#so sweet your teeth will rot

[littlejuicebox]

The wish spell worked.

Pairing: Astarion x F!Reader/Tav

Summary/Setting: 10 years post BG3. Follows my HC for spawn Astarion arc. See my other fics for more information, but otherwise the title speaks for itself. :)

Rating/Warnings: PG / allusions to sexual behaviors / fluff / in-game spoilers / lightest bit of angst if you squint but not really / this is self-indulgent af and idc / so sweet it will rot your teeth

Word Count: 2.2 K

A/N: HAPPY 400 FOLLOWERS POST! Thank you to everyone who likes my stories and provides encouragement. I love you all! I originally wanted to post this as a New Years Eve/Day special, but I couldn't get it quite right by then. After several reiterations, this is what we finally have! Hope it was worth the wait and multiple edits for you guys! :)

-----

If anyone had told Astarion Ancunin a decade ago that he would one day hold Gale Dekarios on a pedestal nearly as high as the one on which he held his darling Tav, the immortal elf might have actually died from laughter. The strange irony and wicked life lessons of fate were not lost on the retired rogue. Unbelievably and annoyingly, Astarion eventually found himself indebted to the wizard in a way he could never repay. 

The wish spell worked.

It had taken years for Gale to feel absolutely ready to cast the spell. Astarion waited — exasperated, impatient, and impetuous — for what felt like the longest ten years of his ageless lifetime to be given the gift of mortality. 

More than once, in the pale elf’s tearful fits of frustration, he accused the wizard of intentionally stringing him along or simply not having the skills to perform such a spell and not wanting to admit it. More than once, you had to calmly remind your husband of the great lengths Gale had gone to find information regarding the act and the even greater risk to both the vampire and the wizard if the spell was not cast perfectly and mindfully. 

It had been a long decade, waiting for that impossible possibility, but the wait had been more than worth it.

Just over ten years after you met that silver-haired rake on the beach, Astarion was miraculously returned to his living, breathing, heart beating, mortal elven form. Surprisingly, not much changed about his appearance. Most notably, his eyes turned a gold-flecked green, and his complexion took on a constant soft pink undertone, permanently tinged by the circulation of his own blood by his own heart. That beautiful undertone caused a delightful blush to creep across his cheeks and ears whenever you teased or aroused him, and you took an even more significant liking to both these behaviors, just to watch that gorgeous rosiness creep across his skin. 

And while you dearly loved that blush, your favorite part of the change had certainly been the steady beating of his heart. You would rest your head on your lover’s chest for hours to savor the sound if he let you, wrapped tightly in the new found warmth of his long limbs.

While you became obsessed with Astarion’s steadily thrumming heart, he’d become obsessed with his reflection. As soon as he’d been able to see himself, your husband had taken to having you sit on his lap while you primped and preened. He would stare into the looking glass with you for long lengths of time, his limbs coiled around your waist and chin often resting on your shoulder as he studied the mirror with a besotted, hazy smile on his face. 

After a few weeks of this, you finally asked your silver-haired husband why he seemed positively obsessed with this new behavior. Astarion’s response had floored you.

“Darling, in my over 200 years, I never imagined I would have a love of my own, nor did I ever imagine what we would look like together. I couldn’t have envisioned such a thing even if I thought it a possibility or wanted to. I simply couldn’t envision myself at all. But now seeing it? I want to commit everything to memory exactly as it is… because it’s the most precious vision in the world to me.”

And really how else could you respond to that apart from kissing your sappy, bleeding heart of a husband and allowing him to continue the practice?

Of course, the two of you behaving as innocent love birds hadn’t been the only thing Astarion wanted to see in the mirror. On more than one occasion, he’d easily charmed you into the throes of passion in perfect view of a reflective surface. Your husband’s darker, more carnal half had become obsessed with watching you two in the act and it certainly thrilled you to know he was trying to commit those sensual sights to memory. You were quite happy to oblige. 

As such, you’d soon found yourself carrying the byproduct of one of your many erotic couplings.

“That was a big one.” Astarion murmurs, and you see a smile creeping across the reflection of his face in the mirror as he glances down and runs his long fingers across the swell of your abdomen. His arms are looped around you as you sit front of the vanity mirror, placing the final touches on your appearance. 

You agree with a gentle hum, moving a hand to your pregnant belly and rubbing circles on the stretch of skin, hoping to calm the young life stirring within. You coo softly to the rolling babe as you finish your primping, “Surely you aren’t thinking about breaking out of there yet, my little love. You have a few more months to go.”

Astarion’s now-warm hands cover yours as the little one seems to do somersaults in response to your voice, causing you to wince slightly as they jolt against your ribs. He presses a tender kiss into your shoulder and chuckles, “This one is strong like their mother and impatient like their father… we may be in for a spot of trouble in a few years, my love.”

You laugh in response as you stand with a pitiable amount of effort and quite a bit of assistance from the supportive arm of your husband. “I believe you’re right… but surely we’ve taken on scarier and more difficult things than a stubborn babe.”

Astarion hums in agreement before pressing a kiss to your swollen stomach, which is hovering just in front of him now, “Surely, darling. Now let us all go say hi to Uncle and Auntie Ravengard. I’m positively famished.”

-----

You are almost out of breath as you walk the final steps toward the entry of the Duke’s home. Astarion had practically begged you to take the carriage all the way through Wyll’s estate, but you waved him off, adamant that a bit light exercise would be good for the baby. The walkway was fully paved, how hard could it be?

As it turned out, you’d severely overestimated your abilities. Though it was just under a quarter mile to the front doors of the manor when you’d decided to exit the carriage, you were no longer the young, lithe woman that traversed the wilds with a petulant vampire a decade ago. The weight of your belly slowed you down more than you would admit. Astarion implored you, more than once and with growing concern and exasperation, to return to carriage. You refused each time, forcing the driver to follow behind at a snail’s pace.

“Gods, I hope this child does not take on your stubborn streak. I will be constantly overrun in my own home.” Astarion huffs, dabbing at the few beads of sweat on your brow with a silken handkerchief as he helps you climb the small flight of stairs at the entryway of Wyll’s home. He rolls his eyes as you laugh, breathlessly, and lean into him for support as he presses a kiss at the meeting point between your cheek and ear. “But, my sweet, as much as I would have preferred we stayed in the coach, you know I adore the way you look with your cheeks all flushed after a bit of… exertion.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes at your husband as he traces his hand over your flushed cheek, his expression practically brimming with desire. The flush on the tips of his ears is a telltale sign of his salacious thoughts. If he had it his way, he’d be dragging you into the carriage right there for a quickie. But, he knew you two were nearly running late for dinner with the Duke and forced himself to push all desires aside. For now.

Wyll and his beautiful wife, Euphemia, greet you with a flurry of excitement and hugs. Their two twin toddlers run around in the entryway, a nursemaid trailing behind them.

Wyll wears a kind, soft smile as he addresses the both of you, “Dinner should be just about ready… shall we make our way there? I hope you two don’t mind. We are having work done in the dining room — my beautiful flower insisted upon remodeling — so dinner will have to be served in the Great Hall.”

As the four of you head towards the larger of the two dining areas in the Duke’s estate, Astarion wraps his arm around your waist and runs his hand along the side of your nearly bursting belly once again. There is a subtle pause at the doors of the Great Hall, and your husband’s eyebrows crinkle in a silent question before you gently press a kiss into his cheek and whisper, “Happy Rebirth Day, my love.”

Today marked one year since Gale successfully cast the Wish Spell. 

The oak doors burst open to reveal the faces of everyone you hold dear, all of them shouting, “Surprise!” in unison. Wyll and Euphemia are laughing with delight as the four of you enter the room. Astarion is obviously shocked and overwhelmed as he takes the scene in, but a toothy smile is plastered across his face nonetheless. The elf could not believe that the significance of the date had slipped his mind, nor could he believe that you all went through such great lengths to plan a spectacle on his behalf. 

Everyone showered your husband with a plethora of well-wishes and congratulations. The food was heavenly, and the silver-haired elf dined to his heart’s content. Just as Astarion loved to watch you both in the mirror, you adored seeing him eat and savor real food. You’d pursued cooking as a new hobby in the past few months, just to watch the delight on his face as he tasted any number of delectable things you placed in front of him.

“Have you thought of any names for the baby?” Karlach asks through a mouthful of food as she continues to tear into the lamb shank in front of her.

You smile knowingly. This topic has piqued everyone’s interest and they all turn their gazes in your direction, “Yes, actually… Astarion picked it out. It works well for a boy or a girl, and I think it’s an excellent choice.”

The elf smiles shyly, that subtle flush of his cheeks and ears crawling across his face as you turn your gaze to him and urge him on, “Go on, my love, and tell them the gorgeous name you picked.”

“I… I decided we should name the baby Gale.” Astarion reveals, his hand immediately moving to graze against your swollen stomach as he meets the flabbergasted expression of the wizard sitting across the table with a round-eyed, nervous gaze, “If… that’s okay by you.”

Gale coughs in surprise, nearly choking on the wine he’d just sipped from a goblet. For a moment, you watch as he blinks away tears. You are beginning to truly believe he might leap across the table and tackle your husband in a hug when he rapidly nods instead.

The wizard’s voice cracks with emotion as he speaks, “Y-yes. Thank you, Astarion. That is such an honor.”

Ten years of friendship between two men that once seemed entirely at odds with one another, honored by a namesake given to a precious babe. Fate was a truly remarkable thing.

“It’s an honor you are quite deserving of, Gale.” You respond, reaching your hand across the table to give the wizard���s hand an affectionate squeeze. “May our child have just as much heart, wit, and skill as their namesake. We will be truly blessed.”

A cake with candles is brought about at the end of the meal and placed in front of Astarion as everyone sings an off-key birthday tune. While your husband always seemed to thrive on being held at the center of attention, you noticed with a bit of amusement that his ears and cheeks were flushed pink as everyone focused their eyes upon him. 

While the others continue to sing, you lean closer to your husband and whisper, “I know we will never surpass the wish you made last time, my Star. But go on and make one anyway.”

Astarion’s gaze roams around the room, taking in all the friends he collected this past decade. Then he turns to you and grins, pausing to etch every bit of this moment into his memory before closing his eyes and blowing the candles out to a cacophony of inebriated cheers and whoops.

The elf wished for the only thing he could: a healthy child and a long life with his little love. Fate had already gifted him with more than he could have imagined for himself back in those dark, dank dungeons he once called home. Astarion found himself in want of nothing but the health and happiness of the woman beside him and the safety of their offspring. 

Though he knew it was another selfish ask, and he’d been blessed far more than he had ever expected, Astarion prayed to the gods that he once never thought would answer to grant him this last wish. And just in case they did not hear him the first time, he would be sure to make the same wish every year, until his very last. 

[alittlebrownbat]

if you are not reading Let’s Play Pretend by MsAlexWP, please I beg you why not

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

stan: why does everyone always ask for hugs from me? are my hugs better than everyone else’s for some reason??

mabel: they’re comfy and warm and the way you do it, i can tell you really love me!

stan: …no one else’s hugs do that? 🥺

dipper: i’ve gotta agree with her on this one, no one else’s hugs come anywhere near close to yours

stan: …ford?

ford: …if i tell you why i seek you out for hugs specifically, the kids will never let me live it down

stan: kids, get outta here

mabel: aye aye, captain! we’ll be eavesdropping from upstairs :]

stan: …yeah, i really don’t think there’s any way you’re getting out of that one, six. anyway, why do you like my hugs more than anyone else’s?

ford: you’re going to think it’s stupid

stan: mm, i don’t think so

ford: well, one, it’s to steal your body heat

stan: of course

ford: two, it’s…well. it just feels like everything drops, you know? all the paranoia and anxiety and overthinking and heaviness of it all, it just goes away for a moment. i get to just feel like…me. no interruptions, no distractions, just living, enjoying the present. no one else has ever been able to do that for me. your hugs make me feel like i don’t have to be on guard or afraid, for just that little bit

stan: …

ford: …did…did i say something wrong?

stan: you can’t just hit me with something silly and follow it up with the kindest thing anyone has ever fucking told me, holy shit

ford: are you crying-

stan: it’s a really dusty room, ford!

ford: soos cleans it regularly, i thought?

stan: …it’s fire season, lots of fires, smoke…smoke everywhere. yep

ford: mm. the smoke. that is definitely there. okay, i’ll take your word for it

stan: wh- really? you’re not gonna press at all?

ford: i like being able to just enjoy the moment with you

stan: hey, stop! you’re making the smoke worse!

ford: heheh >:]

[jessiesjaded]

I really, really wish people who don't have the capacity to properly take care of animals would simply accept and acknowledge that about themselves. This isn't even a post of me trying to be mean or judge anyone, I'm sure most people go into getting an animal with good intentions, but intentions and actions are different. If you don't have the time and the space and the care an animal needs, the animal will suffer. The fleeting joy of having a kitten or puppy or anything else doesn't last forever and they aren't toys to be put down and forgotten once you've moved past the inital excitement. If you don't have the ability to properly care for an animal, just accept that and simply admire them from a distance.

[baronessblixen]

Fictober Day 5: A New Beginning

Prompt: "It's a new day, let's go"

After their New Year's kiss, Mulder is ready to start the new day and their new life. Scully on the other hand? Would like some sleep. Rating: T, wc: 1,030

Tagging @today-in-fic @xfficchallenges

“It’s a new day,” Mulder’s voice echoes from somewhere close, “let’s go.” All Scully can do is groan; it’s entirely too early for words. The sun, she thinks, is still hiding, too. And that’s exactly what she’s planning on doing, too. Five more minutes is all she needs.

“You said that five minutes ago.” Minty puffs of air hit her cheek and she’s reminded of her dog Queequeg, though his breath never smelled this good.

“Didn’t,” she says into the pillow, her eyes still firmly closed. If she doesn’t open them, she can pretend she’s still sleeping. This is nothing more than a dream. After all, Mulder stars in most of them. The number of times she’s woken up after dreaming about Mulder and his mouth is outrageous.

“You did.” In her dreams, though, his mouth is usually otherwise occupied. They don’t talk much then. Or at least he doesn’t. She sighs, smiling as she remembers a particularly nice one from a few nights ago when she was missing him at Christmas.

“I heard that.” His voice is warm and so very close. She leans in, craving his closeness, figuring that after last night, she is allowed to indulge. They did, after all, sleep together for the first time. Sleep was all they did, however. Doctor’s orders. Mulder’s arm needs to heal until he’s allowed more strenuous activities. He pouted and she has to admit she almost gave in, but she knows how he gets, and she doesn’t want to risk it. Selfishly, she wants their first time to be when Mulder is capable of using both his arms.

“Mulder, the new day just started,” she mumbles into her pillow.

“Not just a day new day, Scully. A whole new year and anyway, I’m awake.”

“Why? We went to bed late.” It was long after midnight when they finally got here. Helping Mulder with his sling, stealing a few kisses here and there, didn’t help. Neither did Mulder’s stomach grumble so loudly that they shared a plate of scrambled eggs at 2 a.m. before Scully took his hand and led him into her bedroom.

It had been dark, but Mulder’s expression, even with painkillers running through his system, was solemn. This was a big step for them. He had made the first one when he kissed her in public at midnight. She was making the next one. The final one, she figured, they’d take together. Once Mulder was fully healed and not a second sooner (but also not a second later).

“I know you’re not a morning person,” he says softly, and all her exasperation just vanishes. This is the man she’s been in love with for longer than she cares to admit. She cracks open an eye and he might be a bit blurry, but there he is next to her with a big, toothy smile and spiky hair. His happiness is contagious.

“I started making coffee,” he says, pressing the softest kiss on the corner of her mouth.

“Mulder, morning breath,” she complains.

“I brushed my teeth.”

“But I didn’t.”

“I don’t care, Scully. You’re delicious either way.” She laughs at this, feeling freer than she has in a long time. Her laughter dies down, but a soft smile remains on her face, mirroring Mulder’s. Who, quite frankly, looks drugged.

“Have you taken your painkillers yet?” she asks him, her hand on his arm, gently stroking it. He shakes his head.

“Wanted to see you wake up.” He smiles sheepishly at her, making her want to kiss him again and again.

“In how much pain are you?”

“Right now? None. I’m looking at you.” Any other time, she might have rolled her eyes or call him crazy, but he’s so serious, so earnest.

“You still need to take them, though, all right?” He nods at her.

“Doing everything you say, Dr. Scully.”

“Since when?”

“Since last night.” Another toothy grin and she finds she can’t get enough of them. She can’t get enough of Mulder. Being woken up like this – even if it’s too early, even if she does not want to get up just yet – is preferable to him calling her in the middle of the night, saying she needs to get ready for a case in the middle of nowhere.

“Is that your New Year’s resolution?” she asks, scooting even closer to him. Soon, she’ll be lying on top of him. Somehow she thinks he wouldn’t even mind. His shoulder, however, might.

“I want that shoulder to heal as quickly as possible. I have plans.”

“Do you?” He nods, not taking his eyes off of her. He leans closer and captures her lips in a short, but thorough kiss.

“Morning breath, Mulder,” Scully repeated, winded. “Again, I don’t care. I couldn’t wait to wake up and kiss you again. Well, I couldn’t wait for you to wake up. You took your sweet time.”

“Some of us need more than four hours a night.”

“So, breakfast is out of the question? Last night you’d say we should go visit your mom today.” ‘We’. That simple word warms her heart. And he had listened to her.

“We should,” she says softly. “She’s going to be happy, seeing you.”

“Even with this?” He points at his arm still in its sling. “And this?” He gently touches the abrasions on her throat that she’d forgotten about.

“That’s what turtlenecks are for.”

“Happy to know you own turtlenecks.” He waggles his eyebrows at her.

“We don’t have time to discuss possible uses of turtlenecks if you’re serious about getting breakfast and visiting my mom.”

“We could save time showering together?”

“No shower for you today.”

“Do you think your mom will still accept me when I stink?”

“She loves you,” Scully says, stretching. Mulder’s eyes follow her every movement, hoping to catch a glimpse of naked skin. “Let’s get you your painkillers and then we’ll see what happens today, okay?”

“Can I get a kiss with my painkillers?” Scully bites her lip to stop another smile.

“If you let me brush my teeth first.”

He lets her; it's not just a new day, she realizes, but a whole new beginning.

[sudsyv2]

Soap who learns just how touch starved Ghost is and then ghost also learning just how willing soap is to let ghost glomp him.

Even if ghost was a fucking brick wall of a man, soap would always have his arms open wide to hold the other. Ghost would wrap strong arms around soap waist and hum in pleasure as he feels soap ease his fingers through ghosts hair.

It was gentle and sickeningly sweet.

Like a mama holding her child, close and filled with love. Something ghost never experienced. Someone being so gentle with him. Ghost was more of a machine than a man. Throwing away things like feelings was what ghost was trained to do. He wasn’t supposed to feel sad, to feel happy, to feel anything.

Oh but how Simon wished he could.

For his whole life Simon was a bird stuck in its cage, tied down to its perch. Wings clipped. And feathers turned a dull white. The color long gone from them.

He was brought up as a pawn. One that fell under hands that couldn’t care less about where they moved him across the board that is the battlefield. Just another insignificant piece on the board.

But Johnny saw through that. And did more for Simon than he thought he deserved.

He saw through the walls that ghost had built up, over years and years. And then Johnny tore through them.

Tore through them and saw Simon.

A shriveled mess, so lonely and so scared. Johnny saw a dim light in Simons eyes. Light that wasn’t just refracted from the glint of ghosts blade. It was human. Something ghost had desperately trained out of his own body.

The human, Simon, was shy at first. Barely peeking his head out. Soap was used to ghost.

But Johnny could most definitely get used to Simon.

Simon was demure. The opposite of ghost. He was still silent though. But it wasn’t from the instincts of a trained killer, it was from the instincts of someone who’s been beat down so much that they can’t help but curl in on themselves.

But just like soap brought ghost out his spot in the corner of the room, Johnny brought Simon out of ghosts shadow.

Simon could remember all the times soap switched to Johnny. That loud and playful energy switched to calm and tender. All to meet with Simon. The one ghost had kept hidden for years.

Johnny was slow and patient with Simon. Gentle coaxing and soft chats. Soon Simon began to speak. Walking out from behind ghosts shadow to meet with johnnys kind eyes.

It wasn’t just ghost and soap, a connection through their personas, but now it was Simon and Johnny. They mixed together just as well as ghost and soap did, if not better.

Ghost would turn to Simon when his social battery ran out. Softly pulling of soaps shirt to lead the man to ghosts room. Where they’d spend hours laying together. Simon and Johnny.

Simon held onto Johnny like the man was his salvation.

And for what simons been through? Johnny might as well been god in a human form.

[isleepinjeanss]

little things you've noticed about dating kenma.

[ things you’ve noticed about kenma while dating him ] you’ve been dating kenma for a few months, and you’ve begun to notice 5 things that he does.

his hands

the way he always finds a way to hold your hands. you could be doing something and just feel something warm and bigger envelope your hand, letting out a hum. “kenma..” you start, closing the gap between you two.

he lets out a hum, his yellow eyes staring at you with such intensity that you began to feel warm. "um - do.. do you wanna go to the mall after you're done with whatever you're doing?" you said, smiling up at to him, feeling him drop his head on your neck, rubbing his cheeks against you, opting out a soft airy laugh out of you. "we can go now."

you blink at his words, "huh? don't you have things to do now?" you furrowed your brows. you didn't want to be a bother if he has things to do.

"i'll do them later, [name]." he said, straightening himself to his full height, tightening his grip on your hand, "let's go." he began to drag you out of the house, and you owlishly stare at him before smiling and walking beside him.

"okay!"

2. his hair

the way kenma parts his hair whenever it's becoming bothersome or when he puts it in a messy low bun or ponytail (which you gush about).

your hands gravitate to kenmas' mop of hair, letting out a sigh. "your hair is so soft, kens." you say, playing with the strands of his hair. he lets out a hum, laying back to you to get more comfortable.

"cause i take care of it." he simply said, a teasing tint to it if you squint just hard enough. you let out an offended gasp, "what are you tryin' to say?! i take very good care of my hair, thank you very much." you huff out, pursing your lips.

"do you now?" kenma looks up to you, eyes half lidded as he smiles to which you playfully slap his shoulders.

"you know i do!"

3. his eyes

the way his eyes always seem to relax whenever kenma sees you. it's quite cute! you always find a way to squish his cheeks just to see his cat like eyes stare up at you in admiration. which you look away in a flustered manner, furrowing your brows. "..you can stop looking at me."

kenma titled his head against your hold, "hm..? why not?" he mused, eyes drooping in awe and admiration. you flush at his teasing, huffing out as you let go of his cheeks. "it's makin' me not focus!" you quickly say, voice rising.

"you can do both, can't you?" he teases, a small cat like smile adorning his lips. his hands grabbing yours to lead them to his cheeks.

you flusteredly stutter out, frowning at his words. “so annoying..” you muttered out.

“but you love me..” he mused, squeezing your hands against his.

4. his lips

the way his lips always seem to find your cheek, lips or anything to place a lovin’ kiss onto. you could be parting your hair, braiding it into twists as you felt something warm and soft on the back of your neck. “kens..” you start out slow, pursing your lips as you paused on what you’re doing. “don’t do that, your lips will be covered in castor oil, babes.” you huff out playfully, feeling him sit on the couch as you were in front of him.

“it’s fine,” kenma says, feeling his cat like eyes on your head. “do you want me to help you finish your hair?” he asks, already getting a loose strand of your hair to twist.

“yeah, that’ll be appreciated.”

5. his nose

the way he always noticed if you used something different on your hair or used a different perfume. you could be trying out a new smell and this mf will appear outta nowhere n be like “u smell nice, are u tryin’ smth new?” while being like 🧍‍♂️… it has been giving you mini heart attacks.

you sprayed some new perfume you bought for the summer, humming as the fruity fragrance floated around and remember the time softly played in your room.

“oh that’s a new smell, are you trying something out?”

and you let out a shriek, turning around to face the cause of your fright. then low and below, your loving boyfriend staring and standing at you in front of your bedroom. “jesus kenma! you can’t just do that!” you huff out, closin the perfume bottle to put it on top of your drawer, putting your hands on your hips as you pout.

kenma walked to you, bringing his hands to rest on your waist, bringing you closer. “sorry princess.” he hums out, not seeming that sorry as he rest his head on top of your head. you roll your eyes at him.

“sure you are kens..”

hi y’all i’m not dead!! sorry if it’s short 🥲 js been doing some stuff regarding w my personal life..! anywayss hope u enjoy this lil’ headcanon??

till next time luvs!! aldo typos?? oopsiee..

[hazyletter]

a promise (yours, yours, yours). until the end (of forevermore),

"Here."

Tobio looks up and sees Kei holding out his white beanie, the one with cat eyes and whiskers and cute little ears. The setter blinks for a moment and stares. Confused, he tilts his head to the side.

Kei just snorts at his expression, hinting to Tobio that it may or may not be a breath taken out to humiliate him, but he is surprised to feel hands on his ear, and Tobio shivers in reflex at the warmth on his skin.

"You're freezing cold." Kei pulls his fingertips to the shell of his ear, massaging them between his thumb and index, before gliding them further up to play with Tobio's locks. "Wear it." He pertains to the beanie.

They stare at each other for a long while, Tobio just because he wanted to, and Kei with a silent but patient question. It wasn't long until Tobio raised his palm and Kei laid the beanie on its surface. Momentarily moving himself away from Kei's hand, Tobio secures the beanie on his head, ducking his head, then tries to make his bangs look presentable right after.

He hears a laugh from above. It's Kei, cracking his lips into an amused smile. "Cute."

Tobio immediately feels the surface of the skin on his face grow warm. He frowns, the kind that's a signature of his. "Shut up."

Kei raised a brow with a snicker, before stepping closer to his figure that is still seated on the swing set. He fiddles with Tobio's bangs, leaving the latter to close his eyes and relax in front of him, and when Kei lets go, Tobio steadies his gaze.

He does not jump when Kei leans his body even further and steals a kiss from his lips, closing his eyes as if it's nothing but a habit by now. The surface of Kei's glasses always makes it a bit awkward, but Tobio doesn't mind it, hasn't minded it with how close they keep attaching themselves to one another. Tobio hears Kei taking a short breath between his lips and it is enough.

And so Tobio does not resist interlocking his hand with Kei's, squeezing it for additional ease as they don't pull away, leaving it hanging around the air.

Kei doesn't fully stand up when he lets go, but instead snuggles his cheek towards Tobio's, then moves to his neck, leaving a small peck on the skin that has Tobio sighing.

"Are you not uncomfortable?" Tobio points out his posture.

Kei just hums. "Never when I'm with you."

The simplicity leaves Tobio's heart thumping. He leans his head to Kei's shoulder, and holds out his arms to hug Kei. Kei moves into a kneeling position, the back of his ankle supporting his upper body, and places his hands on Tobio's neck and waist.

"We have to leave." Tobio mutters to his jacket. 

"Stay here for a moment." Kei whispers to his ear.

There are leaves that carelessly fall around them, and when Tobio's gaze catches into one, he follows its dark yellow form and is reminded of Kei's eyes. He had the urge to see them all of a sudden, and so Tobio pushes his body away from Kei and ignores his disagreeing sigh. He steadies himself with a hold on the middle blocker's shoulder to stop the swing from moving him too much.

Tobio stares into those dark, golden circles and lines framed by white and black, lets his hand caress its holder's cheek, and stays there.

"Mhm. Okay. Just a few minutes more."

Kei's gaze softens, whatever he saw in Tobio's face is the reason for it. Or perhaps the unusual softness of his voice. His gentle, affectionate touch. The way the wind still pulled on his covered locks for a simple dance. How the beanie looked on his ever-stoic expression that is now painted with autumn's cold but relaxing messages.

"Just a few minutes."

if you'd like to support this short fic even further, you can support it on ao3 as well!

[the-ghost-king]

solangelo (imo) is not a very pda heavy couple and the extent of their pda is holding hands but they're the couple who when they're truly relaxed doesn't intertwine their fingers or go palm to palm they just grip fingers with their whole hand the way babies tend to do? also they're definitely the "brushing my thumb back and forth over the back of your hand or inside of your wrist" hand holders too

[hexiewrites]

fic rec: fourteen ways to say I love you

read it on ao3!

I was lucky enough to beta this amazing story written by a great friend as a gift for another. its 26,000 words of sap and delight, and I think you should all go enjoy it too.

summary:

There’s a huge cardboard box on the coffee table, with an envelope propped up in front of it. He slips his finger under the flap and pulls it open. There are 2 sheets of paper folded inside. By the end, Eddie is biting his lip, his heart thumping erratically in his ears. He allows himself a moment of just… staring. Coils a strand of hair around and around and around his finger as he takes in an entire box filled with Steve’s love.

OR

Eddie is facing the run up to the most romantic time of year (which also happens to be his and Steve's anniversary) alone. Or at least, as alone as you can be when your husband is on another continent.

Turns out, though, that Steve has arranged a series of surprises. Fourteen of them, in fact; one for each day up to and including Valentine's Day.

(rated E, 26k, 14/14, complete)

read it on ao3!

[betta-phish]

so you know how a lot of the characters use another pet name other than their main one sometimes?

for example:

Gavin: Deviant/My Love

Vincent: Lovely/Little One

Elliot: Sunshine/Baby

so yeah i feel like Lasko would use a set of dear, hon/honey, and sweetie it’s just so….him

also i desperately need to hear it

[theintrovertbean]

Three more weeks (including this one) and I'll be free of this torment (university, at least until my exams begin). Three more weeks and the Nadia x Dara pre-game story might come to life (not Spellbound Desires, this is something entirely different.)

There will be forbidden romance, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers, and a shit ton of horniness because Nadia please let me smash.

Their story has been forming in my mind for almost two years and I NEED TO WRITE IT

[youichi-kuramochi]

FIC: landscape after cruelty

by viverella / @youichi-kuramochi Fandom: Genshin Impact Relationship: Zhongli/Xiao Rating: Mature Word count: approx. 8.7k Summary: “I’m thinking of constructing a new abode,” Zhongli says after some consideration, careful enunciation around each syllable like something precious. “Away from Liyue Harbor. Somewhere quiet to retreat to.” He leans an elbow against the tabletop, resting his chin in the palm of his hand, and considers Xiao thoughtfully for a long moment. “Tell me, Xiao. What kind of a place would you like to live in?” (What it takes to build a home.)

written for @zhongxiaoexchange for @/chouriner_ (on twt)

[ READ @ AO3 ]

[smallz-o]

Hi sweetie peaches here gone not forgotten 🦆🦆🪦🪦🪦🦆🦆🦆

Tubhalo = gay homosexual gay gay homosexual gay homosexual

Nah but seriously. Tubhalo cuddles. I think after his death tubbo is always warm because of the lava he rested in when revived. Like to the point his skin feels like there’s fire beneath the surface. Bad, on the other hand. Is always cold, ice cube cold. So they balance each other out, usually.

Another thing, angel tubbo, or fallen angel/demon tubbo. Imagine him showing his wings to bad for the first time. Messy and disjointed. And yet bad takes them in his hands as though he’s holding something precious. He doesn’t care when the holy energy singes his skin. He rights them as gently and carefully, positioning feathers back in place as they once were. Tubbo’s rigid, nervous posture eventually relaxes. It feels like he can breathe again, like he’s safe enough to show his wings without harm

Anyway, they should kiss

PEACHES COMING BACK FROM THE DEAD TO DROP THE MOST ATOMIC FUCKING TUBHALO BOMB

[starfleet-lol]

i can’t handle the way they all call her sister

BENEDICT & KATE BRIDGERTON Bridgerton | 3x05, "Tick Tock"

[yeyinde]

You want a baby. Simon can't get over his hangups to give you one. The solution to both problems? Johnny.

18+ SMUT. breeding. mildly dubious consent. Johnny feasts on your pussy and then does his best to knock you up while Simon watches. slight body worship. bastardization of religious imagery. Mean!Dom Simon. rough, messy sex.

He's not the type to saw off his own hand to feed you, but would rather find a third man to satiate you both. The only one who can care for you, he said. Can't do that when he's dead, can he?

Maybe that's why he calls for Johnny.

down boy. eager mutt. lil' pyedogs got himself all twisted up in a rutt. help him, won't you, pet?

Johnny's softer than Simon but only just. This margin of distance, however, could be the gaping maw of a canyon for how wide it really is when scaled down to fit. Boxed inside a narrow bed—on your belly, cheek on Simon's knee; ass up, legs spread. Johnny behind you—colluvium to Simon's mountainside, but still so broad, so thick, your hips twinge with the effort of keeping your knees so wide apart.

You feel it whistling through the chasm when he licks his lips behind you—a loud, lascivious smack, a wet suckle—and feel the burn of his stare riveted on the split of your flesh. This bare seam Simon swears he found nirvana tucked deep inside of. A buried ravine. Aquifer he quenches himself on.

A pilgrimage Johnny has been aching to take.

And that's what this is, isn't it? Yatra to the hidden piscina. A procession to pollute the tarn—something Simon can't bring himself to do.

Bad genes. Trauma—sticky, noxious tar that oozes from the rotting filaments; festering deep inside. Cancerous: a mass you long to cleave from bone but know it's not cosmetic. Not just the ball joints, or the studs, but the foundation itself. If you start tearing up pieces now you'll have nothing but an empty plot and a pile of damaged debris.

So:

Enter the third man.

A tool. Vassel. Pays fealty by fucking a baby into your womb.

It's what you wanted, isn't it?

(yes, but—)

It happens faster than you can keep up with. Hands on your hips. Coarse hair tickling the back of your thigh. Warm breath against sticky, wet flesh. A broad nose parting your folds. Inhale. Exhale on a deep, reedy groan.

"fuck, ye smell heavenly, doe."

Simon hums before you can peel your tongue from the roof of your mouth, answering for you with a brassy invitation: tastes even better, Johnny.

It's all the permission he needs before he pushes his head closer to your bare cunt, groaning as his tongue cleaves a silky, thick line between your folds. Gorging himself without much preamble. Hands curled around your hips like expensive silverware, pulling you back into the wanting, eager suck of his mouth.

All at once, it's too much. Your hips shift, squirming away from his tongue, the too-sharp press of his teeth against soft, sensitive flesh. Mewling, whimpering into the rain-wet fabric of Simon's jeans.

His hand falls on your head. A gentle tap. Behave, it says, but you can't.

Johnny tramples over that thin line between pleasure and ecstasy, blurring them both until it becomes pain. Overwhelming. Shoving you towards the edge before you've readied yourself for the fall.

"Can't, Simon, can't—"

The words elide, slurring into a high-pitched whine as Johnny feasts on your cunt. Devours you from the inside out—all teeth and tongue, sucking your clit until your thighs cramp from how tight your muscles tense, bleeding lactic acid over sore flesh. The scrape of his stubble over your folds, chafing them until they are raw. Swollen. Drenched hole fucked with the spear of his tongue, digging so deep you begin to fear that he's trying to crawl inside of you. Salt your womb with his own two hands—

"Can take it, birdie," is all Simon says before his hand slides down your arched, trembling spine. Fingers digging into the meat of your cheek, spreading you wider for Johnny to eat. "Look how eager he is. Can't get enough of that sweet cunt."

"It's—it's too much—"

You don't feel him move. Can't see much from the blurry tears in your eyes. But his other hand whips out, cracking over your untouched cheek in a firm, burning smack. One that makes Johnny moan when it lands. Cruel. Open palm. Hard enough to leave a welt in the shape of his hand—something that makes him groan when he sees it.

"fuckin' hell—" his fingers dig into the aching flesh, grip bruising.

Johnny peels his wet, open mouth away long enough to pant into the slick spread of your cunt, resting his cheek on the swell of your ass. "Bit rough wit' 'er, Lt."

Simon considers it. Body shaking the bed when he shrugs, leaning back to trail his hand back up your spine, curling over the arch of your nape. Keeping you still as you sob into his knee. "She likes it."

"know she does. Fuck, Lt. Can feel 'er little pussy twitching. Tryin' tae suck me in."

Another hum. The grip on your asscheek eases as his hand peels away, sliding over swell before notching a finger between your cleft. Dry. Rough. It drags down your seam until it brushes over your fluttering hole, calloused tip digging in.

"soft, too, ain't it?" He asks, words mockingly cruel in their conversational tone. Nonchalant. But Johnny's hands tighten on your waist, palms slick with sweat. Glueing to your flesh. You can tell he likes that. Likes the way Simon talks about you. Demeaning and brutish. Butcher selling a piece of meat. "Bit of a tight fit at first—" he curls his finger inside of you, stretching your sore walls with the width of his knuckle. Sinking in deep. Another follows before you can remember how to breathe around the sting. "But swallows you up like a goddamn dream, Johnny."

His breaths grow ragged. "Fuck, Lt. Look at th'."

It makes you clench up around Simon's fingers, embarrassment scorching through your chest. "Please—"

Neither of them acknowledge you. Simon's fingers split, spreading wide apart as Johnny shuffles forward for a closer look, and nearly choking on his next inhale when he does.

"such a pretty fuckin' pussy—" he says it like a curse. Spitting the words out on a snarl. Angry, now, for reasons you can't discern slobbering over Simon's leg. "God, Lt. ah cannae—"

Johnny shifts back. You hear the clink of a belt. The rip of a zipper. Choked groans barely swallowed down as Simon buries his fingers inside of your weeping cunt over and over again, blunt tips cruelly skating over a spot inside, just behind your navel, that makes you feel liquid and loose between your hips. Debris floating down a whiteriver.

Pleasure peaks with each brutal thrust until you're howling into his leg, unable to move with their hands on your body, holding you down. Making you take it. Making you come undone as Johnny watches.

"fuck, fuck, Lt—she's gonna cum, ain't she?"

"Wanna feel it, Johnny?"

Simon's name falls out of his mouth on a whispered prayer. Drenched in thick reverence. Arched in need.

"aye, sir—" there's something about the hush of his voice, the way it slurs into putty. Enshrining his need in a halo of gold. It sends shivers down your spine. Heats you up fast like a fever. Sends you screaming over the edge—

"gonna miss it, Johnny. She's squeezin' me so fuckin' tight—"

Whatever else they say is swallowed by the keen clawing at the hollow of your throat when you feel the blunt, fat press of his cock knocking against your swollen, stuffed rim.

It's a burning thing—a sharp, heavy ache. Knock, knock. Simon spreads his fingers again, forcing you open. Pulling your hole wide apart for Johnny's engorged head to push up against.

It feels like being split down the middle. Ripped apart. Simon's fingers flex around your nape, thumb brushing soothingly against the knob of your spine.

Can take it, he mutters, brassy and low. A rumble just for you. Gotta take it, birdie.

You forget why. Why you need Johnny's too big, too fat cock inside of your cunt until the head bullies through, scissoring Simon's fingers apart until they're pressed tight on either side of the flared glands. Squeezed between your taut rim and Johnny's cock.

Johnny makes a noise like you've gutted him. A gutwrenching sob. "Oh, shite, Lt. M'—m'nae gonnae last—"

"gonna cum inside 'er, Johnny? Knock my pretty birdie up?"

Right. Right. A baby.

There's a heavy push. Your flesh wrenched apart to fit the fat, throbbing length of his cock—

(the cock that's gonna knock you up—)

Simon's fingers slip out of you as Johnny bucks forward, burying himself deep inside with a long, throaty groan. It's a horrible sensation—a bellyache. Without the splint of Simon's fingers forcing you open wide to near numbness, you're forced to feel the thick girth of his cock. Rim fluttering, spasming over the flared base. Too much, and somehow, not enough.

You sob through it. Each one ripples through your chest until it feels like it will collapse. Every inch of your body burns, throbbing. You don't think you'll survive this ache—

Johnny sets a brutal pace. Likes pistoning into you in quick succession until you're nearly howling into Simon's thigh before slowing to a crawl. Force-feeding you every inch. Making you feel every single one. Long strokes that batter the plug of your womb, bullying against the aching seal of your cervix until the flashes of pain, the savagery of this pleasure, makes you feel sick.

Getting fucked by Johnny like this is both a punishment and a reward. Baptism in hellfire.

Be careful what you wish for—

"gonnae fuck ye 'til it takes, doe. Knock ye up. Want th', don't ye? Aye. Can feel it. Feel this little cunt beggin' fer ma cum. Dinnae worry. Ahm gonnae give it tae ye. A' o' it, doe. Every—fuckin'—drop—"

Each awful word lands like acid on your spine. Chewing through flesh, tissue, until it melts bone below. Liquified. Helpless.

And with Johnny's hands on your hips, anchoring you in place as he hammers into your sore, abused pussy, possessed with the need to carve a space inside of your flesh where only he fits, rots, and Simon's hand on the scruff of your neck, holding you down, there's nowhere to run. Nowhere to escape the ragged breaths that spill from Johnny's slick mouth, the desperate way he pumps into you—thrusts growing sloppy as he stretches towards the precipice they dangle you off of, kicking and screaming as the scent of iron fills your nose, as his flared cockhead scrapes over that place you thought only Simon would ever know. Bluntly battering into the altar that sits, nestled behind your navel, like he's allowed.

Holy offering in a handful of seeds he'll sow over fecund land until something grows.

"Look at you take it," Simon coos, sticky, damp fingers petting over your tear-stained cheeks. It smells of loam. Salt. Iron and ozone. "So pretty when you're gettin' bred, ain't you, birdie?"

It rips a mournful keen from your chest, a feverish moan following on its heels when the lewd squelch, the echoing slapslapslap of Johnny driving into your cunt fills your ears. So wet, so messy, you can feel the slick drying, tacky and thick, on the inner crease of your bent knee.

"He's gonna put our baby in you, ain't he, birdie? Like a good mutt—"

The hands holding you over the precipice let go. Johnny's answering moan spears into your head, fluttering around the pulsing heartbeat of liquid bliss frothing in the pit of your belly. Overflowing over the rim.

Too much, you think, but that's not quite right because you can't feel anything at all except the length of his thick cock lodged deep inside you. Throbbing in tandem with your second pulse.

"gonnae cum, Lt. Gonnae—oh, fuck, Lt—"

His voice is a warm river washing over your spine. Pooling ecstacy. Something heavenly. Divine—

Molten gold blooms in the pit of your belly. Cockhead spitting against the seal of your womb as he cums, filling you to the brim. Fucking it into you even as his cock softens, unable to pull out he says.

Feels like fuckin' heaven, Lt.

"ain't she just?" Simon volleys back, sounding oddly dissonant. Off-key. "Pretty little birdie got what she wanted, huh?"

The drawl of his tone—acid-scorched, electric—forces you to blink through the tears, lifting your aching, wet eyes upwards at him. Searching.

He has the eyes of a predator. Leonine. The gaze of a beast after it's devoured something whole. His touch is as gentle as he can be—a rough, cracked scratch over your blistered cheeks—and when he meets your divining stare, he coos.

"Maybe I'll 'ave a go next time."

In the pounding, soporific slurry of your mind, you can't wrap your head around the words. Can't make sense of them. Struggling to keep your burning eyes open, even.

Not that it matters.

Johnny huffs a scorching breath of laughter over your sweat-slicked spine before wedging his forearm under your belly. Keeping your hips tipped up as he falls into you, resting his broad chest against your back and smothering you into the damp mattress.

"Yer cruel, Lt," he rasps, chin nuzzling over the arch of your shoulder, cock giving a feeble twitch inside of you at something you can't seem to piece together.

"m'jus' givin' my pretty bird exactly what she asked for." Huh? He prods, fingers tapping over your cheek when your swollen eyes slide shut. "Forgettin' y'manners, ain't you? Say thank you, pet."

With Johnny's half-formed chuckle echoing in your head, you mumble the words out on an exhausted sigh.

"an' say thank you to this mutt f'knockin' you up."

It comes out slower this time. Sluggish. His cock gives another twitch as he buries his face between your shoulder blades, smothering a groan.

"Sweetest thing, Lt. Christ—"

"more where that came from, Johnny. Jus' you wait an' see." Another tap. You mewl in response, feeling war-torn and achy. Unable to open your eyes for a second time, all you can do is whimper, burying yourself into his thigh. Pleading, silently, for clemency. Later, you think. Later—

But Simon has other plans.

"Fallin' asleep on me, birdie? Ain't even gonna give me a chance to put my baby in you? Greedy little thing, ain't she?"

Buried under the weight of Johnny as he peppers sucking, open mouth kisses over the width of your shoulder, cum leaking out around the softening plug of his cock, all you can do is snuff out the sob on the arch of his knee, resisting the urge to bite instead.

"Maybe next time then, eh, birdie?" Since you've been so good for this mutt, huh? Maybe I'll give you a reward.

Just be careful what you wish for, huh, birdie.