#(i wrote this last night. im not editing it.)

[onlysushicat]

[catcze]

NO BC LISTEN.

WIRO REACTING TO HIS CRUSH/LOVER WEARING A SUIT. LIKE IT FITS THEIR FRAME SO PERFECTLY AND SNUGLY AND WDYM “WHY IS HE LOOKING” OFC HE’S LOOKING LIKE HELLO???

I can’t tell if he would shameless let his eyes roam or would avoid looking at them KDIDKSKSK WIRO BRAINROT IS SO REALL

KAJNSDSA BROOO OMG okokokok something along the lines but 👀

Reblogs are greatly appreciated !!

You're fiddling with the cuffs of your suit as you exit the changing room, a frown on your face. You're nervous— of course you are! It's not often that you're invited to a high-profile, black-tie event like this, and you'd rather not stick out like a sore thumb.

Wriothesley, who sits comfortably in a plush armchair, has been invited before though. But time and time again he's turned down the invites with some of the most ludicrous excuses. 'A monster is attacking the fortress' is one of his most used ones, closely followed by 'a bird shat on the shoulder of my suit.' But you wonder why he's accepted this time, despite his distaste for the limelight. Well, you shrug, pocketing the thought for later. At least you won't be going alone.

"What do you think?" You pose the question to him, still frowning as you look down at yourself. Did you look okay? Was the fit alright? Did this color wash you out? You had splurged on this (well. Wriothesley splurged on this, technically. He had said it's a gift) and had the suit custom-done, so it should fit your measurements to an exact, but... you frown, not able to shake off the nerves.

And it doesn't help that Wriothesley hasn't said anything since you've stepped out, either. Merely stares at you, eyes roaming your figure. Even at your question, he acts like he hadn't even heard it. Does the suit look that bad?

"Wrio?"

That seems to reach him, and he blinks, finally registering that he's been staring at you— and that you've begun to stare back.

"Oh, uh. Yeah, it looks nice on you. The tailor did a very good job," he says, glancing away, hoping you don't see the red tinge to his cheeks or his ears.

"Really?" You ask, evaluating yourself in the mirror with a frown. "I don't know. I feel like I look like a mess."

"if you look like a mess, then I dread to think what I look like," he says, glancing at you for a second, getting an eyeful of you in that damn good suit, and feels his mouth dry up again. Wriothesley turns his eyes to the corner of the room, finding the fake palm plant there incredibly interesting. Barely more interesting than you. In that very flattering suit. It emphasizes your body very well, he thinks. Makes him see just enough of you while still leaving some to the imagination. And the color you chose for it... red and black, to match what he'll wear, you said. He sighs, troubled, because just the mere memory of it has his heart racing and his palms sweating.

You keep criticizing your reflection for a while longer, and it takes just enough time for Wriothesley to work up the self-control to look your way. "You look good," he says at last. Then clears his throat. His face feels hot. "Better than good, even. You don't have anything to worry about, I promise."

It placates you, because you finally give your own reflection a rest. You back away from the mirror, humming. "If you say so. Thank you, Wrio," you tell him, flashing him a small, shy smile just before you back up into the changing room once more to take it off.

Once you're out of the vicinity, Wriothesley drops his head into his palms, groaning softly.

if he's this much of a mess around you at a fitting, he wonders how much of a fool he could make himself at the actual event.

[moonshynecybin]

wanna have thoughts about Sepang pre-season testing 2015 and how that photo of the two of them wearing swim trunks happened and what else might have taken place that day/week

prompt 4! because it is my brand i must say that cal crutchlow was also there in real life for the rosquez beach date and we must never forget this. he isnt in this story but please hold that in your mind okay thank you. anyways this story is about considering what it would be like to interrogate your very sexy coworker's control issues while you are slightly sauced and neither one of you are wearing shirts. so it goes.

Vale takes a sip of his drink and looks over at Marc, sprawled out on the lounger next to him, limbs loose and easy in the glow of the sun. His swim trunks are riding up, exposing the pale, tender skin on the inside of his thighs. He's already looking at Vale.

Of course he is.

"So, you don’t like the beach?" Vale asks, to try and get his mind of something else. Marc is— Marc is competition. He shouldn't.

Marc hums. "I don’t like being in the water, it’s different."

Interesting. That's not what Vale expected.

"Why? You can swim." He's seen him in the pool earlier, hollering with his brother and dunking him under the water. Shiny and wet under the Malaysian sun.

Marc shrugs, unbothered, and Vale spends some time with the movement of his shoulders, the cut of his muscles. It's fine. Marc wont be able to see his where his eyes are lingering, anyways. Vale is wearing sunglasses. It's harmless.

"I don’t know what’s in there— I always think there’s a shark or something that's going to eat me." Marc's nose scrunches as he talks, and he looks like he's about to laugh.

"You drive motorcycles for a living," Vale replies, voice light. It seems ludicrous that Marc would be scared of something like a shark attack, with what they both do for a living. With what Marc does in particular.

Marc flicks up his sunglasses to squint at Vale, smile still huge on his face. "So do you, are you saying you aren’t scared of anything?"

"I’m not." Vale answers with a straight face.

Marc laughs. It's easy to make him laugh. "I see!"

Vale nods. "No, I’m very brave."

Marc's still laughing, strong forearm thrown over his stomach now.

Vale really shouldn't.

"But you," Vale sits up, faces towards Marc. He’s a little drunk, Vale thinks. A little pink from the sun, still pale from the winter. “You are very brave.”

"Thank you," Marc takes a long sip from his drink, lips wrapped around his straw. Jesus.

Vale shakes his head. It’s not quite a compliment. “No no no no— you take risks. Not like a normal one of us.” He flips his shades down and slumps back. Looking at Marc is maybe too much right now. “And you are scared of the ocean.”

"I don’t like flying either."

Vale blinks. "What?"

Marc shrugs, the corners of his mouth digging impishly into his cheeks. He blinks lazily, and stretches a bit. Keeps his eyes steadfastly on Vale.

"It’s all… out of my control. On the bike I can ride. I know my lines, I know when to brake, how far to lean. It’s up to me. In the sky? The ocean? It’s up to other people. It’s up to God." He shakes his head. "There's too much chance.”

Vale chews on the the inside of his cheek, turns the idea of that over in his head. "Isn’t the chance fun?" He asks. It is to him.

"No." Marc answers.

"Hm." They stay there for a second, listening to the distant crash of waves. To the unknown quantity that is the sea. Vale thinks about it. Thinks about what it means to be surprised. To lose control. To feel like he doesn't know what's going to happen next. About how Marc makes him feel like that all the time.

He really shouldn't.

"Marc?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

[scionshtola]

with certainty

summary: Corisande was forced to heal her own injuries following their battle in Cape Westwind. Y'shtola is none too impressed with the job they did. pairing: Corisande Ymir/Y'shtola Rhul (pre-relationship) word count: 1666 | read on ao3 notes: everything about healing in here i made up. and supplemented with things i saw on grey's anatomy. sorry in advance. and spoilers for the end of ARR. [divider credit]

Behind Corisande, Castrum Meridianum loomed in the distance, the glow of its shields bright against the night sky. Before them, the Alliance troops prepared for the next phase of Operation Archon, spurred on by their successes at the other Garlean outposts thus far. Corisande watched them work, running here and there, voices blending with the sounds of weapons being tended.

If all went well, the troops in front of her would engage the Garlean forces outside while Corisande snuck into the stronghold and disabled its magitek shield generator. If it did not go well, if Corisande let down all of the brave people before her, those willing to risk their lives on the misplaced hope that she succeeded—

They shut their eyes, pushing the thought away. There was always a way for things to go wrong. Now was not the time to dwell on the possibilities.

“Ah, there is our Warrior of Light.”

Searing hot metal closed over Corisande’s wrist. Rhitahtyn sas Arvina stood over them, yanked the chain that linked them and sent them stumbling toward him. She dug her heels into the ground, struggling for purchase in the mud and the grass, churned together by his relentless attacks. It was no use. He was far bigger than them, far more prepared for battle in close quarters, and the manacle on their wrist was blisteringly hot. Pain greater than any they had ever felt before radiated through their arm. She needed distance, needed time to cast, needed her hands free—

“Corisande,” he sneered down at her. Around them, the battlefield was ablaze, flames licking their body as they continued to struggle. She aimed her grimoire at his head, tried to shove him away, anything to create the time and space to cast a spell. If I can just summon Titan… “Are you well?”

They blinked, and the flames receded. The manacle fell from their wrist, leaving behind a phantom pain, as if their skin had been scalded all over again—but it did not truly hurt, not anymore. They had made sure of it.

“Corisande?” Y’shtola’s voice broke through the haze of imagined pain. Where Rhitahtyn towered over her a moment ago, Y’shtola stood peering up at her, her fingers wrapped loosely around their wrist.

“I’m fine,” they answered, and tried to cover the suspiciously quick response with a smile. She tugged her arm free, the tips of Y’shtola’s fingers trailing along the back of her hand, and let it fall to her side, fighting against the urge to cradle it protectively against her chest.

Unsurprisingly, Y’shtola did not seem convinced. She trained her gaze on them, unwavering, concern evident in her bright teal eyes, and reached for their arm again. She took it with a practiced hand, pushing their sleeve back to reveal the web of mottled scars encircling their wrist, a wide, morbid bracelet, the tendrils of which stretched across the back of their hand. 

“When did this happen?” Her touch was firm but gentle as she turned their arm over, examining the scarring from all sides. 

Corisande hesitated, reluctant to do or say anything that might distract from the next phase of the mission. Reluctant to relive the pain in the retelling of it. But she has kept little from Y’shtola in the course of their friendship and as much as she wished not to speak of it, she did not wish to hide it from her either. 

 “A few bells ago,” they finally admitted. “At Cape Westwind. I am afraid I got a little too close to my adversary.”

“A few bells...” Y’shtola prodded at the scars, her eyes narrowing when Corisande did not react. She turned their hand over and skimmed her fingers along the inside of their wrist, brushing the singed edges of what was left of their wrist wrappings. They had not found a moment to replace them since the battle, swept from one task to the next as they were.

“Pray, which healer is responsible for this remarkably poor work?” The sharpness of her words contrasted the gentle hold she kept on their arm. “I should like to have a word with them. A burn so deep as this one appears to have been would take hours to heal properly.”

Corisande would laugh, if it did not feel like so much work. If her skin did not itch, did not feel stretched taut over her bones, fragile and paper thin, at war with the ironic spark of warmth blooming in her chest. Still, that Y’shtola should take such immediate offense to the shoddy quality of care they received was enough to bring a small, fond smile to their face. If only they had someone else to blame. “I will keep that in mind for next time.”

Y’shtola’s eyes widened, gaze flicking between their face and their scar. “You healed yourself?” she asked, at once both incredulous and irritated. “Reforming the layers of skin, repairing the nerves, not to mention the debridement—the pain would have been excruciating. Even more so if not given time to rest between stages. Why did you not come to me?”

Corisande had hardly been able to take two steps after defeating Rhitahtyn, the pain had been so overwhelming. They had tried—one foot in front of the other, just until they reached the others, but they hardly knew where they were going, the pain blinding them to everything around them. Every step had jostled their arm, lightning bolts of pain emanating from their wrist. She’d held her arm to her chest, but every brush of her open wound against her clothes had set her wrist aflame all over again. It had been impossible to think straight.

They had only meant to heal it enough that they could think about something else. Anything else. But Y’shtola was right—the pain of healing had been excruciating, so much so she could hardly keep her eyes open to watch. But she had. She’d watched as the seared bits of her gloves fell from the wound, grit her teeth as the skin began to reform. They had meant to stop, meant to leave the rest until they could find a real healer—until they could find Y’shtola.

But they had never had much control over their healing, had always neglected the study of it for the more interesting act of summoning. She could hardly tell what she was doing, her own cries ringing in her ears, unwilling tears blurring her vision. It had been hard to see, so hard to think about anything but the pain—until there was no pain at all.

“I only meant to make it bearable,” Corisande answered, meeting Y’shtola’s gaze. Her expression flickered, melting from a borderline scowl into softer concern as she looked into their eyes. It lasted only a moment, and then she dropped her gaze to their wrist once more. She prodded at it with cool fingers, then pressed hard against their skin, almost a pinch, pursing her lips when Corisande gasped.

“‘Tis not the prettiest work, but your nerves are intact,” she said neutrally, and let their arm drop to their side.

“You could have just asked.” Corisande rubbed her wrist, though she could not quite hide her amusement at Y’shtola’s straightforward approach. In fact, she found something rather comforting in her lack of gentle bedside manner.

 “Had you proper knowledge of healing magicks, there would be far less scarring,” Y’shtola continued, as if Corisande had not spoken. “But we must make do with what talents we have on the battlefield. That you have healed is of greater import than the manner in which it was done.”

“Come to me should you need any further healing,” she added, in a tone that brooked no argument from Corisande, then narrowed her eyes at them. “But do not expect that I will let you get away with subpar healing forever. A mage of your skill should know how to properly heal themself.”

The laugh that Corisande had struggled to produce moments ago burst easily from her lips now. “I look forward to your lessons, Master Y’shtola.”

Y’shtola smiled, pleased, a touch of mischief in her eyes, and Corisande’s heart swelled with affection, an answering grin forming on their lips. Until Y’shtola’s eyes darted over their shoulder, at the fortress still looming over them, returning to the forefront of their mind all the worries that had fallen to the side when she had first touched them. 

“I would prefer that you rest, but there is still work to be done,” Y’shtola said, staring up at Castrum Meridianum with steel in her eyes. Corisande turned to face the fortress, and for a moment they stood side by side in silence, contemplating the task before them. One more step on the path to Eorzean liberation.

Y’shtola grasped Corisande’s hand. This time she did not look away when their eyes met, and instead returned their gaze with an assurance in her eye that calmed them. “I will see you when you return, Corisande,” she said, giving their hand a comforting squeeze before slipping away to resume her duties amongst the troops.

Corisande took one last look at the looming castrum and let the sound of the battle preparations taking place behind her wash over her. The fate of Eorzea, of everyone behind them, very likely rested on their shoulders. The thought was nearly enough to send them running for the forest they had come from. 

Instead, she turned toward the crowd of people working behind her. Cid was somewhere amongst them, beginning the preparations for the infiltration, and it was past time she sought him out to assist. 

They worked their way through the encampment, a certainty rising within them as they walked. Y’shtola was right—they would see each other again. They were as sure of it as Y’shtola seemed to be herself. 

And they found, suddenly, that they could bear anything, so long as they had that to hold on to.

[fighterbound]

“i don’t stand a chance against sasuke, do i?” / FROM SAKURA TO NARUTO u know how it issssss

His heart stutters and trips over itself. All the breath from his lungs is ripped out with that single question. Time seems frozen as that question pounds itself into his head, replaying over and over. Then like clockwork his instincts flare to protect him, working to try and stop the torrent of emotions unleashed from the rooms he shut them in. It's ironic how Sakura's question has tethered itself in his mind while unshackling his own feelings.

Outwardly he shows his teeth, not in threat or warning, but to soothe. A wide happy smile. Happy is safe, happy doesn't have room for problems. Happy doesn't threaten him the way conflict does. Only these instincts are the same ones that have been pushing him away from this very conversation. Telling him to fold away all their previous little talks and underlying jabs and lock them away.

The smile he tries to give life to keeps melting off.

And Sakura given him no room to run this time. It's like she's cornered him. Her question a kunai that met its target. No matter how he spins this, he can't pretend he didn't hear her. Can't laugh his way out of the corner she's pressed him into. Pressing his hands against his side, he fights to keep his fingers relaxed despite the gut wrenching need to curl them into fists. This is Sakura...she...she's not someone that should be receiving this sort of reaction. Defensive and angry.

Yet...as he stares back at her and tries to work out a response a heat bubbles inside him. It's not explosive or abrasive like when facing an annoyin' enemy or arguing with Sai. No this...it's worse because it's been simmering, growing and expanding. Try as he might, it's been cooking too long and refusing to be shoved off the burner. His hands can't handle the heat. He doesn't want to feel like this. Angry. Annoyed. Agitated. Frustrated. None of those emotions ever work well for people. They create problems, drive people away, and they're just not good! So why is he so mad at her question? Why can't he shake it off and pretend like all the other times? It is cause she's got him trapped without an escape? Like...like she's demanding an answer out of him. One he doesn't he want to give, and why should he? Who is she to make him answer such an unfair question? His eyes narrow.

The words that have built on his tongue are all wrong. Terrible, ugly words that could brea--, no they will break them. They will shove a deeper wedge between them. He'd rather swallow his own tongue than speak the nasty truth that is filling his throat. Breaking away from her gaze, he stares down at the ground to reorient himself. Right now he's drowning in the overwhelming reaction of his emotions and thoughts. The only way he knows to break to the surface in these rare times is through his voice. Shouting, reacting, physically getting everything out. However, never have those times had him before a friend, especially one as precious as Sakura. Actually no, Sasuke been on the receiving end but...

Sasuke is different. The bitter truth. Bitter all the way to the core because of what it confirms. Though ain't that the answer she's looking for? It's why she's asking the question, ain't it? She knows. Every talk they've had since that evening in the bar, it comes back to Sasuke. He's grown from being a tiny little thorn between them to wrapping around them like vines. Every shift and twist Sakura and himself have managed to try and escape, have only pressed them deeper against the many thorns, making them bleed over the bastard that chooses the outside world instead of them. Yet...Naruto can't fault him. Can't bring himself to ask for more.

Would he...feel the same if were Sakura? If Sakura were to be swapped with him, would his own feelings be at the intensity they are for Sasuke? The hesitation in his heart tells him the answer he doesn't want to face. The answer Sakura is probably lookin' for. If she's expectin' this answer...should he just say it? Stop letting it simmer between them. His stomach drops just at the thought. But how long are they gunna keep doing this? If he evades now, will she keep comin' at him like this? Pushing more and more until the answer it pulled out of him. Why does she wanna hear this? Is she lookin' for an out or something? Then why ask him? She should be the one to say it.

Not him. He won't bare his neck like that. Running his tongue along the back of his teeth, decides right then and there to fight back. This ain't just gunna be him. He's gunna fight his way out of this corner!

"If you're askin' like that, makes it sound like you already have an answer," he rasps finally, like he's been inhaling smoke for far too long. Maybe he has, choosing to sit in the burning home of their friendship instead of trying to put it out. Every muscle is coiled tight with tension, bracing for whatever reaction he's going to receive. He's got fear pooling into his gut like an endless waterfall and that kicks him into gear. As his fingers dig into his sides, he does what he's worst at.

Waits.

★; addressing the elephant in the room sentence starters. / @fightaers

[papercutsunset]

Hello! Happy Sunday! Just dropping by with a writing question. How do you approach writing relationships? What are your favorite dynamics to write (in general or between specific characters)?

I love to write parent-child relationships, I think. More than that, I like to write people who end up knowing each other inside and out, be it because they're childhood friends, they're in that parent-child relationship, or because they've been through enough that they know each others' buttons even if they don't know everything about each other.

I think my favorite ones to think about right now are:

Tiff and Bloodsaw. They're so fucked up to me. They start off as coworkers, with Bloodsaw despising Tiff and Tiff trying to connect with them (in an admittedly annoying way). Then they get married, which is a whole new source of angry little injokes between them. They're platonic wives who want to kill each other. The edges soften a bit by that August (following the observatory incident and some hidebehind run-ins), but they're still there.

Olympia and Beverly Cast. Estranged mother-daughter relationship? The kid's secretly a local supervillain? There's secrets between them, like things from when Olympia was a baby and things Olympia did under her father's command? Yeah, that's right. They're watching The Muppets together. (What makes it more fun is the slowly-dawning realization that Olympia vastly prefers her mother and her mother's boyfriend to living with her father. The friends she has now don't hurt, either.)

I think the most fun thing, though, is trying to come up with ways that the main character of any given story, who ostensibly has a strong personality (excepting Mikey Marks here), would reasonably interact with someone and how that person would interact in turn. If Olympia is in a fight with Urania (Zoe Chevrolet), there's going to be overt hostility and undertones of flirting (teen superhero-"supervillain" dynamics). Tiff wouldn't really have that dynamic (aside from joking, as shown in things like her conversations with Bloodsaw. Real flirting is a no).

It all comes down to action and reaction, I think.

[elvain]

cannot believe how much i have been writing today...... who am i.....

[theladyfae]

the queen died and my writers block immediately dissipated this is incredible a true win for us

[onychespherein]

nowriting a fic, the end scene, suddenly found myself having to describe a kiss, staring awkwardly at the page & unsure how to proceed

[crimsonbubble]

me again..

SOOO basically miguel is a porn star and his user is like SPIDR99 or something and the readers friend sends her some of his vids but he’s a faceless account so no no knows it’s him, butttt she recognizes his voice and it turns out to be her college professorrrr

AHHHAHAHSNMMFM

cw. nsfw, gn!reader, professor!miguel, use of sex toys, male masterbation, praise *not proofread, just pure horny

[I WROTE A PROFESSOR!MIGUEL THING A WHOEL ABCK AND UHM 🫣🫣]

MINORS DNI!!

edit; im not writing a part 2

scrolling through hundreds of porn accounts on twitter can lead you down some weird paths. so when you finally caved and looked up the name of a specific account that your friends told you about, you decided to see what the hype was about.

and now, you finally understood.

the heavy strokes of his hand moving the clear fleshlight over his cock, the melodic groans that slip past his lips, the visible tensing of his abdomen, and the twitching of his cock made your stomach flutter.

"just like that, baby, just like that." his voice made you pause, a familiar tingle hitting your senses as you turn the volume up. "feels so fuckin' good."

as you racked your brain, it finally clicked as you focus on his voice and hands. the same voice and hands that taught you biochemistry. you were certain it was him, it had to be. his visible physique looks all too similar to your professor.

you immediately went to scroll through the account, trying to find any sort of picture or video that would be further proof. you scrolled through his media, bookmarking videos as you went, until you found a mirror selfie.

bingo. just what you needed.

the casual button-up and slacks he was wearing in the photo were the same ones he wore to class a few days ago. the gold chain around his neck and the rings on his fingers as further proof that this faceless account was in fact, your professor.

his bio also should've given it away, considering he had the words professor in there. there's no way you could tell anyone about this, especially not your friends who are all currently obsessing over him.

going into class the following day was awkward. on your end, at least. anytime you looked at him, all you saw was the video from last night. Miguel spared a few lingering glances at you, a smirk twitching on his lips.

he just loves seeing your account in his notifications. it's almost as if you knew that he was thinking about you in the videos he posts online.

[m0llygunn]

shy girl (eddie munson x fem!reader)

summary: typically shy, you aren't good at telling eddie what you want. finally brave enough to ask, eddie happily rewards you

cw: 18+!, mature language, petnames, smut, pinv sex (unprotected), creampie, anal fingering, shy/nervous first time anal reader idk, lots of praising, porn with very little plot an: wrote this a while ago and was suppose to be a 3 part butt stuff saga lol but i probably won't do the other 2 parts if im being honest. makes sense alone, theres just clearly a segue for the other parts at the end. kind of edited but not really. wc: 3.6k+

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Your stomach clenches, whole body quivering with nerves.

“Y’okay?” he asks from behind you, finger just barely brushing over the focus of tonight.

“M’okay,” you answer tentatively.

“You don’t sound okay?”

“I want to do this,” you say with an exhale, forcing your muscles to relax. You drop the side of your head further into the plushness of the pillow, back arching deeper as you breathe away the low vibrations of your nervousness. 

His hands rise up your lower back, palms flat to your skin. “You don’t have to.” He glides both thumbs up the sides of your spine before rounding them outwards, massaging an achy spot you didn’t know existed. You relax into it, taking another breath. 

“I want to, Eddie. Wanna try it.”

His thumbs return to the base of your spine before gliding upwards, doing it all again. You could fall asleep if he kept doing this— but you don’t. You push yourself up, craning your neck to see him perched behind you on his knees. His eyes flicker up from the movements of his hands on your lower back to meet your gaze.

“Eddie, I’m serious. I want to try it,” you convince, eyeing him. His naked chest glistens in a faint sheen of sweat under the warm light of the bedroom, courtesy of the ample foreplay that brought you both here. His disheveled hair is further proof of how the night has gone. He raises his brows, showing off the sincerity in his widened eyes, hands paused on your skin. 

“If it’s just for me, I’m fine with how we usually have sex— I love your pussy,” he smiles crookedly.

Worked up, bare, his cock already hard, and so close to your soaked entrance— it would be easy to give in and let him fuck you stupid, but you prepared for this, you thought endlessly about this, you want this. 

“I’ve never done anal before though, wanna try it at least once.”

His hands resume their movements, this time gliding down and over the roundness of your ass. His thumb brushes over where you want him.

“You sure?” he asks.

“Yes, Eddie. Please.”

“It’s gonna take a while if you don’t want it to hurt. We coulda been warming you up if you told me earlier.”

Your back arches deeper as you deflate, pressing your face forward into the pillow. You knew Eddie had more experience than you, you knew he’s done this before with other people, but you didn’t know how to bring it up. It was only in the heat of the moment when you managed to let the words slip from the tip of your tongue despite planning to say them at the beginning of the evening. At least this time you got the message out, last time you got ready for this, you chickened out on telling him what you wanted and went without.

Eddie brushes his thumb over your hole again before traveling down to your cunt, dipping into your wetness. Shallowly, he circles his thumb in your entrance.

“Shoula told me earlier, pretty girl,” Eddie says and your stomach drops with disappointment. You know you should have, you told him too late and now you have to wait again. 

His thumb pulls out from your cunt, trailing upwards. 

“Shoulda told me earlier, cause now I’m all worked up and need you— but you’re shy, aren’t you?” His voice drops to a low rasp that makes your disappointment vanish, heated excitement taking its place. “My shy girl, too nervous to tell me she wants me to fuck her in the ass.”

The warmth of your slick on his thumb circles around your puckered hole lightly, teasingly. 

“Are you my shy girl?” he asks.

You nod your head, the sound of ruffling cotton on your pillowcase acting as your response. You know Eddie doesn’t appreciate your lack of a real answer when his thumb stops it’s movement.

“Yes, I’m your shy girl,” you say quickly, wanting him to keep going.

“Good girl. My good, shy girl,” he hums. His thumb resumes circles before gliding right over your hole, adding increasing pressure that has your stomach squeezing. You hum happily, enjoying it so far but it doesn’t last for long when he removes both hands from you.

“Touch yourself, baby. Want to see your fingers in your pussy while I get your ass ready for my cock,” he says and your stomach flips.

“Touch myself?” you ask.

“Too shy to touch yourself f’me?” he asks, amusement laced in his voice. You hum, turning your head briefly into the pillow to hide, before taking a breath. 

“No,” you reply, the bashfulness of your voice telling both of you otherwise. You bravely snake a hand under your body, holding your hand flat over your mound. 

“That’s a good girl, let’s see you sink your little fingers into that pretty cunt.”

Hot and wet, your fingers glide in easily, an audible squelch of wetness sounding out that makes your skin heat from your neck all the way up to your cheeks. Eddie groans from behind you and it gives you the confidence to pull your fingers out, starting a slow pump. 

“Thatta girl, keep doing that,” he praises and you hear the mattress shuffle behind you. 

You turn your face to see Eddie but when you catch his gaze, he pointedly looks towards your cunt, reminding you with a raised brow to keep going. He shuffles off the bed, moving to the bedside table. Seconds later, with a clear bottle in hand, he crawls back into the bed, moving to sit behind you again. 

With the pop of a lid opening, your fingers pause as your mind’s focus shifts to what Eddie’s doing.

“Keep going baby,” he's quick to prompt. “Just gonna warm up some of this lube in my hands and we’ll get you started, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply meekly, making slow wiggles of your fingers inside of yourself, movements far too shallow and tame to get yourself off. 

“Gotta relax baby, focus on playing with yourself,” he guides as you hear the slickness of the lube being rubbed between his hands. He finally makes contact between your cheeks, rubbing the warmed up liquid over you. 

You try to continue plunging your fingers in and out of yourself but your attention wanes as the pads of his fingers rub circles over your hole. 

You resist the nervousness that threatens to creep in. It’s not that you don’t trust Eddie. You trust him more than yourself, it’s just new and you’re not sure what to make of it yet.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing?” you ask shyly. 

A gentle palm meets your lower back again, warmth spreading over your skin as he rubs soothingly. An appreciated affection that calms your nervousness. 

“’Course, baby,” he answers. “Just getting you ready and lubed up. The slicker you are, and the more relaxed you are, the easier it’ll be.”

You hum an agreement, trying your hardest to focus on fingering yourself. You start building a steady rhythm when Eddie’s hand pauses.

“Gonna start small, okay? Just gonna use my little finger at first— see how you like it.”

“Mhm, okay,” you agree. With his one hand still rubbing a soothing massage on your lower back, you feel the prod at your hole, slow and gentle.  

“Just, relax,” he hums quietly, “mhm, just like that, baby.” His little finger pushes into the tightness, and your own fingers pause completely as you take a moment to decipher the feeling. 

His hand slides from your lower back, down to rest on your hip. His finger pushes in the slightest bit further. When you feel the knuckle of his finger your whole body moves forward, away from the intrusion instinctively. 

“Hurts?” he asks, letting you pull away, leaving just the tip of his finger inside you. 

You shake your head. It’s not pain, it’s not something you’ve really felt before. “Just feels weird,” you answer, relaxing back towards him. 

“Wanna stop?”

“No,” you reply with another shake of your head. “Keep going, please,” you say when he makes no further moves. 

He pushes his little finger into you again, knuckle pushing past the band of tightness but this time you don’t pull away, you breath through the odd feeling. 

“How’s that?” he asks, stilling his finger inside you. 

“Feels… fine? Not bad, just… tight.”

“Yeah, s’really tight,” he breathes. You feel his finger wiggle the slightest bit and it makes your stomach clench from the strange sensation. 

“Wanna play with your clit for me? It’ll make it feel better.”

“What are you gonna do now?” you ask, wanting him to talk you through it some more. 

“Get you used to this, just go slow, in and out for now,” 

Gliding your fingers out from your cunt, wetness gathered between your fingers, you move to make circles on your clit, letting out a breath at the distracting pleasure.

Eddie starts slow movements of his finger, pulling it out before pushing it back in. With your fingers working your clit and the added pressure, you hum a quiet moan. 

“Feel good, baby? Like having my finger in your ass?”

“Like it, feels good so far,” you answer, picking up the speed on your clit. 

You get so lost in the buzzing throughout your body that Eddie’s words go in one ear and out the other as he guides you through the next step. You almost don’t notice him switching from his little finger to his middle, only when he gets to the knuckle again do you notice the extra stretch. Surprised, despite him telling you what he was doing, a gasp pulls from your lungs and your circles on your clit stutter. 

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, just surprised me.” 

“Tell me if it starts to hurt, okay?”

You agree and Eddie starts a slow thrust in and out. The feeling is… interesting. It’s like pressure and quite different from when he’s in your pussy. 

When his knuckle slips in and out with ease, you feel yourself get excited.

“Ready for more,” you chirp quietly. 

“Yeah? Ready for two of my fingers?”

“Mhm, ready for ‘em, Eddie.” Your belly pools with heat just at the idea of two of his fingers inside of you. Your pace on your clit picks up again, having slowed down so you didn’t cum just yet.

He does it methodically, pulling his finger out until just the very tip is left inside of you. Then he adds his second, pushing inside of you so slowly that you nearly feel like pushing back into him— until he gets to the hilt of his knuckles again. 

Biting your lip, the stretch is close to being painful and you can’t help the way you tense. Eddie stills.

“My ambitious girl, thought she could take more already. S’hurting isn’t it?”

“No,” you lie unconvincingly. 

“No?”

“Just feels like a stretch,” you say, voice coming out squeaky. 

“Yeah? Wanna keep going?” 

You pause before nodding your head. “Wanna keep going,” you answer, continuing slow circles on your clit. 

His fingers prod deeper, knuckles stretching you out and adding pressure. When he finally has both fingers fully inside you, you let out a breath you had held in that clearly you nor Eddie realized you had held in.

“Baby, you gotta keep breathing. If it’s too much, tell me,” he admonishes gently, rubbing his opposite hand along your hip.

“It’s not too much… it’s just different. I want it so bad, Eddie.”

“I’m so fucking hard, you’re not making this easy for me,” he laughs softly.

“I do. I've been thinking about it for a long time. Really want it just didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Sweet, shy girl, you can tell me anything. You know I’d never say no to you,” he says as he starts moving his fingers again. You make a conscious effort to breathe, taking deep inhales and extended exhales. 

When he eventually gets you used to his two fingers, the way he twists his wrist with each plunge has you humming in the intimate pleasure. More than anything, the thrill of it all is what has you enjoying this the most. It feels good so far but you need more.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah, pretty girl?”

“Can you…” you trail off, shyness creeping in.

“Can I?” he prompts, slowing his fingers.

“Can you… can you do that but…” you trail off again.

“Anything you want baby, just gotta ask,” he says softly, hand rubbing along your hip still, encouraging you to say what you want to say.

“I want you to do that and fuck me too,” you say in a quick breath.

“Yeah?”

“Please.”

Eddie laughs softly, his gentle massaging hand turns into a quick squeeze. “I can do that, want me to stuff both your hole, fill you right up?” he asks salaciously.

You pussy clenches at the thought and you need it more than anything.

“Please, Eddie.”

He sinks his fingers deep into your ass, making you moan, lighting every nerve up in your body. He shuffles behind you, free hand guiding your thighs wider to accommodate himself.

“Gonna make you feel so full, you want that don’t you? You been thinking about it?”

“Mmhmm,” you hum. “Been thinking about it for so long, Eddie.”

“Gotta tell me these things, baby. Want to know every dirty thought of yours,” he grumbles in a deep baritone. His fingers twist with the movements of his wrist and you feel the prod of his cock as he drags it through your folds, catching your clit before lining himself up. 

“Please,” you whisper, pushing back into him. He lets out a low chuckle and he spares you your additional pleas that sit on your tongue as he pushes inside of you. 

The stretch of the head of his cock makes you whine and with the addition of his fingers in your ass it’s a fuller pleasure, one that gets more intense as he pushes deeper inside of you. 

“Eddie,” you whimper out, dropping your head to the pillow. 

“I know baby, s’a lot isn’t it?”

“Feels good Eddie,” you whine, arching your back deeper.

“Yeah? You like being filled up?”

“Love it, Eddie.” 

He draws his hips back and your stomach flips just at the thought of the pleasure to come. When he pushes back in, his fingers wiggle inside of you and your breath catches. He does it again and you swear your head goes fuzzy. 

He starts slow, his hips thrusting slow and lazily, barely grazing the backs of your thighs with each stroke. His fingers are what makes your breath stutter. He twists them in and out with the swirl of his wrist, and each time he sinks his cock inside of you, it adds unique pressure that has you reeling. Most of all, you like that it’s him doing it— you feel a profound intimacy having him like this that makes your chest squeeze alongside the burn in your lungs from having every breath stolen. 

“Want to add another finger,” he says and you let out a drawn out whimper. He coos, rubbing his free hand along the round expanse of your cheek and up to your waist. “I know you can take it, you’re doing so good f’me.”

“I can take it,” you nod into your pillow. 

He pulls back from you, enough to have just the tip of his cock inside, and you have to bite your lip to stop yourself from pushing back into him. That feeling vanishes when you hear the click of the bottle lid.

“Just gonna add more lube, okay? Make sure you’re nice and slick for me,” he says in a soothing cadence.

“Thank you, Eddie,” you say. He huffs a quiet laugh and you hear the wet sound of the lube in his hand. 

“Don’t gotta thank me, pretty girl. I’m having fun back here,” he chuckles and your heart skips a beat at the thought of him enjoying this. It’s a warm feeling— the shared pleasure, it’s hard to explain but just feels good being together like this. 

Pulling his fingers almost all the way out, you feel his other fingers glide around your entrance. When he shifts, you take a deep breath. 

“Good girl,” he praises. 

His free hand finds your lower back again and the stretch of a third finger starts. It’s a lot this time. A lot more than all the other stretches. 

“Just breathe, there you go. Doing so good,” he soothes in a low voice. Feeling a heightened sensitivity, you don’t miss the way his cock twitches and throbs inside of you. While the stretch tinges painful, you focus your attention towards that, feeling the way his excitement kicks up in his cock. 

The stretch doesn’t give way to pleasure, but the pleasure comes from somewhere else. Somewhere deep inside where you feel connected to Eddie. You’re his like this, physically but emotionally as well. All his. It makes you throb, and you reach between your legs chasing that feeling. 

“Fuck, there you go,” Eddie says, voice turning gravelly. His cock kicks up again and he lets himself push forward, sinking halfways inside of you. 

His fingers, just barely past the knuckle, shift inside of your tight hole and it has you lighting up in a searing pleasure— pain speckled but so rewarding when Eddie lets out a deep grunted moan. 

“Don’t think I’ll last, baby,” he says in a strangled breath. 

“Just fuck me, please. Need it so bad Eddie. Need you.”

He huffs a deep exhale. His hand on your lower back pushes you down into a deep arch and you meld to the way he needs you. His fingers shift again and it’s like fire in your veins. You rub quick circles against your clit and with a deep breath that tickles across your spine as Eddie lets it out, he thrusts. 

Guttural and from deep inside of you, you let out a pleasure ridden moaned cry. 

He pulls back and rolls his hips to yours. 

You’ve never felt so full in your life and you love it. It’s thrilling, it’s connecting, it’s masochistically beautiful, and it pools in your lower belly, making your stomach clench in rigid convulses. 

“Fuck, feels so fucking good,” Eddie groans. His breath is heavy and only adds to your pleasure. “You like both your holes being filled don’t you, can feel you squeezing me so tight,” he says in a deep grunted babble.

Your moans surpass their usual shy quietness, and the way your pitch raises is barely within your control. If you didn’t feel so conscious-shatteringly good, you might be embarrassed about how your voice echos off the walls. Normally Eddie’s the vocal one, and even with his drawn out groans, grunts, moans, and dirty talk that choruses alongside your own, you’re undeniably loud and it has Eddie’s thrusts stuttering already. 

He presses his fingers downwards inside of you and it’s like something shatters. You’re almost at your climax, but that small movement has his cock pressing perfectly against your g spot, and the stretch, the subtle pain, and the blatant pleasure of your fingers on your clit have your muscles seizing. He thrusts as deep as he can, moving quickly in and out to push you over the edge, and you erupt into shakes that tremor through your body. 

Your legs threaten to give out and your head turns foggy with buzzing luxury. His thrusts continue and even with your eyes squeezing shut, your vision gets darker until you see the sparkle of your pleasure peaking through like stars. 

Eddie spews moans and grunts after whimpers and curses, and pulling his fingers from your ass, he quickly grabs hold of your hips in a pinching grip. Staying planted in your cunt, he chases you downwards on the bed when your legs finally give out. He follows you, prolonging your high, and finding his own as he fucks you into the mattress. 

“Fucking Christ— fuck, fuck,” he grunts, hips slapping heavily to your ass in quick thrusts. The bruising grip he has on you, and the urgency of his broken curses tell you he’s on the edge. He sinks his cock deeply inside of you, convulsing balls pressing against your cunt, and you feel the subtle warmth of his orgasm fill you up. Working himself through his high in shallow thrusts with stuttered grunts, the room is silent as you’re reduced to levelling breaths. You feel as light as air with the pleasure of electricity strumming through every inch of you. 

He’s pressed to your back, both of you completely collapsed to the mattress but you need to feel more of him. You shift, reaching backwards, and like he reads your mind he’s already searching for you with an open hand. 

He pulls out, rolling to the side and you follow, moving yourself to lay against his chest. His hand in yours, it’s sticky and wet and full of lube but you hold it tight, squeezing it within your own. He squeezes back. 

You hum with more satisfaction and good feelings inside your chest than you can communicate. Eddie brings his other hand to your back, rubbing it up and down, replying with his own hum. 

“That was really good,” you mumble, leaning your cheek to his sweat damp chest.

“So fucking good,” he nearly growls, the tone of his voice proving the assertion of his truth. 

You laugh softly, pressing a kiss to his chest. His heart hammers below your ear and the rise and fall of his chest soothes you, relaxes you. 

“My shy girl,” Eddie hums and from the lightness of his tone you know he’s smiling. Feeling brave from your post sex high, you smile to yourself.

“I can’t wait to feel your cock in my ass,” you say. Eddie lets out a deep laugh that vibrates in his chest. 

“Not so shy now, huh?” 

Cheeks burning with your smile, you shake your head.

“Want to do you too,” you say. You lose a bit of your nerve but the dramaticized gasp you get from Eddie, you know that he knows what you mean. 

“You want to do me too?” he laughs. 

“Mhm, want to fuck your ass,” you whisper, just barely mustering the courage to say it. You’re rewarded for saying it with smooth, soothing strokes up and down your back, and a chuckle from deep inside Eddie’s chest. 

“Who woulda thought my shy girl’d be so dirty,” he says, pulling you even tighter to him, hugging you extra close. 

──────────── ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

[ripjaws]

~

[3typical3]

Tip for non Hispanic ppl writing Spanglish

*I initially wrote this at 1 am so like, keep that in mind as you decipher this lol

*context is key when speaking Spanglish, if your character is in a professional setting they probably won’t speak Spanglish unless it’s to a fellow co worker who also speaks Spanglish. It’s more of a casual way a speaking yk?

Also parents, I avoid Spanglish with my parents unless we’re switching from just speaking Spanish to just speaking English. But that’s depends from family to family.

It’s typically like switching sentences and not dropping in random words.

Example “ es Que fui a la tienda, and they were out of milk”

Example “ te ves cansada, did you sleep last night?”

“La neta” is and extremely common Mexican slang term, typically means, honestly. It can also be used to mean ‘really?’

Honestly example:

“La neta, Im tired”

Or “La neta, estoy cansada. Im going to bed”

In the case it means “really?”:

ex.) “Neta?! They said that?!”

I personally say “ de que” which is basically saying “like”, it’s a filled term, before saying a sentence in either English or Spanish

example “ de que idk it won’t work”

I’m Mexican so I use “ósea” a lot in both languages. Another substitute for words like:

“I mean,” “it'd be,” ”like,” “so,” “that is,” “therefore,” and “or.”

Ex. “ ósea, it looks weird idk”

The famous “ pero like” I personally don’t use a lot but an example of how it’s used in Spanglish is “ pero like, how did it happen?”

Sometimes I Just say “ fuck” but like in my Mexican accent or in a sentence.

“ fuck, perdí mi pulsera”

When I get startled I cuss in both English and Spanish but a Spanglish example would be

*insert random startling noise

“ ala verga! That scared me” or “ hijo de tu puta madre!” when something REALLY scared the shit out of me lol

“Chingada madre, where did that come from”

Rlly insert any cuss word in there and it probably works in Spanglish.

Edit bc I thought of this the morning after

In Mexican Spanish for whatever reason the word “madre” can be used like kinda like a cuss word lol.

Example “ Me vale madres”

Which in English would translate to “I don’t value mothers” but in practice means “I don’t give a shit” or “I don’t care”.

Another Mexican deep cut is the word “pedo” which yes, means fart but we’ve really given the word so many alternative meanings like

“ no es mi pedo “ = “not my problem”

“Estoy bien pedo” = “in rlly drunk”

“Vas a la peda?” = “ are you going to the party/kickback”

There’s more but that’s like the basics lol.

Also another Mexican term is “Aguas”… which literally translates to “waters” but it’s used as a warning.

“Aguas, there’s car coming”

The most famous of Mexican slang has to be “wey” or “guey” depends on how you spell it. But it just means dude. Another term that goes in hand is, “no mames” which basically means “are you kidding me”.

*men for whatever reason hate when the girl they’re dating or are into calls them wey. I think it’s because it’s seen as either improper or as like friend zoning.

“Wey, you’re not gonna believe this”

“No mames wey, look at this”

Another term is “equis” which basically means whatever

“How was the party?”

“Estuvo equis”

Another example

“ now was she dressed?”

“Equis, nothing crazy nothing wow”

*I recommend for Mexican characters looking into the words, or you can just ask me I just don’t wanna make this longer than I already have lol, “mamar”/“mamo”/“mamon”, each you would think is the same but no, no they are not and using one in the wrong context could be catastrophic lol. They are vital words to our vocab

If you’re writing to a character from a specific country, take the time to learn some slang. Sometimes slang crosses over, sometimes even we use slang we learn from each others dialects. Personally I love “joder”/“no jodas” because of the shows from Spain.

But take the time because if you write a Colombian character using most of the slang I’ve used above, you’d get a lot of hate from Colombians lol.

Some bad Spanglish examples would be

“ why didnt you eat your comida?”

Like no. Just no. Inserting a random Spanish word doesn’t equate to Spanglish, at least not in most Latin peoples lives

“ you look cansada” also just no.

*Edit I saw someone post abt this and I felt like adding it in

If you do insert a random Spanish word or vice versa it’s because you forgot the word but that involves a lot of blanking and being annoyed you can’t dig the simplest word out of you sub conscience lol

Example: “ you look, FUCK what’s the word! You know when you’re cansada…TIRED. You look tired”

Another commenter addition I’ll be adding is using “eh” as a filler instead of “um”. I use both but even in English I default to using “eh” or “ehmmmm”

The worst is when you don’t remember the word, only to have it appear in your subconscious hours later lol

Another fav filler word is “deste” which equates to another more Central American term “vaina” but a less refined way of saying it. Essentially they mean “thing” but that thing can be anything. It’s kinda a word when you’re to lazy to say the actual word.

“Pásame el deste”

*passes them x ítem

“No I meant the remote”

*trying not to kill the person because they could’ve said remote the whole time but chose not to

Sometimes we use bad Spanglish on purpose just to be funny

“Que sad” “Que cute”

* i personally love inserting the word cute into my vocab in Spanish just cuz so to each their own

Something I do is like say something in English and immediately say the exact same thing in Spanish. Or like I’ll say an exclamation in one language then end in the other.

“ GO GO GO, VÁMONOS APÚRATE”

“Que asco, gross”

“WOW, que bueno”

Also if you’re writing like couples tbh nicknames in Spanish would be reserved for when you’re speaking in Spanish and same for English, but each couple is different so if you rlly want to leave a nickname in Spanish in go for it. If you rlly want the endearment to be “ mi amor” please remember that after like the first or second time the Spanish speaker would probably just refer to their S/O as “ amor” or switch between the two.

Which brings me to the terms “mami/mamita” and “papi/papito”. Now, while they Can and are by some used in a sexual manner, they can also be used as general terms of endearment. My mom will sometimes call me mamita or my brother papito.

Amongst couples though it’s just kinda said, I saw someone describe it was you just give motherly energy so “mami” is said lol which I get oddly enough.

Once a couple is well established or just comfortable the woman can refer to her S/O as “ viejo” which is old man lol, but it’s like cute. On the flip side idk it’s typically seen as offensive when a man calls his S/O “vieja” but that depends on culture to culture.

Again mami and papi don’t have to be sexual but can be.

Another simple thing you can do is look up nicknames for certain names.

Examples:

“Mike” pronounced “Mique” for Miguel. Some people like to use “Mickey”, that gained popularity from an old Mexican singer lol.

“Ponchó” For Alfonso

“Ale” Can be used for Alejandro/Alexandra/Alejandra

Another thing I thought of is amongst siblings when referring to our parents we will say like

“Haz visto a mi mamá”

Which means have you seen “my mom” even though she’s both our mom… idk it’s weird but a nice little touch you could add to your writing lol

I get rlly annoyed reading bad Spanglish, sometimes it’s just painfully cringe and just obvious a non Spanish speaker wrote it, and I realize it’s bc most of y’all didnt grow up with it so like this is just what is typical Spanglish most Hispanic ppl grow up speaking, obviously not everyone speaks like this but figured I’d give tips from someone who actually speaks English and Spanish and switches between.

If I missed anything feel free to add on or if you disagree add examples

[lynnlovesthestars]

Scars.

Pairing: Astarion x reader Genre and warnings: angst, lots of it, hurt barely any comfort, allusions to sexual assault, past trauma, graphic description of torture, kidnapping, blood, violence, set in act 3, mention of death. Notes: not proof read ngl, i wrote it after dreaming it, and i didnt even wanna read it again, i cried like a bitch cause it’s kinda like…. past experience projected? just yeah dont ask if im ok after writing this, the answer is no lmao... also just a side note since it’s the first time im posting on this profile, but english is not my first language so please be mindful about it. Edit 10/06/23: i finally went through it end edited it.. i hope i catched all the errors cause idk if i'll ever be strong enough to give it another read ahah

Getting so close to someone meant so much for Astarion, and the more he cared, the more new fears would swim through his brain. 

Since you arrived in the lower city, and his bed was no longer cold at night, a new nightmare snuck in.

The idea that Cazador would be able to get to you, and weaponize you against him, made his cold blood run even colder. Several nights you woke up to a trembling and sweating Astarion, as he was begging for mercy. He never explained too much about these nightmares to you, just letting you know it was about Cazador again and again, but he left out the haunting possibility of you getting hurt because of him. On the other hand you believed it was because you were getting so close to the Szarr palace, and Cazador knew about it just as much as Astarion did.

It was the middle of the night when the sound of a broken glass stirred you awake. You looked around you, Astarion still deep into his meditating state, while the others were asleep as well, none of them reacted to the sound like you did. Maybe you just had a light sleep, you thought, and someone in the tavern dropped a few glasses or something. It was when hands gripped your wrists that you jolted up, looking behind you. It was too dark to see, and all you could spot were the deep red eyes, like Astarion's, though they lacked the warmth of his.

A shiver ran through your spine as you realized what was happening, but when you tried to call for the others, you realized how deep in shit you actually were: no sound would leave your lips, like you were silenced.

"There's no need to be afraid, Tav." A deep cold voice whispered so close to your ear. "They can't hear you".

The voice chuckled at your failed attempts to call for Astarion, Karlach or anyone, as tears were starting to pool at the edge of your eyes.

Another pair of hands took hold of Astarion, magical shackles fastened around his hands and feet, just as they did to yours, and then they started dragging you both away.

The deep voice spent the whole travel taunting you with stories of Cazador, how cold blooded he was, and just how much he enjoyed torturing his victims. From one point of view you were already accustomed with such stories about him, but from the other, the idea of Cazador getting hold of Astarion again, made your blood freeze again. You were not going to let Cazador hurt him again. You were set on the idea.

When you reached the corridors of Cazador's palace, the silencing spell finally wore off, though Astarion was still not moving. Terror flashed through your eyes as you wondered if they had already…

"What did you do to him?!" You breathed out as you tried so hard to keep your calm in front of the spawns that were dragging and pushing you through the dark hallways.

The spawn scoffed as he pushed through and through.

"Don't worry, he's not dead" You could feel his eyes rolling at the question, like it was some dumb question you should have known the answer to. "..yet" he added at last.

You couldn't stop your mouth from twitching, between the state of rage that was slowly building up, or the terror of them hurting Astarion.

"What's going on? Can i know that at least?" You wanted so bad to cast a spell on him, charming him into freeing you, but without the use of your hands, you were useless.

"Cazador wants to give you a warm welcome into Baldur's gate" He giggled, as the smell of old blood mixed with the sour taste of the bile threatening to spill from your lips, and you couldn't hold it anymore, and your feelings started spilling out.

You couldn't help then to try and get Astarion free at least. You wanted to shake those hands off of you, to wiggle out of the shackles that bound your magic, but no matter how much you tried, you were like set in stone, unable to do anything but move forward, shed tears, and talk. Or more specifically, beg.

Beg them to hurt you, instead of Astarion. 

Beg them to keep you here, and let your star free.

Beg them to turn you if needed, but spare Astarion's life.

Anything, if it meant not hurting the man that stole your heart with a dagger to your throat.

Quickly you were tossed in a cage, adjacent to Astarion's, and locked in.

The shackles that bound your feet dissipated, as the cage started ascending upward.

It halted in front of an altar, you guessed, that directly faced into the chasm you ascended from. Other spawns, around twenty you were able to count, started taking seats around the edges, sitting all in religious silence on their knees.

Astarion was still passed out, cradled on the floor of the cage, both restraints still tightly bound to him.

"Please, please, please" You cried out as the last bit of your strength was going to be dedicated towards trying to get Astarion free, far away from this place. "Let Astarion go, i beg you" You repeated your plea again, as you saw all those spawns stir from their seats, they wanted to turn their heads, to face whoever was foolish enough to beg Cazador for mercy, to trade spots with Astarion.

Everyone in that room knew what was going to happen, he was going to show them what happens when you disobey, when you run away thinking you can escape him. Instead you were so foolish and blinded by love, that you wanted to take Astarion's place, unaware of the extent that Cazador would go to. Yet you didn't stop, you kept begging and begging until a voice, the voice, echoed through the altar's walls.

"Tsk you just gave me a wonderful idea" the man hummed as his scepter started glowing, and Astarion started stirring awake, he looked around him, his tired eyes quickly widening as the reality around him had set in his mind.

"Let her go, you son of a bitch" Astarion growled as he stood up so quick, and gripped at the iron bars separating him from Cazador. 

"Touch her and I swear I'll spill your guts right here" He spit out of the cage, a symbolic spit cause you were too far away to reach him.

"My, my, our dear Astarion has forgotten all the manners" He cooed as his lips smacked together, his voice so honeyed it was bringing you to the verge of vomit.

You wanted to reassure Astarion, let him know that you were going to do your best to free him, that you were both going to be out of there alive soon, but could you? Could you lie so much to the man you loved? Words were stuck on your tongue, making your throat drier and drier.

You guessed you zoned out for a few seconds as your head was flooded with thoughts, missing the hate Astarion was throwing at his master.

"Ah sweet Astarion, your dear Tav has given us a great idea though, it would be a shame to let it go to waste" He hummed, as the staff light up again, the lock on your cage fell down the chasm, as your trembling body was slowly being dragged out of the cage by magic.

"No, no, no, no" Astarion reprated as his eyes locked on you, falling on the long streaks of tears running down your cheeks as you tried to offer him a sad smile, your lips muttering an "it's going to be okay" while his body was about to give in to desperation, loud sobs echoed from him, as your heart broke at his sight: he was barely standing up now, his hand gripped tight as he screamed through the hall to let you go, to not hurt you, to stop. "This is just a nightmare" He fell on his knees as you were slowly dropped on the cold floor, barely keeping your head up as you realized you were still in his shirt, the one he loved on you.

"Oh dear Astarion" Cazador cooed again as he kneeled in front of you, his cold fingers getting ahold of your chin, to tilt your head towards his. "This is not a nightmare, this is real" His words were like cold daggers through your chests, you knew that whatever was going to happen, it was not going to be fun.

Before you could say anything, Cazador's hand slipped to your waist pulling on the shirt as you flinched away, disgusted by the touch of the vampire in front of you.

But he didn't care, he was swift in removing it, leaving you bare in front of dozens of eyes.

You could hear the rattling coming from Astarion's cage as he attempted to break free over and over again while his chest was about to explode.

He didn't have the right to undress you in front of everyone, he didn't have the right to touch you at all, not when he prayed every night to have the chance to see you bare, to hold you. His thoughts were swinging back and forth between desperation and deep seethed rage.

"My, my I can see why our Astarion has fallen for this little creature" Cazador's compliment almost made you retch as you stumbled back a little. "She even puts up a fight" He chuckled as he lunged forward just enough to grip at your wrist and whipping you on your feet.

Every inch of your skin was visible to everyone, from the battle scars you got through the years of adventuring, to the teeth marks on your neck, down to the stretchmarks that lived on your hips.

A shiver ran through your spine as Cazador’s fingers grazed over the two marks on your neck. “Mh, your blood seems to be sweet enough, right Astarion?” His cruel words hit Astarion through the chest. He was one word away from a breakdown as he couldn’t do anything but witness his nightmares coming alive, not his Tav, not when he would be so careful to cradle you and comfort you to his chest whenever he'd drink from you.

Whatever he was screaming was incomprehensible to you, as all you could feel was the way Cazador gripped and pushed you towards a plush chair, where he sat with legs wide open before dragging you on his lap. You felt so nauseous as he bent you towards the arm rest, making you face the cold grey floor.

You wanted to hear the taunting explanation of what he was going to do, but all the sounds were drowned by the thrumming of your chest and the desperation in your own thoughts, repeating over and over that you were going to find a way out, trying to convince your brain to shut off and dissociate as you were there, like you were just in a nightmare, and you’d be awake soon.

All you could gather was few words like “knife”, “mark”, reminder”, and then “Astarion”. He was torturing him through you, and you couldn’t do anything about it. The worst part in this, was that you were the one that gave him the idea, cause you wanted him to free Astarion, and instead he let it all out on you instead than on your Aster, as a punishment for you both. You cause you were so careless to offer yourself though you didn't know the risk, and Astarion for being reckless and disobedient. Right there, as the dagger pierced your spine, you regretted not whispering Astarion how much you loved him, while you were tight against his chest, when the world around you was asleep, and you had a corner of peace. You always knew what you felt for him, from that moment on the beach, at the shipwreck, and yet you just wanted to tell him in the right moment. But what was the right moment? You might never know, as a broken scream broke through your lips, salty tears flowing free, so much that you thought for a moment that you might have died of dehydration, if the knife wasn’t going to do it first.

He carved and carved over your back, intelligible lines and symbols as you finally understood what Astarion meant when he told you how he got his scars. How gut wrenching the pain was as he couldn’t move, and how Cazador didn't allow a break, and retraced the lines that were wobbly if he moved too much.

“You know?” Cazador asked, as everyone’s eyes were on what he thought was a work of art, your carved skin, while Astarion’s plea echoed over and over in the room. “Our sweet Astarion used to whine just like you” He hummed. “Just a pathetic little child” He spit out like venom as you could barely breathe out few words along the lines of “you disgusting monster”, though you were not sure you actually let them out until, Cazador’s laugh filled every corner of the disgraced altar. Your tadpole writhed as another line was cut at the height of your hips, before, Cazador started retracing the lines and pulling away the skin, exposing the deepest layers of your flesh, the pain was so deep your vision blurred, and you were so close to passing out right there.

You don’t know how long you sat there, you slipped between pain and numbness as Cazador slapped you back to consciousness whenever you'd slip away, you had to endure the agonizing scarring and remember every second of it. He decorated with bloody lines almost all over your body.

You didn’t know what was worse between laying on the raw scars of your back, seeing your own skin being peeled away or the cries and sobs coming from the man you loved. You had to find a way, you couldn’t give up, you couldn’t allow this monster to walk the earth again. You had to do it for Astarion.

You were not sure when he dropped you on the floor, your body barely able to hold itself together as finally you could look around you and towards Astarion. Every face around you was stoic, like they were used to witnessing such spectacle, and they knew what was going to happen next.

You wanted to reach for Astarion, to take him away from the revolting scene in front of his eyes, you wanted to take away his pain, give him the last bit of hope you had, but when you were about to link your tadpole to his to do it, you hesitated. Connecting your minds meant he would feel how dirty, wretched and lost you felt, along with the gut wrenching pain ebbing through your body.

You could barely make out the words Cazador said as his nails dig through your skin again, even when he pulled your eyes to his you could barely read his lips as he said words you just wanted to cancel from your brain. A broken sob regurgitated from your throat as he was going to take the last thing you had. You just had to let your brain go, right? To ignore the teeth dipping in your throat and the putrid hands slithering down your skin, taking away enough blood to barely keep you alive as he took you in front of everyone.  It was no longer just physical pain, it was the way you felt your own body being stolen away and used in way no one ever dared before.

Numbness was all that was left of you after a while, of your barely beating heart while more hands crawled their way through places were you never wanted anyone to touch, then, in that moment, you realized you were free of your shackles, because you were so drained and broken that you could barely do anything. You could barely by aware of your surroundings, of how many bodies were preying on you, as you could barely manage to move inches.

Your vision was all but clear, you could make out the outline of Cazador as he was buttoning up his blouse again. Then you could see Astarion, still caged, struggling to stay sane as he wanted just to take you away from the monsters abusing of you, abusing of the fact that you were powerless in front of them. His eyes were a bloodshot, he was so hurt that he resorted to supplicate for mercy, to let you go and just kill him, whatever that could stop the agonizing pain. You didn’t have much strength left, maybe if you put all of yourself, you could muster two spells before passing out again. 

It took all you had to even raise your hand towards the lock that sealed Astarion’s crate, you mustered all your willpower to cast that knock spell, just enough to let the damn lock fall down. Astarion instantly turned to you, to your teary form still being touched by unworthy creatures, noticing how your hand barely held up, as you tried to cast one more spell, just for him, before another broken scream echoed in the room, bouncing from wall to wall till it reached Astarion's core. The kind of scream that should never be drawn by someone, nevertheless by you.

The radiant dagger materialized in his hands, and for a moment he didn’t notice it as he was fixated on the broken look on your face, encouraging him to end his master, although you suffered right there, paces away. “I love you” You mutter barely, you wanted to let him know before you could draw your last breath, then everything blurred.

Everything was muffled, you couldn’t see what was going on around you, you just felt all the presences around you disappear, while Astarion’s voice was crystal clear through the excruciating pain.

"I'll kill you, then I'll bring you back, and kill you again.” He shoved Cazador on the floor, just like he did with you, to remind him how he hurt you, how he used you, how he touched the only person he should have never laid hands on. “I’ll do it over and over again until you have suffered a tenth of what you did to her. Then I'm going to gut you one more time, and paint this shithole with your putrid blood. The halls of this place will reek with your disgusting blood, to let the whole city be aware of your death and from which the hands it came from” His hands were shaky, but he had to do it. For him, but mainly for you. All that was left of him was you, and nothing could ever be enough to vindicate you.

The shiny dagger stabbed over and over again through Cazador’s chest, while Astarion cursed him, every thrust of the dagger through the heart earned a new mocking insult, a new reminder of what he did, while all of Astarion's anger was channeled into annihilating him.

You just laid there, all you could do was listen to the grunts and the hate slipping from your lover’s lips as he dipped that dagger in the gutted body. You didn’t even realized when he dropped the disemboweled body on the marble, you weren’t even sure you could breathe, at that point.

A pair of shaking arms wrapped around your drained body, Astarion’s shirt was used again to cover your skin, as he picked you up, trying to be as delicate as possible. His salty tears fell over your body as he carried away from the nauseating scene, you frail body barely shivering, and your chest barely moving. He was muttering something to you, but everything sounded foreign at your hear.

He had to move quickly, find Shadowheart or Halsin, or anyone to heal you, to keep you alive. It was in this moment that he wished he could beg a deity to keep you alive, but he didn’t trust anyone else to tend you. He needed to rush outside of this place and get you to safety. 

He didn’t expect to see everyone outside the locked ballroom door, as they fumbled to open the door. They were taken by surprise at the sight of Astarion cradling you to his chest, all covered in blood, while his eyes were a pit of pain and tears.

Shadowheart didn’t hesitate to heal you right there before they all guided you towards the tavern you've been resting. They all offered to carry you, to make Astarion breathe a bit while on your way back there, but he refused. “I can’t..” He mumbled. “I don’t want..” His voice was just a whisper, broken. “I need” He wanted to break down again with you in his arms, but he had to lay you down first, to let you rest in a warm bed, he had to bring you to safety again, away from anyone that could pose any harm to you. He needed to see that smile again, cause no power flowing through his veins could have replaced you. He failed you once, he was not going to do it again. You saved him, twice, he had to do it just once for you. He had to thank you, and he had to tell you how much he loved you.

[thinkingaboutevans]

P*rn links THG edition✨️

Porn links, mainly Coriolanus Snow and others caracters i simp for, whit this i visualising better whenever im reading smuts. English is not my first language, so im sorry if i wrote something wrong.

Last update: 15/feb/23

C O R I O L A N U S S N O W

YoungDomCoriolanus! | 2 | 3 |

Wedding night with coriolanus | 2 | 3 | 4 |

Sucking

Passionate Kiss | 2 |

Booty massages | 2 |

I love it when we make up. Go ahead, ruin my make up

Size difference

District 12 cabin

Tits | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

YoungHusbandCoriolanus! after a party

[erixadraws]

Mal loving to kiss and squish Rayas cheeks because he finds her adorable.

I like to think Mal has apologized profusely to Raya for hurting her because of how he treated her when she came back. He’s been opening up more, warmly embracing her every chance he gets. He wants to let her know he will always protect her.

Side note: I have been feeling very unmotivated to create blades art recently mostly because it’s discouraging sometimes when you feel like you still aren’t skilled enough. Making art for blades is something I enjoy but when Im constantly focusing on improving and creating content it just tires me out. I do have a drawing idea I’m planning but it’s hard to find a reference that inspires me

Edit: It totally slipped my mind i wrote the date as 01/18/2023 ☠️ i changed it now but it just shows you how extremely tired i was last night.