affections, but it’s the only thing you know kind of appeases him.

 Every decision you make he despises and makes a point of mocking you for. Karlach is often telling him to knock it off, but that usually just makes it worse so you just laugh it off even though it hurts. You just remind yourself that he lived as a slave for the last 200 years and you are the first to admit that your Goddess failed to save him. You don’t know why, but it is what it is. Maybe one day he will see that not all people are his ruthless master. 

You also let him drink from you every three or so days. If he is injured in battle- you are first to offer him another drink. 

 Astarion calls you, “Darling '' from time to time and you thought that might be something, but you also heard him call Karlach and Shadowheart that too. 

 You feel so conflicted when you go to bed- he seeks out Shadowheart and never you at bedtime. He spends all night talking to her about Gods only knows what. You are certain some of it is mocking you, but you try to remain optimistic. He wouldn’t do that- you have been nothing but kind to him. What could he even say?

 Tonight is the first night that he is by himself and not talking to Shadowheart. You can do it- just go up and ask him if he would like to take a walk with you. No big deal. 

 “Hi Astarion,” you say softly, “are you having fun?”

“No- no thanks to you, by the way.”

 Your smile falters slightly, but you rebound. 

“I’m sorry- I wasn’t trying to ruin your night.”

 Astarion rolls his eyes and flashes a smile that makes your breath catch. 

 “I suppose it couldn’t be helped, Darling,” he says with a dismissive wave, “you and all your do gooder nonsense was bound to get us here eventually.”

 You smile brightly- happy with the positive step forward. 

“How rude of me- I forgot to ask- how can I help you this evening?” 

  This is the big moment- you can do it! 

“I was-“ you clear your throat, take a deep breath and avoid his eyes, “I was wondering if you would want to go on a walk with me on the beach later?” 

 Astarion blinks a few times and you think you see the hint of a smile- it makes you feel slightly optimistic. 

 Until it turns into a snort and a laugh he can’t hold back.

“You are so naive,” your heart drops, “whatever gave you the impression that I would want to ‘go on a walk’ with you?” 

 You frown, a lump in your throat is beginning to form and you feel so embarrassed that you wouldn’t even know where to begin to explain yourself.

“I- you’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I am glad we could clear that up.”

“Me too,” you say with a forced smile, “good night.”

“You don’t have to-“

 You walk away- all the horror and heartbreak simply being far far too much to bear. How could you be so positively stupid? 

 Your mother always chastised you for this kind of thing- you give and give and give, hoping it will make people love you, but it never works. They will take everything from you and then some because they can. 

 You sit on an alcove overlooking the camp- far enough away that you hopefully won’t be spotted by anyone. You wish you hadn’t- you just barely catch a glimpse of Astarion dragging the all alluring and elusive Shadowheart away into the forest. 

 You are diminished to tears- your heart feels like it has splinters all over it and your stomach feels like it may twist before collapsing in on itself. 

 You are about to give up and leave, but the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention. 

“It’s just me,” Wyll says with his hands up, a friendly smile on his face, “you seemed like you may need a friend.”

 You laugh and wipe your tears away, “and here I thought I was hiding it so well.”

 “You do, my friend,” Wyll says before putting a hand on your shoulder, “what troubles you?” 

 “You are going to think I’m stupid.”

 Wyll laughs lightheartedly, “I have seen and done my fair share of ‘stupid’.” 

 You inhale deeply and tell Wyll your story- from start to finish. You are a crying mess by the end of it- so much so that Wyll actually maneuvered you and began cradling you in his arms. 

 His heartbeat helps steady you- the connection to nature and the ground is helpful. It makes it all feel a bit better- you suppose.

 You eventually sit back down next to Wyll- your face is blotchy and red, tear stained and puffy. 

“I have noticed that you give Astarion all of you,” Wyll says with a frown, “spirit, body, heart, and mind.

“Maybe it is time to stop- set some boundaries for yourself. I am sorry that you did not get the answer you wanted, but at least now you know and that is a blessing. You can now look for someone who truly wants you and gives equally as much as they take.” 

 You nod. You had hoped to hear more of a, “he will come around” message, but you know this is the better, healthier message. You despise it, but it’s true.

 You and Wyll spend time talking about other things. You tell him how you hope to open your own clinic one day and help people who cannot afford it. Wyll tells you about the Sword Coast, his failings, and his own trauma. 

 He teaches you different constellations, the different flora in the area, and what the fishing season was like when the town was functioning and Wakeen’s rest was up and running. It sounds like it was a beautiful place to live before all of this nonsense erupted.

 It’s fun and Wyll makes you feel seen and appreciated. He still isn’t Astarion, but you know it will take some time before you can look at someone else and that’s okay.

 Wyll walks you back to camp and you don’t bother to look over at Astarion’s tent nor do you go that way like you usually would. You noticed he was back and so was Shadowheart. Both of their clothes were ruffled- it’s been at least two hours so you can only imagine.

  “Good night, Tav,” Wyll kisses you on the back of the hand before engulfing you in a large hug that you gladly accept, “sleep well- tomorrow will be better.”

 You go to your bedroll and begin to open your healing magics book when a knock on your tent post gets your attention. Maybe it’s Wyll. He did say he enjoyed talking to you, maybe he wants to spend the night? That doesn’t seem overly realistic though- he is a perfect gentleman.

“Come in,” you say, still not looking up, “what’s up?” 

“I was hoping I may be able to get a small snack?”

 Oh. It’s Astarion.

 You just fed him earlier today before the party. Usually you would say yes, but Wyll is right- you can’t keep giving him everything and leaving nothing for yourself. 

“I- I am really sorry,” he frowns and his ears even droop, “I am just really tired and I don’t-“

“No worries, Tav.” He says with a forced smile on his face, “have a good evening.”

  You are shaking after he leaves the tent. You cannot believe you just did that. You set a whole boundary. 

 No he did not call you by a pet name nor did he flirt with you. Yes he frowned and it made your heart hurt, but you need to start putting yourself first. 

  You still cry yourself to sleep and you wake up early enough to wash your face with cold water- any evidence of your heartbreak is completely gone. 

     ***********************************************

 You have managed to really avoid Astarion for the last four, almost five days. You let him feed because you don’t want him to starve to death, but you found out that casting “calm” on yourself beforehand keeps your adrenaline from kicking up so you no longer react to him.

 You cry afterwards, obviously, but he doesn’t need to know that. He is right- he never did anything to make you believe he liked you and it was very naive of you to assume he did. However, you do commend yourself for your courage to try and you even walked away with your dignity. 

 At the end of the day, you are proud of yourself and you love yourself more than anything. You will continue your mission and continue to help people because you enjoy helping people. Right now, this group of weirdos needs you and you need you so that you all make it out of this nonsense alive.

 That is more than enough to keep someone busy.

 First there was a Hag to fight, then you unfortunately had to kill a monster hunter (you didn’t talk to Astarion about it afterwards, that is Shadowheart’s job), and fought a bunch of spiders off- which also brought up the Necromancy of Thay argument again. That was exhausting. 

 Astarion opened the door on a Bugbear and Ogre bumping uglies, you also had to really put your foot down so that he wouldn’t send a dark Gnome flying. He was quite frustrated with you, but he understood your reasoning enough to not do it. 

 Then there were the Gnolls and Astarion had opened the chest which caused the Zhentarim guild to attack and try to make you all explode. Thankfully you were able to save that weird artist, but no one from the guild survived. 10/10 supplies though. 

 There are things to be done and places to see. Exploring the Underdark first made the most sense. It upset Lae’zel, but she said she trusts your judgment which warms your heart. 

 It is certainly not a quick or easy journey to get to the entrance inside the abandoned temple of your Goddess. You can hear Shadowheart saying snarky things- Astarion snorts here and there, but doesn’t actually chime in for once. 

 At least you get some relief from that for a day. You wrap your hand around your Moondrop pendant and you already feel the love of Selune flow through you. You kept the statue as well and you keep it next to you- last night you actually slept with it in your hand. 

 You had grown up exceptionally poor and your parents died from some disease in the mines where you were all imprisoned. The mine was eventually raided by Selune clerics and paladins- you immediately knew that is what you wanted to be. Selune had saved you right before you were being shipped to another location and you lived with her clergy ever since.

 You were grateful you had a potion of flying as well as the support of the others to keep the moonstone. Even Astarion expressed his approval when Shadowheart became upset. You waited until it killed the Minotaur, of course. The splash of blood that hit the group wasn’t necessarily welcome, but oh well.

  And at least you don’t have a ridiculous name.

 You snicker to yourself as you walk- earning an odd look from Gale who is covered in Minotaur blood. You urge him to keep talking about whatever book he finished last night and he gladly dives back into the subject. 

 Finding a decent spot to camp was actually pretty easy. The camp is beautiful and your tent is set up next to Karlach’s. She convinces you to make a massive tent fort and Fort Tavlach is born. 

 You pass a bottle of wine back and forth as you talk. Karlach is letting you hug Clive as you talk about the tiefling party and the aftermath of everything.

“Is that why those two are sitting next to each other so miserably?” 

You cock your head to the side, “what do you mean?”

“What I mean is they look miserable and haven’t stopped fighting for the last three days,” Karlach states with a raised eyebrow, “have you really not been paying attention?”

 You shake your head. Karlach gapes at you, chugging a bit of the wine before passing it back.

“Well- I have been waiting to tell you all day, but Shadowheart finally told me what they were fighting about.”

 “Oh, Karlach, I really should-“

“Two nights ago, they tried to be intimate again and he said your name during the act itself.”

 You simultaneously choke on and spit out your wine- some of it comes out of your nose. You can’t stop coughing and Karlach is dying laughing- she is crying she is laughing so hard. You are crossing your arms and uncrossing them in front of your face- a look of bewilderment as you process what just happened.

“mE!?”

 This just makes Karlach laugh even harder, she goes running straight for behind a rock- screaming that she is going to pee herself.

 The entire camp is looking over in curiosity and you just wave awkwardly. You catch Astarion’s gaze from the corner of your eye and he looks sad- maybe even a little angry.

 He storms off to his tent and Shadowheart rolls her eyes, glaring at you before going off to her own tent. 

 Karlach eventually comes back and you both continue your drunken gossip.

“That- that can’t possibly be true,” you say, “I asked him on a date and he told me I was naive to think he would ever want to be with me that way.”

“What!?” Karlach looks like she may light the entire camp on fire, “why didn’t you say something! We could have-“

“No,” you chastise, “he is right. It was naive of me to assume- my hurt is no one else’s fault. I also chose to give him everything I had. 

“He doesn’t owe me, I wanted to do those things,” you affirm, Karlach is smiling softly, “I still adore him, of course, but this is for the best, you know? Wyll says it means I can set my sights elsewhere now that I know Astarion isn’t into me.” 

“That is very big of you. Look at you in your big kid pants.”

You roll your eyes and give her a playful shove.

“He has been hurt and used enough for a dozen lifetimes- I don’t want to contribute to that hurt.” 

“You are a good person, Soldier,” Karlach hands you the bottle of wine, “you know- Halsin would be an amazing lover. I am sure of it.”

 “You think?”

“Oh ho- let me tell you what I think, Soldier-“

 Karlach goes into her wild theories and you try so hard to listen intently, but your drunken mind is stuck on Astarion and wondering if he is okay.