“that Character Is Problematic” I Am Sick And Twisted. Next

who cares if i want to mentally live in my daydream universe while i physically rot away. that's my business

One Hell of a Logical Ruse Part 1

Reader: F

Characters: Aizawa Shouta (Eraserhead) 

Summary: Shouta loves a good game of cat and mouse, unfortunately for you the game’s a little rigged. This is somewhat of an experiment to try and write a smut scene from the male POV. Disclaimer I am not a man so uh yeah lmao. 

Based off the pre-established fic You’re Ours to Protect. 

Length: 4.5K

Warnings: non-con, yandere themes, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, praise kink

Aizawa Shouta was a rational man. He did his best to adhere to logic, and to never waste time with unnecessary action. And yet despite this, he absolutely loved watching you try to escape. You were pretty clever, even without him “accidentally” forgetting to lock the second story window that just so happened to be above some forgivingly soft shrubbery. 

You probably would have figured some way out on your own, but something feral inside him didn’t want to wait around for you to act. Normally it was his ever-loud husband Hizashi that fell flat when it came to the notion of patience, but today he would relent to his own selfish desires. 

Keep reading

not now, kitten. daddy’s a shell of his former self

Flawless

Request: Oh my goodness requests are open im so excited 🥰🥰 may i request a yandere eraserhead with a villan darling who he's locked up to "save" make it NSFW if possible but you're writing is phenomenal so I know it'll be great no matter what :)

(A/N) I actually loosey based this off of an ask I got a while ago about Aizawa falling for a villain darling

Summary: Aizawa finds out that the cute waitress at the cat cafe he visits is a villain in disguise. Rather than throwing her in jail, he decides to play hero and save her himself.

Warnings: Noncon, kidnapping, cock warming, Somnophilia, choking, scent kink, slight daddy kink, yandere themes, Aizawa is a huge creep in this

Aizawa met you at the cat café you worked at first, instantly forming a soft spot for you from your shy and sweet demeanor, falling even harder when he finds out you often pay for vet bills and treats for the cats out of pocket. You seemed perfect, a walking angel that rotted his brain with ideas of what you two could be.

It was about an month of regular visits by him and nice conversations before he had faced you in a fight, quickly recognizing the person charging at him with a knife is the same one who earlier gave him a free coffee because he looked stressed that day.

He could have easily captured you, in fact he pinned you down a few times and roughed you up a bit (your ass grinding against his crotch as he held you in a arm lock was fuel for him later on that night). But it stopped there, he slipped up and you got away, the rookie mistake made from him being too distracted by you accidentally brushing your hand along his inner thigh.

He of course made sure to trail after you, he couldn't let you get away completely, now his actions are justified in learning where you live.

Weeks go by of him observing you much more closely, now going from visiting you everyday to trailing you where ever you go. Not only making sure you don’t get into anymore trouble, but to also see how someone who once almost cried because a customer yelled at them could ever be a villain.

Yet as he kept a watch on your tracks, filled a notebook with pictures of you, and had his mind muddled from thoughts of your body, he still couldn’t understand why. He only understood that there is something inside you that is pure and sweet.

So he took matters into his own hands, clearly you have potential to change and to be a good person, you just need to be lead in the right direction. You’ll hate it at first, but a feral kitten will always claw and bite the first few months you have them in your home, he will just have to be patient and teach you to be better which he can be very good at.

He will admit, capturing you was rough and rather than injecting your sleeping body with something to make sure you don’t wake for a while, his hands were forced to be wrapped around your neck first. You tried to scream, your eyes bugged out in fear as your legs thrashed under him and your hands lurched out to claw at his arms. with your body going limp, he was able to get the drug in your system in the end, but now he had to deal with your fragile neck bruised and his cock painfully hard. But he couldn’t worry about that as much as he wanted to relieve himself, he instead had to focus on transporting you to your new home. 

You lay limp in his arms as he carries you like you’re the princess he saved, making his way up the stairs and to your new lavish room. Putting you down on the bed, he finds himself sitting down on the edge of it to watch you for a few moments rather than leaving, feeling you tug at his heart strings. Your lips are in a light pout as your chest softly rises up and down, you look so cute sprawled out on the silky bedsheets with fluffy pink pillows and childish stuffed animals surrounding you. 

A kiss wouldn't hurt, just one on your cheek as a present to himself for his hardwork. Scooching in closer, his body leans over, but jolts to a stop when your sweet scent hits his nose. His tongue darts out from between his lips, sweat now forming on his forehead as he battles with himself.

Swallowing hard, he goes in closer and now his lips are brushing against your neck, his hands clenching the sheets as a attempt to ground himself. Taking in a deep whiff, lighting shoots up his spine and goosebumps prickle his skin.

"Fuck," He pants out, his voice shaky and hoarse. While he has gotten small doses when you would lean over to pour his drink (which also gave him a good look down your shirt), he never really got to drown himself in it. Now he's practically suffocating himself, taking deep inhale after another.

Jerking away, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand to get rid of the small amount of drool dribbling down his chin. He stands with the intentions of leaving, yet he stays still. He should leave, distract himself from what he could do to you now that you’re weak and exposed, he did promise himself that he wouldn’t do anything to you on the first night.

But as you lay there basking in your innocence, he seems to have a harder time coming up with a reason on why he should hold back. While he shouldn’t indulge in his dirty thoughts, to be such a creep to you when you’re asleep no less, he's sitting back down with his hand reaching out and slipping under your shirt before he can stop himself. 

He sharply inhales the moment his calloused hands touch your soft flesh, it’s like you’re a piece of heaven just for him, it makes him feel even filthier about touching you. His body ignites into flames as his hand creeps up higher, he gropes whatever he can, simply wanting to keep feeling your heat against his skin. 

He brings his hand back down, but doesn’t pull it from your body, instead he slips it into your panties. He softly moans at the slick he feels soaking your pussy, his middle finger rubbing your clit before dipping into your entrance that clenches around him, practically sucking him in. He can feel how badly your body wants him, how it begs to be stuffed with his cock. 

He pulls his hand from your panties, quickly shoving the finger into his mouth and groaning as your sweet taste melt on his tongue. God, he's imagined this for so long, but he never thought you would taste this mouthwatering.

He has to have you, more of you. Shaky hands pull down your bottoms along with your cute panties, quickly discarding one and stuffing the other in his back pocket.

"You're so cute, kitten." He murmurs aloud, shifting himself on his stomach and swinging your legs over his shoulders. He quickly dives in, choking on a moan as everything becomes overwhelming. He can't even count how many times he's fucked his hand or fleshlight while imagining that it's you and now he's eating you out like a man starved.

"Kitten." He groans against your pussy, slurping up your delicious nectar while grinding his hips against the soft mattress to ease his aching cock. He relishes in the soft gasps that escape from you, your eyelids fluttering yet never opening due to the heavy drug still in your system.

As much as he wants to eat you out until you wake, he's not sure he can wait any longer, he needs to be inside you. With one last harsh suck on your clit, he pulls away completely to climb off the bed and discard his clothing.

He knows you won't be awake any time soon yet he finds himself frantically trying to get back in bed with you.

Climbing back on, he begins to stroke his cock, the tip now almost bright red with cum leaking from the slit. Shifting your body on your side, he lays down behind you, pulling you closer and your back is now touching his chest, your warm scent suffocating him. Wrapping a hand around his shaft, he brings his cockhead to your tight hole, running it up and down between your lips before pressing into you. A string of curses leave him as he keeps forcing his fat cock into you, ignoring your quiet whimpers and only focusing on the hot pleasure that pools into his veins like an addicting drug. 

As he finally bottoms out inside you, he can practically see stars. While it’s a tight fit, he swears your pretty cunt was made perfectly for him. He would have never imagined you to feel this amazing wrapped around his cock and he almost cums from you clenching around him alone.

Taking a deep shaky breath, he wraps his arms around your waist and tries to force himself to relax, but you're insides are so hot and tight.

He knows this will be a nightmare to deal with when you wake, but right now he could care less. You’ll be out for a while anyways, might as well take a quick nap before then.

Everything is quiet, your breathing now much heavier along with his. Adorable mumbles fall from your lips as time quickly passes by. He feels himself dip in and out, a sweet slumber with you in his embrace almost taking over, but he's jolted out of it when you clench around his cock.

Only an hour goes by before his hand snakes down to rub your puffy nub, his hips moving slowly before he quickly delves into being rougher. Shoving his nose into your neck, taking deep breaths of you while he pounds into your soaked cunny.

"It's okay, you'll be so happy when you wake up, that I saved you. You love daddy, I know you do, Fuck-" his cock twitches inside you, you feel so good, he can barely contain the deep moans and growls rumbling in his chest.

He just wants to feel you, that's it, he'll make sure to not cum inside.

Yandere Mr Compress (Part 2!)

Didn’t expect to get this done so quickly but I had a lot of time today after an exam. :D

—————————————————————————————————-

You’ve been stuck in this room for what you assume has been a week now. You’ve practically memorized the patterns on the comforter and tacky wallpaper adorning this “prison”. Atsuhiro is home a lot, so he is able to offer you regular meals, though you hadn’t deigned to try it until what you think was the third day, when you were too hungry to even say no. You remember how his face lit up when you finally agreed. He had stopped tying you to the bed at that point, a reward for being obedient, you suppose. He did, however, keep the bedroom door locked from the outside whenever he wasn’t around.

You wondered where exactly it was that he went almost every evening, the hours were too short for a job, but then how was he able to afford this apartment? Tacky as it was, the decor was certainly expensive looking. You had tried to ask him once, but he simply winked and said something about a magician never revealing his secrets, which seemed more than a little creepy at the time. 

When he was home, he would spend almost all of his time with you, leaving only to cook meals or let you sleep. You were relieved that he hadn’t tried to touch you yet, but you didn’t know how long that would last. He didn’t kidnap you just for your company, surely. When you first asked him what he wanted with you, he had shaken his head and replied “I want only to be with the woman I love and adore.” 

Today was a little different than usual, he had left early in the morning and hadn’t been home for hours. You weren’t exactly worried for his safety, moreso for your own wellbeing. If he didn’t come home, you would be stuck in this awful room for who knows how long. You had already tried breaking out, but neither the door nor the window could be opened and you had nothing to pick a lock with, not that you even knew how to anyway. At some point, someone would notice you were gone, right? Your friends or family? Maybe they were already looking for you? Someone, surely, would have had to see him carry you off from the alley.

You were broken out of your panicked thoughts when you heard the door to the apartment open. You waited, but it took a few minutes before the bedroom door opened. As he walked in, you could tell he had changed clothes. He looked exhausted, but his shirt and pants were fresh and ironed. You wondered what he had been doing that required a change…

“How are you doing today, my love?” he asked. “I do apologize for leaving you alone all day, I had some business to attend to.” You could sense the fatigue in his voice.

“What kind of business?” you questioned, though you already knew he wouldn’t tell you the answer.

“Oh, no need to worry yourself about that. How about some dinner? I’m sure I can cook something up.”

You had an idea. “What if… I cooked something for us tonight?” You put on your sweetest smile and tried to appeal to his exhaustion. You saw his face light up, just a little, and that was all the encouragement you needed. This could work. “You just seem so tired, and I haven’t been able to cook in so long…”

He thought about it for a moment. “Well… I suppose you could use a change of scenery. And I would love to taste something created by you.”

You smiled, knowing that this could be your chance to finally leave this place. You could cook while he rested on the couch and sneak out the front door when he wasn’t looking. He held out a gloved hand and you took it, immediately shocked by the gentleness you felt in his touch.

You could feel your anticipation as he opened the door, leading you out into the kitchen. The rest of the apartment was equally as gaudy as the bedroom. Gold accented lamps and tchotchkes rested on every possible surface. What was interesting, however, was the distinct lack of photographs. You had expected to get at least a glimpse of what he looked like under the balaclava, but that didn’t seem to be a possibility. 

The kitchen was the only truly functional room in the apartment, with stainless steel appliances and a simple granite counter. He showed you around the kitchen and in the refrigerator with his usual showmanship. The fridge is surprisingly well-stocked and you figure you could make some baked fish with a side salad and some miso soup. You begin to pull out pans, expecting Atsuhiro to go rest on the couch, but to your dismay he sits at the bar to watch you. 

“Do you not want to relax on the couch?” you ask hesitantly.

“Oh, but how could I when the real show is in here?” You can practically see the twinkle of adoration in his eyes. “You look so radiant in my kitchen.”

You spin around and continue cooking. This is not going as planned. He’s still watching your every move. But you continue on with your dishes, pretending to be unbothered. He’ll have to get up at some point. He has to.

Finally, as you’re nearing the finished product, he stands up.

“Please excuse me while I wash up, I will return to set the table for us,” he smiles. It’s a genuine smile that almost makes you rethink your plan. Almost. He walks away and you immediately drop everything and head for the door. 

You hesitate before reaching for the knob, and it costs you. A glove covers your hand. “Leaving before dinner?”

Fervency

Non-Ascended Astarion x F!Reader - NSFW

Synopsis: After falling into mysterious spores in the Underdark, you start to experience some... strange side effects. Astarion is more than happy to assist.

Warnings and tags: 18+ (and I cannot stress this enough), aphrodisiac/glorified sex pollen, established relationship, discussions of consent, fingering, oral sex (both giving and receiving), blood drinking, multiple orgasms. Takes place post-game and includes mild spoilers.

Word Count: 5.7k

There’s not much that surprises you anymore.

It’s true - being kidnapped by illithids, having a tadpole implanted behind your eyes, facing the gods themselves - all of that does make it difficult for mundane life to come anywhere close enough to truly shock you. Your days aren’t necessarily peaceful, but they never seem quite as exciting as that blind haze of companionship in the aftermath of the nautiloid, trekking through the wilderness and shadow-cursed lands and the city, finding yourself in the company of strangers but soon-to-be family.

Still, these days, there’s something every now and then that catches you off guard. The trouble is, you’re never quite left in a space to know how to handle it. Unlike your earlier adventures, things are rarely solved with a dagger in your hand or a dash of flattery in your words. No, the burdens of day-to-day life are much more complicated than that.

Falling into a patch of mysterious spores, for one.

The Underdark is full of various mushrooms. Poisonous. Explosive. Befuddling. You could go on and on. You’ve had your number of close calls with them, but the sensation coursing over your skin feels like nothing you’ve ever experienced - and it doesn’t help that you’ve never seen spores like this.

Hells. Of course this is where your day would end up. 

Just a little stroll, you’d told yourself. It’ll be harmless. And it had been, for the most part. There’s an unearthly beauty to the Underdark that you’ve never encountered anywhere else, one you’ve come to appreciate just as much as the upper surface. But halfway through your usual route, your feet had snagged on a branch and you’d gone tumbling, and now - now you’re in a patch of glowing, red spores, feeling like…

Gods, what do you feel? 

Hot. You feel very, very hot. Sweat trickles down your back. Warmth blooms like poppies in a number of strange places - your cheeks, your lips, your neck. The feeling is spreading fast, bleeding through your ribs as you get to your feet.

Alright, you think to yourself, ignoring the sharp, bleeding panic in your throat that’s threatening to take over. Situations like this call for a sense of rationality. You’re going to get out. 

It takes much longer than it should for you to slowly stumble back to familiar ground. Your movements are jerky, as if you’re being puppeted around, and it’s getting harder to think straight when you’re feeling as if - whatever this is - is slowly consuming you. The heat is in your lungs, coursing fire near your pounding heart, raging with every inhale. 

You need to get this off of you, and as quickly as possible. After that, maybe it will fade and maybe it won’t. You’ll… you’ll figure it out. 

By the time you make it to the river, your knees are trembling so much that you nearly fall in. The water barely scratches the surface of the fire when you splash it over your skin, but the coolness of it is euphoric. You go as quickly as you can, covering area by area - your clothing, your arms, your face and neck - until most of the spores are off, but the feeling pulses and throbs in you all the same. Whatever it is, it isn’t killing you, but it certainly isn’t pleasant. 

You could tell Astarion. He’d tease you a little, but he’d also be certain to search endlessly to find something to stop your discomfort. And you ache for him. His touch, his voice, the fondness in his eyes when he looks at you. 

Had it really been just this morning when you’d last seen him? It seems like lifetimes away - lost to a very, very different type of ache in your veins that won’t seem to fade. You’ve just made up your mind to go find him, rising to your feet again, when the heat rushes to a very specific place between your legs and all thoughts of looking for Astarion are instantly cast out.

Oh, you think, somewhere between dizzy, needy, and utterly humiliated. So that’s what this is.

You’ve read about things like this - plants, pollen, potions -  but most of them had been in bad romance novels, and none of them had ever come with any mention of an antidote. And, needless to say, you won’t be making your way to the Myconid Sovereign to learn more. It’ll have to be handled on your own. 

You could risk going home and pretending to be ill, but Astarion is far too perceptive for that. He’d see through your ruse immediately. Which leaves the only option: hiding in a cave and waiting this out, praying he won’t notice you’re gone and come searching for you before you’re back.

And really, how bad can it be?

Bad. It can be very, very bad. 

You’ve been sitting in this cave for who knows how long, and your sanity is fading more and more by the minute.

It had been manageable at first. The heat spread through you like warm cider on a cold night - a slow, steady increase, the way a candle gradually burns down to the wick. You’d thought it would stop at a certain point (it had to, didn’t it?), but no. It just… kept going. 

Now, every inch of your body feels like it’s on fire, and it’s not slow, or steady, or even remotely bearable. It’s a strange, pleasurable flame, but a flame nonetheless. You can’t even decide whether touching yourself would even help at this point. Even just grazing your hand along the length of your thigh sends the fire rising, and you’re not keen on experimenting at the moment.

Your hands have gone stiff from balling your fists. Your mouth keeps switching between being as dry as sand and overly salivating. Each breath ignites more warmth, and you’ve been trembling for so long that you don’t remember how it feels to be still.

Gods. If you trusted yourself to get to your feet, you’d go see the Sovereign - a lifetime’s worth of humiliation or not. You don’t have any clue what time it is. There’s no sun or moon down here to guide you, no mechanism to spell out the hour. Has Astarion noticed your absence? How long until he’s concerned?

You know enough to know that you should have been back by now - that it’ll be unusual for you to have been gone so long. At least this spot you’ve found for yourself is relatively private. A dark, dry little place with a stone floor; fluorescent ivy in shades of lavender and coral; remote enough that, if your willpower fails and you end up making some noise, no one will be around to hear. 

You attempt to swallow, but the action dies on your tongue. You attempt to breathe, but you can’t seem to suck in any air. You’re just thinking you really might die in this painful, mortified state when the pad of footsteps on stone hits your ears, and your whole body pulls as taut as a rope. 

Oh, gods. Please not him. Anyone else. The Sovereign. The Society of Brilliance. Anyone.

But it’s him, because of course it is. He slowly makes his way inside, pressing through the narrow entrance and around the corner, and when he sees you curled against the cave wall, his brows rise - alarm.

“Wait,” you blurt out, determined to speak before he can. “Don’t come any closer. Please.”

Astarion stays where he is, but his eyes start instinctively scanning you over, searching for ailment or injury. “What’s wrong?” he asks, tilting his head. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“I’m fine,” you tell him, even though you’re anything but. You want to say more, but your thoughts trail off as another wave of heat flares inside of you. You’ve started trembling again. Your fingers accidentally graze against your thigh, and you let out a small, involuntary noise.

Astarion hesitates, then takes a step closer. “Darling,” he starts, raising a brow, “you make a terrible liar.”

Of course you can’t fool him. Not even a little. You let out a laugh, but the sound hitches into a strange, choked sob. You pull your knees to your chest and let out a long, shaking breath, trying to get a grip. “I know,” you say softly. “Gods. I’m sorry.”

He takes another step closer, and concern writes itself into his expression. “Gods below,” he exclaims. “Er - my sweet, I don’t mean to be rude, but you look...”

“Horrible?” you finish for him. “I know.” 

“I… was going to say ill, actually,” Astarion replies, laughing a little. “This dark cave lighting looks beautiful on you, my dear.”

You can’t resist another laugh. It’s less burdened this time, but it fades away as you hesitate, very pointedly gazing down at your fingernails instead of meeting his eyes. “I may or may not have fallen into a patch of mysterious spores.”

“And?” Astarion says, lifting a hand into the air and giving a small, contemplative gesture. “Go on, darling. Seeing as you aren’t dead - I’m assuming they weren’t poisonous?”

You shake your head, swallowing hard. How the hells are you going to phrase this? “No,” you answer. “I just feel… hot. Not like the explosive ones, just… hot.”

“Well,” Astarion says, “That’s… interesting. Alright - let me take a look at you.”

Half of you wants to protest, but what’s the point? He’ll find out the truth sooner or later. So, instead, you nod.

He steps closer, kneeling down at your side, and you have to ball your fists to keep from doing something stupid. You’re expecting more flame at his touch - a painful flare, like when you’d grazed your thigh - but when the back of his hand meets your forehead, his touch is like a salve. Soothing, cool, sweet. It mellows out the fire, makes you feel sane again.

You shut your eyes in relief, staying as still as you can, and when you open them, you find him giving you a look you know all too well. Smug. Affectionate. A glint in his eye that can only mean trouble.

“My, my,” he purrs. “Darling, I’m no healer, but… a racing pulse, dilated pupils, feverish to the touch? That, I know.” He leans in, his voice low in your ear. “And I can smell how much you want me.”

A shudder runs down your back, betraying you. Astarion leans in to kiss you, his lips brushing against yours - soft and gentle and perfect - and it takes everything in you to pull away.

“Wait,” you protest. 

He instantly halts, pulling away from you and scanning over your expression. “What is it?” he asks. “Is everything alright?”

“Everything is fine,” you say quickly. “But you don’t… I mean - I can manage this on my own, you know.”

His brows rise. “My dear, you do realize I am very capable of helping you in this situation?”

“Gods, Astarion,” you say, biting back a delirious sort of laughter. “Believe me, I’m well aware. But I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I can manage this.”

A fondness enters his expression - the rare kind, reserved for the most meaningful of moments. He leans closer, placing a gentle kiss on your lips. “I know,” he says softly, the words tender and delicate. “Trust me. I want to do this.” He trails a finger along your thigh, and you shiver again. “I’ve missed you,” he murmurs. “And, unless I’m wrong, you’ve missed me, too.”

After searching his gaze and finding him entirely present, you let yourself relax into his touch. “I’ve missed you more than anything.”

“Good,” he says. “I was almost worried.”

He skims his knuckles over your jaw, leaning in to kiss you once more, and the flame in you seems to bend to his touch. It rages in you like a furnace, bellowing and cruel, but with every frigid brush of his fingers, the feeling subsides. Even the feel of his lips on yours seeps away the discomfort.

He’s slow with his actions, but he doesn’t tease, even though you can see the amusement in his eyes when he pulls away to look at you. He’s enjoying this, and if you’re honest with yourself, you are, too. If only it didn’t come at the price of your dignity - but if it’s going to fall away in front of anyone, it might as well be him. 

His hands slide down to your thighs, and your whole body pulls tight, torn between wanting him to touch you now and not wanting him to stop what he’s doing.

“Relax,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting against your ear. “I’ve got you, darling.”

You let out a shaky breath and try to coax your body into cooperating, shutting your eyes and letting the feel of him drown out the path of your thoughts. The sensation of his mouth, trailing down your neck, ranging between feather-light kisses and the barely-there sting of his teeth against the skin, making every inch of you melt into his touch like clay. His hands, sliding to the front of your top, deftly unlacing it and pulling it away from your skin.

Thank the gods no one is anywhere around this area - if anyone were to interrupt you, you’re sure you’d die right here and now. The simmering need that lies under your skin is bordering on painful, a white-hot delirium of impatience that will not be ignored any longer.

Astarion’s fingers skim across your sternum, further soothing the burning inside your chest, and his lips soon follow downward. You let out a soft noise from the back of your throat, something choked and desperate, and he hums against your skin in response.

When your eyes flutter open again, you find that he’s staring up at you as he kisses down your abdomen, eyes dark and hands curled lightly around your ribs, ardor and affection both palpable in the heat of his gaze.

Your instinct is to shut your eyes again - to shut out the intimacy and vulnerability that comes from holding his stare - but you don’t. Instead, you move the stiff muscle of your arm and coax your hand into working again, gently tangling your fingers into the silky-smooth, silvery curls in your lap.

He gives you a roguish grin, tugging on your bottoms until they finally, mercifully, pull away from your skin, leaving you in nothing but your smallclothes.

“Gods, you’re beautiful,” he mutters, the words dark and heavy on his tongue, but they feel more for him than for you. His brows crease together and his actions turn sure and firm and quickened - as if he can’t wait to have his mouth on you.

Beautiful. It’s the second time he’s called you that word tonight, but it doesn’t stop the heat from rising back into your cheeks, and that feeling of the warmth seems to spark a chain reaction. 

It’s as if his voice is stoking the fire - more heat, all rushing to the very place his lips are heading to now, only to be soothed by his touch. He gently pulls at your thighs, coaxing you to lay on your back, and you’re so desperate that you nearly knock your head against the hard floor laid out beneath you in your effort to obey.

Your mind isn’t processing things the way it usually does: in an even, progressing line of events, every moment spread out from one to the next. Rather, everything comes in bursts of feeling, flashing between being a thousand miles away and all too close, all too present. You barely feel the graze of fabric when he removes your smallclothes and leaves you entirely bare, but the gentle, wet press of his tongue against you feels amplified a thousand times over.

“Astarion,” you gasp, your hand tightening in his hair. 

He hums again, and the feeling of it has you shivering, muscles going slack in pleasure. Short, soft flicks of his tongue over your clit and you’re left a shuddering mess, not thinking to try to be quiet - not really thinking at all, anymore. He grips at one of your thighs, looping it over his shoulder as he pulls away for a moment, nipping at the tender flesh there. Soothing it with a gentle kiss, then returning to his work.

You’re a walking - or perhaps laying - contradiction. Your arousal is lava hot, but your pleasure is cold as ice. You can’t decide if you’re cold or hot or both or neither. You’re not in a place to think, not as blinding bursts of pleasure course up your spine, rendering you a lump of skin and bones and not much more. His mouth is nothing if not fervent.

You aren’t sure how long it lasts - your hand in his hair, his mouth against you, writhing in dizzying pleasure against the hard, stone floor and barely feeling the discomfort. It might not be very long at all - but it feels like hours before his fingers enter you.

You’re soaking wet. If you weren’t so focused on, well, everything else, it’d be humiliating. Still, when two fingers slip into you and meet no resistance whatsoever, Astarion groans. The pace he’s setting with both hand and tongue is torturous, slow and even, and it takes everything in you not to beg him for more. 

But when he goes a little faster, a moan pulls from your throat, and you look down to find him grinning as he pulls away, fingers still at work. “Look at you,” he says, praise lilting the words as he curls his fingers - sending your hips rolling. “You’ll come for me, won’t you, darling?”

And as if he’s flicked a switch in your mind, you’re coming around his fingers, gasping and shuddering and clenching. Electricity seems to coarse through your veins, hot and sharp, flaming and radiant, and when it’s gone, there’s only the slickness between your thighs, a slight breathless laughter that escapes from you without a thought, and the fading warmth of the spores.

For a moment, it seems as though there might be relief. Your thoughts clear and the heat wanes, but after a sparse second or two of relief, it comes back as strong as ever. 

You’d be disappointed at its reappearance, but then Astarion is crawling over you, using his knee to coax your legs apart for him, so how could you ever be disappointed? Everything else slips away except for him. His eyes, dark with want, his lips, molding against yours, his tongue, gently pressing into your mouth as he buries a hand in your hair.

He’s hard for you. You can feel it, and that realization has you grinding against him. He groans, cursing under his breath, then reaches down to undo his trousers. “Are you ready for me, love?” he asks, his voice half-broken with want.

You laugh, still trembling from your climax. “You know I am.”

“Mm,” he hums, his eyes glimmering in the dark. “But maybe I wanted to hear you say it for me, darling.”

Gods. He’s beautiful - always so beautiful - even here, in this dark, cold cave you’ve found. A work of art down to the dark circles under his eyes, the crow’s feet around his eyes, his smile lines. 

You could spend a thousand years studying the art of him and never, ever get bored; not of his voice, and the way his confidence sometimes, ever so rarely, breaks into something real and raw. Not of his hands: nimble fingers and the calluses from his blade and soft skin - and not of his eyes, which seem both dark and light depending on his mood, and which can seem so sharp and severe at times, but sometimes soften into something soft and round. Sometimes. When they’re looking at you.

You could spend a thousand years admiring him and never, ever get tired of him, and never, ever deserve him. And he’d never believe it.

He’s noticed you staring, because of course he has, and he tilts his head. “What’s going on in that pretty little mind of yours?”

You can only smile, deliriously happy and wanting and both hot and cold - hot where the warmth burns uncontained, and cold everywhere his skin meets yours. “I love you.”

Your words must catch him by surprise, because it’s shock that meets his expression first. It fades away into affection, placing itself on his lips in a soft smile. “I - I love you too,” he answers, brushing a stray strand of your hair out of your face. “More than anything.” 

He clears his throat and shifts, and as you feel his erection brush against you, only then do you remember the conversation you two had been having. Him between your legs. You, still needing him inside of you.

“I’m ready for you,” you breathe. “Please. I want you.”

“How could I say no?” he asks, leaning in and biting at the lobe of your ear.

He presses into you slowly, even though you don’t need it - not after the effects of the spores and your first climax still evident on your thighs. Only when he once again begins a slow, torturous pace do you realize that he’s doing it to tease you, and when you look up and find a certain amount of devious intent in his eyes, a shudder runs down your back.

He’s always seemed to enjoy watching you fall apart. How many times have you looked up in the middle of one of your late-night trysts to find his eyes on you, the darkened ruby gaze that seems as starved for you as his hunger for blood? 

How many times has he eased your arm away from your face when you felt the need to hide yourself, and how many times has he gently pulled your hand away from your mouth so he could hear the noises you made for him? 

There’s never really been a question about it; Astarion gets off on your pleasure, and the feeling is very, very mutual. Vulnerability aside, it does something beyond words to you to know how much he enjoys giving you pleasure. And, sure as the hells, you like to give it right back to him. So, keeping your gaze locked on his, you grind your hips down to meet him and let out a moan.

His jaw clenches and he swallows hard, his thrusts deepening as he props himself over you. You watch the lovely path of the action over the bob of his Adam’s apple, then flit your eyes back to his, letting out another noise.

“Gods,” he says, and his pace quickens. His hands wrap around your shoulders and he groans, panting as he rocks into you, his grip turning into something almost bruising. 

Part of you desperately wants him to keep going - but the other part of you wants to give him something, and now seems the proper time for it. So you tilt your head to give him access to your neck and murmur a few, soft words, and he slowly comes to a halt: breathing heavily, nails digging into your skin as he tries to regain some semblance of composure.

He kisses down your jaw, slowly drags his teeth along the skin, then sinks his fangs into your neck. You’re used to the sharp pain of his bite, but it’s different today. Intensified. It’s as if his mouth on your skin, the barely-there pain, is salving through that fire and every single limb of yours goes slack with…

What is it? Pleasure? Affection? Relief? It’s something in between, something warm but not scorching, something sweet but not overly-saccharine. He starts moving his hips again and you’re instantly on the edge, planting your hands on his lower back underneath his scars and resisting the urge to dig your nails into the skin.

He’s drunk from you enough times since you met to know where the limit lies, even on the cusp of his climax. He drains you until you’re sufficiently lightheaded, but not enough to harm you, then pulls away, planting a messy kiss on your mouth. 

Messy. It’s how you know he’s close. His actions are usually so graceful, his movements lithe and calculated. Only on the edge of orgasm do the pretenses fall away - his shaking thighs, soft moans into your lips, panting, blood smeared across his lips and almost certainly yours. 

There’s a blinding moment of pleasure as he thrusts harder, deeper, neither of you caring about the level of noise you’re making, and your nails dig into his back. He lets out a groan of approval, then - gods, you’re climaxing again, your whole body trembling with the waves of pleasure that crash over you. Overwhelming at first, then receding into the brief moment of clarity that lasts a minute or two this time. 

Then the spores start their work again.

The heat isn’t nearly as intense this time, but it’s still there. Part of you wonders if it’ll ever really fade. You lay still, gasping, as Astarion slowly pulls out of you. Then he brushes the damp hair out of your face and kisses you again. 

“Darling,” he starts breathlessly, flashing a mischievous grin at you, “if this is where we’ll end up, you should fall into mysterious spores more often.”

You laugh, sending a playful, light hit toward his shoulder. He catches your hand mid-action, pressing a kiss to your palm, holding your gaze the entire time. “You’re not the one who feels like they’re on fire, Astarion.”

He hums, kissing back down your neck, cleaning up the remnants of blood from his bite. “I wouldn’t say that,” he says, his voice gravelly with want. 

That gives you pause. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” he says with some effort, propping himself above you, “whatever those spores were - they seem to have entered your bloodstream, my dear. It’s - an interesting sensation, I’ll admit.”

You’re searching his face for a tell that he’s not being serious, but instead you find wide, blown out pupils, flushed cheeks, and nothing beside his usual mischievousness. Any blood left in your face quickly exits. “Gods, I didn’t even think. I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be. I’m not.” He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and you see a small smear of your blood on his lips. When you lick your lips, you can taste the iron of it on your tongue.

Astarion is watching you. His gaze darkens, and he lets out another thin, broken groan. “Darling. At this rate, we’ll be going the whole night.”

And, honestly? With the rate the heat is returning - you don’t doubt it. 

Still, you gently ease him off of you to sit up, then make your way into his lap and wrap your arms around his neck. 

There’s something addictive about Astarion - there always has been. From the moment he’d had you against the dirt, a dagger to your neck, he’s been your fix.  

In those first days when you’d had to hide your want for him - not even lust or sheer desire, but want; the ache to run your finger through silver curls, the warmth in your cheeks when he held your gaze just a moment too long, and the rare moments of vulnerability that came more and more as you’d gotten to know him - it had been torture. 

And then he’d propositioned you. And all at once, you’d found yourself in a clearing under silver moonlight, alone with him, long before you ever knew the extent of what had been done to him - and after all this time, the craving for him, the need to lay beside him in the long nights and find him there come morning, has only ever gotten so much stronger.

The heat is somewhat bearable now. Enough to take a moment to admire him, head tilted as he gazes up at you, pure need simmering in his eyes. Dark, glinting rubies. His fangs, barely visible under parted lips. Flushed cheeks. That will fade before long; the rosiness of drinking never lasts more than a few minutes, but you admire it all the same. 

“You’re beautiful.” The words are hushed. You hadn’t even meant to speak them, but your mind isn’t really yours at the moment, not wholly, not as firm as it should be. You feel half-drunk, half-needy. 

The corners of his lips flick into a smile, and he raises a brow. “Oh?” he asks, clearly stealing for more flattery. “Do you think so?”

You lean in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You know I do.” 

You gather a single, loose curl in your fingertips and gently roll it between your thumb and index finger, admiring the softness of it. You could use the same soaps, wash your hair with the same things he uses a thousand times over, and it’d never matter. It’d never be as soft as his.

“Anything in particular?” he asks. His voice is particularly airy; he’s battling between begging you for what he needs, and the compliments he likes so much.

You think back to when you’d first described him - that night beneath the stars, when he’d tossed the mirror aside and asked how you viewed him. Words hadn’t been enough then, and they still aren’t, but you’ll try.

“Your eyes,” you start, running your finger over his crow’s feet. “They change color in the light. Right now, they’re dark. Hungry. I can tell you want me, and I like that.”

His hands, which have strayed to the back of your thighs, tighten against your skin. “And? What else?”

The heat’s strength is back, clawing its way up your abdomen. “The way your hair curls around your ears,” you murmur.

He frowns, and you know you’ve gone too poetic. To distract him, you lean in and nip at the lobe of one, and any of his upset disintegrates. 

“Gods,” he murmurs, bringing his hands up to your waist. “Darling, I can’t wait much longer-”

You’ve trailed down to his jaw, alternating between kisses and sharp little nips just like the ones he likes to give you, and the words die in his mouth in favor of a sharp inhale. 

You won’t keep him waiting much longer. In fact, you have a plan. A plan that’d hatched from the moment you’d realized that the spores were in his system, too. Since you’d seen the hungry look in his eyes - every inch a predator circling around its prey.

Only, you’re not content to be the prey. You want to disarm him, and if any of the time you’ve spent together means anything, you’ve gotten very, very good at that.

His shirt is still on, so your hands are quick to remove it, tugging it away from cooling porcelain skin, silky under your fingers as you drag them down his sternum. He shudders, and you remember how it’d felt when he’d first touched you. If it’s anything like that, he’s probably dying to beg you for more.

Your lips soon follow the path your hands are sitting, taking your time with the softness of his abdomen before you pull his trousers away. He’s panting now, and a frenzied sort of desperation lies in his gaze when you look up at him.

And he’s hard again. Leaking.

You lightly trace your nails down his thighs, silently relishing in the way his breath hitches - the way his hips unconsciously buck toward you. 

“Gods,” he says again, and though it isn’t a direct request, with the broken way it falls off his tongue, this time it is every bit a plea. 

And you’re in a mood to please.

You take his cock in hand, swiping your thumb over the head, where precum is slowly leaking, and he lets out a long, breathy noise. You hum in response, taking his length between your lips, and the sound becomes strained, more needy. His hand gently makes its way into your hair, very lightly guiding you where he wants, but not forcefully.

You alternate between things: long, even movements of your mouth as you drag your tongue down the shaft, swirling your tongue around the head, then sucking him hard and slow. Eventually, simply following the guidance of his hand. His grip tightens in your hair - not painful, just encouraging - and his noises become more drawn out, less coherent.

When you pull away for a moment, using your hand to continue what your mouth had just been doing, you find him dangerously close. You press a kiss to the head and take him in again, increasing pace, accommodating him as you take him in as far as you possibly can, and he starts whimpering. 

“Please,” he says, and if that isn’t a rare word to hear from him. 

On another day, you might tease him, but you don’t want to. Not now, while he’s begging to have you. Instead, you take him as deep as you can again and suck harder. Astarion tugs at your hair and his thighs shudder and you know he’s close.

“Please,” he says again. “Gods, don’t stop.”

And you wouldn’t dream of it. What you can’t take into your mouth, you use your hand to stroke, and that’s it. He’s coming.

There’s something artful about it - the tremor that runs through him, the salty taste of him in your mouth, and those seeking, breathless sounds that come out of him as he spills onto your tongue. A long, shaky inhale as he pumps his hips, still chasing out his pleasure, then the trembling exhale as his mind starts to come back to him.

He doesn’t soften, and you don’t take your mouth off him. Not yet.

Usually, Astarion can be counted on for two orgasms, but if those spores are doing anything remotely like what they were doing to you, there’s certain to be much, much more than that.

“By the hells,” he murmurs airily, running a hand down your back. “You’re going to kill me, darling.”

You pull away for a moment, kissing at his abdomen, keeping his eyes locked on his as you do. “Does that mean you want me to stop?” you ask sweetly, trailing your nails along the skin of his thigh.

He swallows hard. “Gods, don’t,” he pleads.

And you don’t.

i'm not just an "apologist" for that fictional character i'm his defence lawyer

Am I the only one obsessed with daddy yanderes having a darling who turns into a total subby good boy/girl when their yandere starts to praise them? Like not even with sex per say, just with things in general.

Tw: heavy dubcon, dd/lg like dynamics

Like Daddy Aizawa trying you get you to drink some water for him. He knows you’re just trying to be defiant out an crankiness which he is sure will eventually go away, so he is patient with you. 

He pulls you onto his lap, easily able to keep you there with just one arm wrapped around your waist. Putting an glass up to your lips, he tells you, “be good for me and take a drink.”

You scoff and jerk your head away, crossing your arms with an pout which only makes Aizawa gush inside from how adorable you are. Of course, he doesn’t let you know this (you might think it’s okay to be a brat if he did), so he sets the glass down on the coffee table while letting out an sigh before putting all his attention onto you.

“Don’t you wanna be good for daddy?” He purrs into your ear, gently running his hand up and down your thigh in a comforting manner. “I know you hate it, but you have to drink it. I can’t let my kitten get sick because I’m neglecting their needs.”

You start to squirm, his soft and deep voice lulling you into a state of security, but you keep up the act. Which only makes him lay the sweet affection on thick. He tilts your head up to capture your lips in a kiss and forces a hand between your thighs to cup your sex. You whimper and try prying his hand away yet you find yourself kissing back back, conflicted with everything due to you wanting to run while at the same time wanting to be touched.

Just when your walls have broken apart and you’re humping his hand like a needy slut, he pulls away. Keeping an arm around your shoulders and leaning over to grab the glass once more, bringing it up to your panting mouth.

“Drink.” You grab ahold of the glass with shaky hands, taking a few sips just like he asked. “There you go, I’m so proud of my good kitten, doing exactly what I asked you to do. Such a pretty baby for daddy. Now can you drink a little more for me? I want to see at least half gone, okay?”

Dabi and Tomura (poly or separately) are all about that forced intimacy, and will get it from their Darling no matter what. You're not sleeping in the bed if you're gonna flinch and shrink away when he moves to get close to you. You don't want to shower with him? Oh, guess you aren't showering at all until you stop being stubborn. Turning your head when he goes to move/lick a bit of stray food off of your lips? No meals for the next day, and the day after THAT you're getting tied up so you have to let him give you food. Tomura and Dabi both think of themselves as monsters, and if they have to let that side of them show a bit more to force their darling into being affectionate or to just stop fighting them, they will. They're more stubborn than you, they're stronger than you, and they're more terrifying than you can ever hope to be. Now stop fucking squirming and hug me back like you mean it, goddammit.

Valentine’s Day drawing from last year hehe, what would you do? 👀