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nanowrimo · 1 year

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4 Tips for Autistic Writers

Autistic writers can face unique challenges when it comes to writing. NaNo Participant Auden Halligan has tips to handle some of those challenges!

So, you’ve just sat down at your desk, all ready to work on your next chapter, but you just can’t seem to start. Something is itching at your brain, and no matter how hard you think, you can’t figure it out. For autistic writers, that itch might be even harder to get around when compounded with autistic inertia, introspection issues, and sensory processing disorder — even if we were super excited to get started, sometimes the stumbling blocks are enough to keep us from going anywhere at all.

Here are four tips to identify your struggles and work around them rather than against them as an autistic writer!

1. Schedule your writing time appropriately

While keeping a schedule can help you stave off unwanted change in your routine, the need to switch to another task when the clock strikes the hour sometimes feels like a monumental task, one that eventually becomes detrimental to your creative pursuits.

If switching tasks is the biggest hurdle to your writing, setting a designated writing time with no other plans around it could do the trick. Oftentimes, just one hour of time to transition from doing dishes to sitting down at your computer to write is exactly what you need to get past that point and find your writing headspace.

2. Make sure your sensory environment is right

Sometimes getting into that writing headspace is harder than normal, but you can’t put your finger on a reason. Chances are, you’re not quite ready until you have your sensory needs met and you can fully focus on your story.

Personally, I like to be on the couch with my water bottle, a playlist at just the right volume, and a comfortable jacket or hoodie on. For you, the ideal sensory space might involve a desk and a snack, a pet nearby, and a quiet room. For others, it could be outside or even at a library or coffee shop. Autistic people are all different and so are their sensory needs, so this one is super subjective — do what works best for you!

3. Take breaks often

Writing can be exhausting, and if you’re struggling to keep going, you might need to take a pause. If you’re like me and struggle with remembering to hydrate and eat once you’re deep in a task, use your break to get some water and a snack. If you’re having trouble staying focused, get up and move around and stim or go outside to give your brain a reset. If you feel like you’ve gotten some good progress done, however small, reward yourself — do something related to your special interest, dance with a pet, and celebrate your little (or big!) win!

The pomodoro method is a good way to keep yourself from working too long without a break, and if that doesn’t work for you, methods like the Eisenhower method with breaks interspersed and even simply inserting breaks into your scheduled writing time are just as valid.

4. Don’t be afraid to skip around

Another thing that often trips us autistic people up is needing to follow the story down its natural progression, from start to middle all the way to the finish. But inevitably, once we’ve gotten past the initial excitement of having the project started, we hit a stumbling block…and the project gets abandoned. I’ve left behind countless projects because I lost interest after hitting a scene I wasn’t excited for after just a few chapters.

To combat this, try writing out of order! Skip ahead to the scene directly after your stumbling block. You could also skip to the next scene your favorite character is in or even to the climax if it helps you move forward. If you’re having trouble putting your first words down, try writing a random scene in the middle of your story to get into the groove of writing your characters.

Alternately, if you can’t abide by the out of order method and really need to get your characters from Point A to Point B, try putting the scene you’re stuck on in brackets. For example:

[Character 1 and Character 2 fight over the decision to kick Character 3 off the team. 2 leaves in anger.]

It’s simple, efficient, and gets you out of that particular rut so you can keep moving toward that sweet, sweet conversation you’ve wanted to write since Day 1.

Now go forth and write, my friends!

Auden Halligan is a creator through and through. She’s been writing her entire life, but didn’t start participating in NaNoWriMo until 2017–right now she’s working on developing a TV series (or two!) and has several novels and short films in the drafting phase. Auden is currently a college student studying film production and hoping to minor in disability studies. You can find her on her very sparse Twitter at ink.and.spite. Photo by Lisa Fotios from Pexels

If you’re an autistic writer, check out the Pillow Fort in the NaNoWriMo forums! It’s a group for people who are neurodivergent, have disabilities, mental health concerns, or physical challenges that affect their lives.

#nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #writing #autistic writers #writing advice #by nano guest #Auden Halligan #neurodivergent writers

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sixosix · 7 months

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(OFFICIALLY) SWEPT OFF YOUR FEET

i. summary in which everyone knew you were in a relationship, except for you.

ii. warnings wc 1.5k, profanity, reader will be angry: couple fight scene but not really, alhaitham is kinda dumb here, but he loves you and you love him and that's all that matters, ending is kinda lame... ft. tighnari and cyno

iii. written for my big sibling @earthtooz hope u like this one earf ily

“Hey, Alhaitham?”

He hums noncommittally.

You nestle further in his arm that’s draped lazily over your shoulder, his other hand and his attention occupied by a book. He doesn’t respond again, but he does glance at you for a moment while you shift, adjusting his arm more comfortably.

“Tighnari sent me a letter the other day.”

“Hm.”

“And it was real sweet, you know. He sent over fruits and told me you have your share in my package. He didn’t want to send them to you because he said the fruits would have expired by the time you’d read the letter.” Alhaitham doesn’t deny it. “But I read something extremely strange in the letter that had me dropping the fruits out of pure shock.”

Alhaitham still doesn’t reply. But you know him well enough to know that he’s no longer reading—just keeping appearances.

“Did you read it?”

“...No.”

Obviously. “Ah, well. Let me quote it, as I feel the need to share it with you as well.” You sit up straight and push Alhaitham’s book away from his line of view. “He said, ‘For the insufferable, lovely couple. It’s been a while since you two have visited. How are you and Alhaitham doing? Write back soon.’ And then he taped a flower.”

Alhaitham’s mouth twitches into a half-smile. “You look miffed.”

You scowl. “Alhaitham, of course I’m miffed! Since when were we a lovely couple? And why are you not surprised? Were you the one to prank them?”

“No one’s trying to fool anyone,” he says smoothly, picking up his book once again. As if he just hasn’t caused your crisis. “Tighnari is simply being a good friend and looking for something to nag us about.”

“Alhaitham, since when were we a couple?” you demanded again, shaking his arm. “Did I miss something? Did I wake up one day and forget about being in a relationship with you?”

“Haven’t we always been in one?”

“No, we have not?”

Alhaitham casts you a glance. “You sound unsure.”

“Because you seem so sure of yourself for no reason,” you fume, itching with the urge to hurl the book at his face. “I didn’t even know you were even into me like that!”

“I let you kiss me on the cheek every night before you leave my house. Sometimes, you don’t even leave my house, so we sleep on the same bed.” As if that explains anything. And did he fling out these reasons to Tighnari, too?

“Well, I do it because I’ve been doing it since we were, like, six. And you never told me to stop. Plus, it’s just a cheek kiss—that’s way different from an actual kiss actual couples do,” you say, getting increasingly infuriated with each word that’s coming out your mouth. Why do you have to explain how relationships work to Alhaitham? Surely he’s read a guide about love in the millions of books he’s touched?

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t start kissing me the way couples do, then.”

Oh, this bitch. “So you knew that I liked you?” Your voice wavers, and you feel a little pathetic. “And that’s what prompted you to start spreading lies to everyone? Is this some joke to you?”

Immediately, his expression is swept off of amusement. “Y/N,” he says as you feel your lips tremble. “Y/N, that’s not—”

“Shut up,” you say. “How long has this been going on? Since when have I been outside of the biggest inside joke, huh?”

“It’s not like that. I thought—”

“Oh, you thought, didn’t you? Yet you didn’t think I don’t want my feelings to be played like—like—” You can’t even bring yourself to say this. You know that Alhaitham can be mean when he wants to be, but making a joke out of the feelings you’ve desperately hidden for years?

“I need to leave.” You’re not sure why you feel the need to announce it. Was it because you rarely even leave his place? Each step feels wrong. You don’t want to be mad at Alhaitham to this extent but you’re hurt.

You ignore Alhaitham’s hurried, “Where are you going?” because you don’t have an answer to that. Wherever you go, you always end up in Alhaitham’s arms.

You forcefully push the door open and march off, head spinning, humiliated. You hear Alhaitham’s steps fall into place after yours. It’s pissing you off even more that Alhaitham doesn’t even look the slightest bit frazzled, as if you impulsively sprinting off is just a walk in the block for him.

Then you spot Cyno in the middle of a street. He catches your wrist before you can avoid him.

He blinks, mildly surprised to see it’s just you and not some food stall thief. “Y/N.” Cyno tilts his head slightly to acknowledge the man a few feet away from you. “Alhaitham. Is something the matter?”

“It’s nothing!” You don’t question why or how Cyno is here, shoving him aside—which proved to be a little difficult given how he’s pretty strong for such a tiny man.

“You’re crying,” Cyno points out as you try to push him away as if you aren’t aware of how your face feels uncomfortably hot and how tears are sliding off your cheeks.

“It’s a marital dispute,” Alhaitham says, directly behind you.

His voice makes you scowl. So infuriatingly sexy, and you’re mad at it. “We’re not married!”

Cyno nods, serious. “Yes, I only heard about the engagement.” At your stunned silence and Alhaitham’s reluctant stillness, Cyno clears his throat and steps aside. “I suppose I’ll leave you two to it. I don’t know how relationships work.”

You groan as Cyno walks off, “Great, so even Cyno thinks we’re a couple. Who’s next, Lesser Lord Kusanali?”

Alhaitham looks away. “Well—”

“Oh, fuck off.”

Your wrist seems keen on being dragged around by men today, it seems. Alhaitham firmly tugs at your arm, pulling you close to his chest, his gaze intensely searching yours. But all he would be able to see is your scowl. And all you can see is his handsome face.

“Y/N,” Alhaitham says, your name in his voice a sweet murmur. “I’m sorry I upset you. I didn’t think you would react that way.”

“What, you think I’d just roll with it?” you spit with dripping bitterness.

“Yes.” You're taken aback as you gaze at him and find his expression to be entirely genuine and open. “We fell into a friendship so easily. I fell in love with you the same way: naturally. I thought…” And then his usually blank face twists into something unpleasant. “Forgive me.”

“Alhaitham, you idiot. You bastard. Do you have any idea how relationships work?”

“No. All I know is how to be with you.” He wipes a tear off your cheek. “But it appears I’m not even doing that right.”

“Fuck you.” You bat his hand away. His face falls. “You don’t get to act all sweet to me like that. I spent years thinking you would never see me that way, and you get to decide one morning that we’re in a relationship, just like that?”

“You’ve liked me for years?” Alhaitham’s eyes are a bit wide, totally missing the point.

“Alhaitham.”

“I ask you out every dinner. And you say yes each time.”

“I didn’t think you meant it like that!”

“I did mean it like that,” Alhaitham says, and again with that ‘so sure of myself’ personality. You hate it. You love it. “And I meant everything I’ve ever said to you like that. I didn’t tell anyone anything; they just assumed on their own, and only then did I realize how it did seem that way. It was my selfishness that didn’t try to deny their assumptions.”

Alhaitham’s usually so difficult to speak to, especially when it comes to expressing his true emotions. You often find yourself filling the silence, and he seems content with it. However, he appears desperate at this moment, as though you’re planning on leaving if he doesn’t give you a reason to stay.

You are too weak. “So you like me.”

“I do.”

“…And you want to… be in a relationship with me.” Alhaitham nods. You're beginning to feel flustered as the realization sets in that the man you've always dreamt of is holding you intimately in the middle of nowhere, and also confessing that he feels the same way. “Ask me out properly, then.”

Alhaitham looks at you incredulously. Did he think it was over?

“Do it, Alhaitham. Woo me. Win me over. Sweep me off my feet.”

“...Y/N,” he hesitates, his face tinted pink, vaguely embarrassed. “Go out with me. In that way.”

It sounds demanding and clumsy, but it’s perfectly Alhaitham, so your heart beats out of your chest and your face splits into a grin all the same.

You wrap your arms around his neck. “If you’re gonna be my boyfriend, you’re going to do it right, you hear me? You won’t just let me do anything. And you will start—officially—tomorrow by telling everyone that we are not engaged nor married.”

Alhaitham dips his head down, your chin trapped by his fingers. “We will be, eventually, though. And I can just start now. Officially.”

Your confusion doesn’t last for even a second when his lips meet yours in a kiss. You’ve been wooed. Won over. Swept off your feet.

earth i hope u know it took me months to find a good plot for your man this was a feat in itself. also i copy pasted your tags love u.

also if u caught the title while it was called swept over your feet shut up…. Please. this didnt have a title originally 🙁

#alhaitham x reader #al-haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #al haitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #alhaitham fluff #al-haitham fluff #genshin x reader #alhaitham fic #genshin fic #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #genshin impact #alhaitham x y/n

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undiscovered-horizon · 5 months

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Hi! I really enjoy your one piece writings, they have given me so much comfort when I don't feel okay 😭

Can I please get a Mihawk (I'm completely in love w this man aah) imagine where his wife is a sensitive person who gets sad when someone is rude to them but they feel insecure couse they think it's stupid

Thank youuuuuu ❤️🥺

First of all, I'm honoured that I can provide a source of comfort to you. I'm glad my work has made you feel better in your time of need.

Second of all: oh yessss bestie this hits the spot. It also reminds me of a wonderful scene in The Gentlemen (10/10, highly recommend) [it also hits close to home because I am a sensitive person]

The thing about strong people is that they make others want to be just as strong, which isn't always easy if even possible. You've always known you're a little 'softer' than most people but only after marrying Mihawk did you find the difference in temperament bothersome. Instead of considering your sensitivity a fact of nature, you've begun to find it a flaw, something that you should change about yourself.

You've never admitted it to yourself but the truth is plain and simple - you think it's embarrassing. That Mihawk will find your sensitivity embarrassing. Maybe if you had been up-front about it with your husband, you'd learn that he adores your soft heart. If he felt forthcoming enough, perhaps you'd even hear that you're the source of warmth and light in his life. Hence he calls you his 'sun'.

To say that Mihawk grew concerned when he heard your muffled sobs would be like not saying anything. A delicious euphemism at best. Anger and fear bubble inside his chest. There's a strange itch in his hands that eggs him to wreak havoc.

"Apple of my eye," his voice carries well through the rather empty room you're both staying at currently. "What is the meaning of this?"

Frantically wiping away your tears, you look over your shoulder to meet his gaze. Mihawk is leaning against the doorframe, blocking the entrance if you so wish to run away from this situation.

"Oh, it's nothing. Really, I'm alright. No need to worry," you half-heartedly attempt to reassure him.

The swordsman loudly exhales through his nose. He's your husband, worrying about you is his duty. In slow steps, Mihawk walks over to the edge of the bed where you're sitting. Pride and titles as if forgotten, he drops on one knee in front of you. One of his hands gently squeezes your knee.

Unsure what's the best way to go about these circumstances, you timidly meet his intense gaze. The passion in his yellow eyes makes you think of a maelstrom captured in a jar - something devastating held back by a miracle. He's already seething, just doesn't yet know who exactly to direct his violence at.

"Indulge me," he prompts you to confide in him. There's a rare sense of pleading in his tone.

So indulge him you do - you tell Mihawk all about the unpleasant encounter with a local tearaway. Your husband tries his best to control his expression as you recount the unambiguously offensive words, unwanted touches and threats of real violence coming from someone who was probably looking for a cowardly scapegoat to vent his anger. As you continue your story, tears just keep rolling down your cheeks, fear and humiliation finally finding their way out of your heart.

"I know I'm being stupid," you mumble as you clumsily wipe your face, "he was just rude and it's not like he actually hurt me but-"

Mihawk's touch makes you cut your sentence short. His hand, its skin rough and calloused, gently cups the side of your face. Your hot, salty tears disperse as his thumb slowly rubs them away. Something about the tenderness of his touch, of hands that have killed and maimed, is enough to make you feel like you're about to break in his arms. Even if you do, you know that when dawn breaks you will be whole again, put back together with the unending love Mihawk holds for you.

"You've always been too good, my sun," he tells you in a low voice. He could have said 'too soft' or 'too sensitive' but then his remark would come off as deceitful as it would suggest his dislike towards your nature. Nothing of that sort - Mihawk genuinely thinks you're a better person than most people walking this plane. And he'd rather succumb to torture than let anyone make you feel bad about that.

The man leans in and places his warm lips against your forehead. Without much effort, he lays you down on the bed and you let him. Even if you wanted to fight back, you're way too tired to do so.

He's sitting on the edge of the bed, caressing your face, neck, arms and back as he's waiting for you to fall asleep. The anticipation doesn't require much patience - Mihawk's tender touches lull you to peaceful slumber rather swiftly. When he's sure that you're asleep, he kisses your forehead again before cautiously leaving the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

Perhaps he can't turn back the time and make the offending man choke on his words but he can ensure that the tearway won't hurt you ever again. Someone resting in peace so you can rest peacefully is a good bargain.

Mihawk knows exactly who he's looking for. He made a note of a certain characteristic trait you had mentioned - an earring with a single, red-coloured feather. It doesn't seem like a piece of jewellery that would be common anywhere.

It doesn't take much to find the tearaway. He makes his presence well-known as he stumbles out of a tavern, his legs almost giving away with each step.

So he assaults random women minding their business and then gets blackout drunk. It's pathetic enough to consider his death merciful.

Staying true to his name, the swordsman stalks his prey before lunging. Appearing as another patron of the inn, Mihawk follows the stranger around the corner towards barns, stables and pigstys. Fitting place for the likes of him, Dracule thinks to himself.

The man with the curious earring staggers his way towards a drinking trough. He's fumbling with his pants, desperately trying to pull them down to relieve himself but his fingers are not dextrious enough.

Mihawk picks up the pitchfork leaning against the barn wall. In one, swift motion he gores the tool through the back of the man's knee. A guttural scream tears through the night as he falls to the ground.

The swordsman grabs a fistful of the tearaway's hair. He forces the kneeling man to look up into his seething, yellow eyes.

"Do I owe you money?" The man is slurring his words. He squints his eyes, trying to focus his hazy vision on Mihawk and, possibly, recognize his creditor. "It's money, isn't it? Shit, just give me two days, man. I'll give it back with interest."

"I don't care about money."

Instantaneously, panic appears in the tearaway's eyes. Did he just find himself in the same position he's put hundreds of people in to cure his own boredom and need for grandiosity?

"Then what it is?!" he shouts, fear settling in his viscera. Dracule's calmness put together with the sheer hatred emanating from him makes for a deeply unsettling impression.

"You hurt my wife," comes the answer. The fist clenching the man's hair tightens its hold further, threatening to tear off his scalp. "My wife," Mihawk growls.

But before the tearaway can ask for clarification, his head is forced into the drinking trough. Surprised and scared, oxygen is escaping him fast. Soon, his throat and chest begin to clench and throb painfully. Dark spots dance across his vision, foreboding blindness.

Then, Mihawk pulls his head just above the surface. The man desperately gasps for air.

"If you believe in a god," the swordsman begins in a low voice shaking with anger and adrenaline, "I suggest you start praying. Fast."

The tearaway's head is forced underwater again but this time, Mihawk keeps it there until the ruffian's body stops trembling and shaking. After that, Dracule waits for a while longer - just for good measure.

You're woken up by the creaking of doors as they slowly open. Blinking sleep away from your eyes, you look over your shoulder only to experience a sort of deja vu: Mihawk is standing in the doorway. Before you can ask about his strange behaviour, your husband makes his way to you in long, quick strides. He kneels on the floor beside the bed.

Mihawk takes your hand in his. He takes something out of his pocket and places it in your palm. You recognize the red feather earring immediately. And is that... a piece of skin still attached to it? Gently, your husband closes your fist and lifts your hand to place a chaste kiss on your knuckles.

"The rat has paid for its sins," he whispers to you. Judging by the intense look in his eyes, you don't want to know the details of this story.

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celestie0 · 2 months

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MASSIVE gojo x reader fanfic rec (no spoilers)

ok i know a lot of my followers are gojo girlies and i just need to put yall onto this fucking fanfiction because i just read the latest release for it and i’m genuinely tweaking rn🧍🏻‍♀️

@lostfracturess ‘s amazing work called “symptoms & causes” - a medical au

[image pulled from her masterlist]

let me just…let me just try to even gather the reasons why you need to add this to your tbr lists (weekend is comin up too so perfect time)

characterization of gojo satoru.

gojo in this fic is characterized so fucking well, from chapter one. there are so many distinctive ways miss lostfractures goes about building his aura (word of mouth/reputation, dialogue, expository, primary interactions, secondary interactions, etc.) it reminds me of the show where gojo just has this energy to him that you can't tear yourself away from i picture him in this fic to be unrelenting, unforgiving, morally grey, with an undertone of softness yet still feral through it all,, basically gojo during shibuya arc LOL. i looove reading cute silly boy gojo fics sm (he’s so baby) but THIS fic explores the borderline wicked side of him that is so thrilling, unique, and rare to find i think in this fandom’s collection of works. it’s just so fucking good.

forbidden romance.

UGGHH i love stories w forbidden romance. in this one, it’s med student reader x professor gojo (additional power dynamics in that he’s a senior surgeon in her field and also a research mentor in her study of interest…TRIPLE THREAT DAMN). i love how miss lostfractures doesn’t shy away from reminding the reader that it’s wrong, and that they shouldn’t be doing this. that’s my fave part of forbidden romances like yesss remind me again why this is all so wrong but let’s still do it anyways LOL <333

reader’s voice.

i’ve LOVED reader since the beginning, so relatable, emotionally mature, all her flaws are so believable & her strengths are shown seamlessly. it’s just so much fun to read because i’ll literally have a thought like “hmm…that (something a character said/did) doesn’t sound very convincing” and then the next line will be something like “he didn’t sound very convincing” like!!! me and s&c reader?? we’re locked in like this fr🤞🏼 like gojo’s domain expansion fingers

escapism.

everything in this story feels so damn real it’s insane. the pacing is stunning, love the utilization of stacks of scenes that are sort of short but so concise, enough to be a smooth read but still descriptive enough to entirely transport you into the world that’s being built. cannot praise the writing in this story enough. also the variety of ways that scenarios are made that pull characters closer to one another?? so creative. as someone who works in a research lab, studied bio in college (some of the fkn biochem stuff that comes up in this fic gives me heart attacks lmfaooo pls im traumatized), and has worked in clinics/hospitals it just itches my brain so damn good. you’ll be convinced you’re a brilliant med student while you read this fic.

writing.

the writing is just. so. good. it’s so good. better than most PUBLISHED works i’ve read. i really can't say much other than that, you just have to go see for yourself.

—

if any of these reasons speak to you, i highly recommend you check the fic out. just a note tho it does have some dark themes but you can find all the tags/warnings on her page!

OK BYE

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rathayibacter · 26 days

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just ran into a post trying to argue for people to play more indie ttrpgs, but also spending a whole paragraph disparaging people who make weird projects and put them up on itch for $10, going so far as to call them "designers" in scare quotes and say they can't add two numbers together.

this isnt meant to be an attack on that poster or anything, just seeing that made me real fucking sad and i wanted to get my thoughts out. ttrpgs are an art form, and the fact that folks feel liberated to slap together something weird in a few hours and put it up for sale is awesome. in fact, id say it's necessary for the growth of the scene. you might not like every single one of them (lord knows i dont) but every single one of those projects has someone for whom itll resonate with, someone for whom that art might be life-changing. and hey, maybe that person goes on to make something you do like, or maybe they use it to introduce someone else to the hobby, or maybe they just have a good time and the world gets a tiny bit brighter. just because it's not what you want out of a game doesn't mean it's without artistic value.

also, yeah, you should charge for your weird shit! even if it only took an hour to write up and format and publish, you deserve to get paid! if you're worried about accessibility, use community copies, but still let people with the means support your work! artists making weird, low budget, experimental work deserve to eat too.

ghh. i dunno. shit like that really gets me riled up, and i hope this helps someone change the way they think about small stuff in the scene. you dont have to like all of it, but the scene would be a fucking lifeless wasteland without it.

#ttrpgs

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hxt1b · 3 months

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good girl's don't beg

-> geto x reader

-> WC: 1.2k

-> CW: swearing, pwp, edging, protected sex, penetration, choking, some titty slapping, a bit of rough sex, some overstimulation, soft dom geto, sub reader. This is literally just sex my dudes.

Masterlist

Requests Open

Rules for requests | prompt list

A/N: The grammar may not be perfect but I tried my best.

Thank you for reading this, that’s what I’ll start with. I’m not a stranger to writing, however this is my first jjk fic, and I also have not written for a couple months. I try to consistently write but that’s an ideal, and isn’t always reality. Anyway, that’s not the point, the point is I hope you like this. I have more ideas for fics with jjk men, and my requests are currently open. Feedback is always welcome as long as its in some form constructive being a hater isn’t helpful to anyone.

I'll probably have longer fic's with plot soon too, but for obvious reasons, shorter scenes like this will come out faster.

The kitchen table was cold on your back. Your fingers digging into the edges of the wood.

"Please," You begged. Your fingers itching to trail in his hair.

"Good girls listen," Geto said, his thumb ghosting over your clit, "they don't beg."

His breath was hot against your already heated centre, your mind was numbing slowly from the number of times he'd taken you to the edge only to pull back and leave you whining on the table.

You couldn't touch him.

You couldn't come.

You couldn't think.

You whined his name again your grip on the table tightening as he leaned in, letting his tongue graze your clit.

"You want more?" He asked. His hands move to roughly holding your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Yes." Your voice was unsteady and you focused on keeping your hips still. He licked slowly applying more pressure than before but not enough.

You bit your lip to keep from whining but it was no use, a whimper left your lips anyway.

He laughed at you, a soft chuckle that moved through you. He brought his hand to you again sinking two long fingers into your wetness and pumping once.

"Move your hips, babe," He said and kept his hand still. You sighed and shifted your hips, moving on his fingers as he rose above you lining his face up with your tits, he caught a nipple in his mouth biting down on it.

"That's it, baby girl," he mumbled around your nipple as you found your rhythm. Your moans got louder as you got closer to the lip of the familiar cliff again. His teeth moved to nipping your sensitive skin as you got closer and closer.

You prayed he wouldn't pull away from you again. You were there, just a few seconds more. One foot was off the cliff, any second now you'd fall. A heavy heat clawed at the pit of your stomach, your hips were moving at a frantic pace.

"You close baby?" Geto asked his words coasting over your heated skin.

"Yes." You breathed, and his fingers were gone. A heavy hand pressed into your lower stomach holding you against the table. You groaned loudly, your eyes closing as your orgasm receded.

"Not yet." He smirked.

You breathed heavily as Geto leaned over you, his lips moving over your skin, tugging and nipping. His hands coasting over skin trying to soothe your frustration.

Your hands still white-knuckled the table. You felt like you were going to die from this, you wanted to beg, but you knew if you did it would prolong his tormenting.

You stayed still, breathing, eyes closed tightly as he moved slowly caressing your body with soft touches and softer kisses.

"Let's try that again." He muttered his lips hovering just above you. "But keep your hips still this time." Your breath shuttered at his words.

"Okay."

He sank two fingers into you again, you could hear how wet you were as he pumped them. He was going so slow, but you were so sensitive that the knot in your stomach built again fast. He added another finger drawing a breathy moan from you. His pace increased and the sounds of him fucking you with his fingers vibrated in your ears as you began to drown in the heat all over again.

"Open your eyes, baby," Geto spoke softly his lips still hovering over yours. "Do you want to come?"

"Yes." You whispered, the word barely leaving your mouth.

He pressed a heavy wet kiss to your lips, his tongue pushing in. But his fingers slowed again, his free hand threading into your hair. He kissed you like that, his tongue moving with the same rhythm as his fingers.

"Then come around my cock," He said pulling away from you completely.

You kept your eyes from fluttering shut again at the loss of him. Instead, you watched him as he pulled a condom out of his pocket and pulled his cock out of his sweats. It only took him seconds to glide the condom on and line up with you, but it felt like forever to you.

Geto settled on his elbows over you as he pushed into you slowly.

"Fuck," he cursed as he sank into you, his hips pressing into yours as he bottomed out. He stayed like that for a minute, his face buried into your neck, his teeth pulling at your skin.

Finally, he thrusted up, but it was slow still. Painfully slow.

"Geto," You stretched out his name.

He pushed off his elbows, his hands moving to your hips as he stood up. He pulled you with him, your hips hovering above the table. Geto moved for your hands next grabbing them both, bringing them to your belly button and pushing down. He held them tightly in one hand. The other hand digging into your waist.

He looked down at you unmoving for another second before pulling his hips back and thrusting into you.

"Keep your eyes on me." He demanded as his hips snapped into you again, and again, and again. His pace picked up with each thrust.

"I love watching your tits bounce like this." He said, letting your hip go to quickly smack your boob.

You whined at the sting, your eyes shutting for a second.

In that second Geto dropped you back to the table his body coming down over yours again as he moved your hands over your head.

You groaned as the angle changed. His cock hit your g-spot as his thrusts got angrier.

"Eyes open." He snapped. His other hand moves from your hip to your throat.

"Fuck," You mutter around the pressure at your throat.

"Take it." He muttered, his pace picking up again. Your body slid up the table an inch and Geto cursed his hips snapping into you harder.

The knot in your stomach was at its end, the heat crawling over you was oppressive. Geto's hand at your throat was almost bruising and it all came crashing down on you in a rough wave.

You cried out, your hands fighting against his, and he let you go. Finally getting to touch him. Your arms instantly went around his head and your body arched up into his. Your chest crushing into his as you came.

He cursed as your walls spasmed around him, your body writhing and shaking under his. His fingers stayed around your throat as he fucked you through your high. His thrusts didn't slow, instead, he became rougher milking your orgasm.

"Dammit, baby." He moved his head down to yours pressing his forehead to yours, and letting his fingers drift down your chest so that he was holding your tit, his thumb rubbing at your nipple.

You mewled at the ministration, overwhelmed by him. It was almost too much, his cock was still hitting your g-spot as he worked himself up to his orgasm. You were gasping under him.

"Geto please." You begged, looking up into his eyes. Your hand twisted into his hair as you tilted your head up to kiss him.

Geto's hands dropped to the table beside you as he finally came, his hips stuttering through his orgasm. He moaned into your mouth as the condom filled with his cum.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck" He repeated as he worked through his orgasm your hips lightly rocking against him as he slowed.

He stilled against you, his cock still buried inside you. His lips still moved with yours in a lazy kiss. You didn't want him to move. Honestly, you felt like you could stay like this forever with Geto pressed against you, in you.

A/N: again thank you for reading! send in a request if you'd like!

~ hxt1b, feb 5 2024

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dancingbirdie · 6 months

Note

Hello there! I adore your fics and how you wrote Astarion! I was hoping you could write something around the succubus scene? I know you get comforted by Astarion later on in the game regarding it, but due to his own trauma and backstory I would have liked to see him stand up for Tav and protect them during that scene itself, instead of just standing by while Tav is being manipulated 🙈

If you could do something around that, it would heal me! 😂🙏

Hi, anon! I hope you enjoy. I really liked your prompt, but I'll admit it did get a bit darker than I had originally thought I'd write it.

Please take note of the content warnings before you read! As always, comments and reacts are appreciated.

No Self-Sacrifices

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader/Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Discussion/description of dissociation, implied sexual assault, mentions of Astarion's past, descriptions of violence, blood, mild gore, death, angst.

*****

“Why don’t we play a game?” the Raphael-look-alike called to you seductively from the ridiculously lavish bed. “You win, I give you everything you desire. But you’ll enjoy yourself more if you lose.”

Astarion began to sense that all too familiar, uneasy feeling coiling itself tight inside his chest. The premonition that something was about to go utterly, horribly wrong. He risked a glance toward your allies, Lae’zel and Halsin, but they appeared just as woefully confused as you did. As if you all weren’t aware of the trap you’d just walked into.

“What’s the game?” he heard you ask. He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

“It’s a surprise! Off with your clothes,” the devil commanded.

There could be no doubt as to what would take place. Surely, Astarion thought, none of his companions could be so blind as to not see what was about to happen.

Astarion watched as you bit your lip, hesitating. How you looked wildly about the room, as if you were searching for any last-minute way to avoid this. With his preternatural senses, he couldn’t help but be aware of how your heart rate spiked to a frenzied pulsing as you stood there, terrified of what was to come.

He watched in horror as your shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Defeated. Resolving to go through with this. And as you began removing your clothes, his vision turned nearly as red as the fiend on the mattress before you.

“Good, little thief, good,” the monster crooned, totally unaware of Astarion’s brewing rage. “Keep going like this, and you’ll get to live. You’ll be crying out my name soon, you’d better know it. I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus…”

The incubus - Haarlep - prattled on while Astarion continued to seethe with barely-contained fury. His fingers twitched, itching – almost of their own accord – to reach for the crossbow strapped to his back. He began shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, restless. He caught the glare Lae’zel was leveling at him from his periphery and turned his head slightly to meet it.

She gave a slight, but obvious, shake of the head. A silent command to stand down. Then he felt the tadpole squirm in his brain, while a voice that was distinctly Lae’zel’s echoed in his mind.

Don’t act rashly, vampire. We need to gather more information before we strike.

Astarion nearly laughed aloud. The audacity of this Githyanki, willing to let her comrade be violated in such a way. After all they had done for her. For this party. And yet, part of him knew he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he had known plenty of “heroes” who had let equally horrible fates befall others without so much as lifting a finger to help them.

“It matters not to me.” Your deadened reply to Haarlep brought Astarion back to the present moment. He recognized that tone of voice. Knew when someone was trying to dissociate. To disconnect their mind from their body. He knew all too well what that feeling was like. And it was nearly as horrible to watch as it was to experience it for himself.

“Very well, I will be Raphael himself,” Haarlep continued. “All of him. Now, on the bed. Lie back.”

Astarion made his decision when he saw you begin to take stilted steps toward the bed. Covering yourself with your hands, trying to maintain some modicum of modesty as you climbed up.

With Haarlep’s attention solely on you, he reached behind him for the crossbow. His index finger felt for the trigger as he pulled it around before him. One swift flick, and an arrow was suddenly lodged in the incubus’ left pectoral.

Chaos erupted as imps suddenly appeared throughout the room, responding to Haarlep’s distressed cry. You toppled off the bed, head knocking onto the floor, as the fiend raged above you, trying to right themselves and extract the arrow from their chest.

“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel cursed in Gith, hefting her sword over her shoulder and barreling toward the first enemy in sight. “To battle it is, then!”

Halsin shifted quickly into his bear shape and let loose a formidable roar, charging for another group of imps across the room.

But Astarion only had eyes for Haarlep. He stalked slowly toward the bed, unsheathing the twin blades from his back as he did so.

You watched as he gave one brief, wicked smile before utter carnage ensued.

*****

“Kainyak! Your foolishness nearly cost us all our lives,” Lae’zel spat venomously toward Astarion while she wiped her blade free of the fetid black imp blood. “I should strike you down now for acting with such stupidity.”

To his credit, Astarion barely seemed to acknowledge the Githyanki’s formidable censuring. You watched as he slipped his daggers back into the sheaths at the small of his back and readjusted his armor. He picked up his crossbow and shook it free of blood before strapping it back between his shoulder blades.

“You still have all your limbs intact, Lae’zel,” he replied airly. It was a stark contrast to the way he was standing, body as taut as a bowstring. “And wasn’t that bloodshed so much more satisfying than watching the incubus violate our dear party leader?”

Lae’zel’s mouth snapped shut, but she continued to glare. The vampire had a point, though she was loath to admit it.

“I, for one, prefer this outcome to the alternative that was before us,” Halsin agreed, rising from where he had been crouched after dismissing his ursine form. He glanced your way but averted his eyes quickly, to your confusion.

“Best get dressed, darling,” Astarion drawled, coming over to where you still lay prone on the floor. “As delicious as I find your birthday suit to be, I’d wager you’ll fare better in this wretched place with a little more clothing on.”

He held out a hand to help you rise to your feet. You observed him cautiously, trying to discern the emotion behind his carefully schooled expression.

“Why?” you whispered.

He squinted at you, one brow quirked. “Are you seriously asking me why armor is prudent to have on, in a place like this?” He chuckled before adding, “gods, you must’ve smacked your head harder than I thought.”

“No,” you retorted, refusing to be deterred by his cheeky banter. “I mean, why did you attack Haarlep? You’re never one to be spoiling for a fight.”

Astarion scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest as if insulted. “Careful, darling. You’re almost making me out to be a pacifist.”

“You know what I meant, Astarion,” you grumbled as you began donning your leather breeches and jerkin.

“And would you have preferred to be fucked by that incubus instead?” Astarion bit out derisively.

Your head whipped up to meet his gaze, hearing the sudden change in his tone.

“Of course not,” you scowled. “But you could sense how powerful they were. It seemed like the only way to ensure your all’s safety.”

Astarion grimaced. “So you would have just laid down and taken it? For us?”

“I’m not saying I would have enjoyed it,” you hissed. “But to keep you safe? Keep them safe?” you gestured to Lae’zel and Halsin across the room, polishing and re-polishing their weapons as they attempted not to overhear your barely-whispered argument.

“Of course,” you concluded, voice resolute.

“Don’t be a fucking martyr. Not for me. Not for them. Not for anyone,” Astarion growled.

Your brows shot toward your hairline in surprise.

“We know what we signed up for when we joined this rag-tag group,” he continued, tone icy. “I’d rather fight a hundred fiends than watch you debase yourself to save anyone, including myself.”

You let loose a mirthless laugh, feeling angry, embarrassed and too completely exposed. Before you could think better of it, your retort was flying past your lips.

“You know, Astarion, you have a fucking funny way of showing appreciation for your partner who was willing to be violated in order to keep you safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. You immediately knew it, and so did the rest of the party. Suddenly it was like the air had been sucked from the room.

Crimson eyes bored into your own as Astarion took a step forward to meet you, chest to chest. You glared up at him, refusing to back down. Refusing to be chastised for your willingness to protect him.

The shared air between you was charged. You could almost feel the electricity surging.

“Need I remind you? I’ve been violated enough times over the past 200 years to know how unequivocally monstrous it is,” he intoned, his voice pitched dangerously low. “I will promise you this. I am finished with having it happen to me, in front of me, or for me.”

Words escaped you. It was all you could do to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the conviction in his tone. The anger that had sustained you up until this point had all but disappeared. In its place was something far more demure.

“So yes, I fired the first shot that pierced that devil’s skin. Then I eviscerated their neck with my teeth,” he crooned, reverently tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You shivered at his touch, at his dulcet tone that was describing such violence.

“And I slit his throat with glee,” he continued, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I would do it again. And again. And again. Because I will never witness abuse like what was about to happen, ever again.”

He swept the pad of his thumb over the hollow under your eye, his gaze flicking rapidly over your face. As though he were subconsciously checking you over for any nicks, cuts, or bruises.

“Do you understand?” he whispered softly. His voice was still laced with rage, but you could tell it was not directed toward you. Really, it never had been.

The entire situation had obviously touched the most sensitive pressure point within him. Had triggered his urge to fight, to protect, to resist. You couldn’t be angry with him for that. Never. Not one bit.

You gulped before nodding slightly. “I understand now. I’m sorry.”

You lifted your hand to cover his where it was still cupping your face. Turning slightly, you planted a kiss against his palm.

“No self-sacrificing on my watch, darling, agreed?” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around your waist in a solid embrace.

“Agreed,” you confirmed, returning his embrace before venturing on through the House of Hope.

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mockerycrow · 5 months

Note

super big congratulations on 4k!! you deserve it <3

i was wondering if you could write a gn! reader x price with the prompt "Hey, it's okay, I got you. You're alright, you're okay." it doesn't matter if it's platonic or romantic; whatever feels best for you!!

Thank you so much and congratulations!

YOU’RE ALIVE (Price x GN!Reader) — 4K CELEBRATION

[WARNINGS; Car accident, implied situationship w/ Price, moderate injuries, flashbacks, near panic attack, open ending.]

YOU DON’T REMEMBER the events that lead up to you in a hospital bed, a cast fitted around your arm, a brace on your knee, a bandage around your skull, and only God knows how many stitches and bandages in random assortments. You can’t forget the numeral wires and tubes attached to you, too. Oh, and the ear-bleeding beeping. John sits next to you in a chair—he’s your… friend, of sorts. You aren’t really sure what to call what you two have going on.

You look at him, slumped in the visitors chair he’s pulled up beside your bed, his arms crossed and his legs spread; his neck is bent at an awkward angle and you know it’s going to ache whenever he awakens. John looks quite tired—he’s looked tired and stressed the entire time he’s been in the hospital room with you. Stressing over you, like a worried hu—…. you shouldn’t think about that. Suddenly the ceiling looks far more appealing to stare at, rather than the beautiful gentleman who is willingly staying at your bedside, despite your exhausted attempts to have him get some proper rest.

You glance over at him—envious of how he’s able to sleep right now. Hm. Honestly, you know John would be awake with you if he had the energy. The only reason why you’re awake is your stitches itch, and the only reason why he’s asleep is because you did not wake up for four days after you passed out at the scene of a car accident you were apparently in; an accident you don’t remember too well. You barely even remember what you had for breakfast that morning; cereal of some kind, maybe? Eggs? You don’t know.

“You were on the way to work, love.” You remember John telling you. You remember the tense expression, the firmness of his eyebrows. The frown of his lip, the way he amusingly resembled a quokka in the moment. You were also apparently on the phone with John at the same time, so whatever happened, he heard all of it. The details from your own memory are fuzzy—your doctors concluded your amnesia is temporary, so they gave you the choice of remembering it yourself or having them tell you. You opted in for the first option.

It was coming back to you in bits and pieces. Small moments where you feel the hairs on the back of your neck standing up, you think you hear glass shattering in the distance; your heart begins to race at different moments. You aren’t sure what to make of it—until now.

“I’m not excited for this meeting.” You whined, your eyes were glued to the road. Your phone is bluetooth connected to your car’s system so you can talk with John and have both of your hands on the wheel. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, honey. Surely it’s just about budgets like last month.” John hums through the speakers of your car. You sigh, turning on your windshield wipers as it’s pouring out, obscuring your vision a bit.

“It’s raining pretty hard, how do the roads look?” He asks, a bit of rustling coming from John’s end. He’s probably reading a book or looking out from the curtains. “I’m driving slower than normal, visibility isn’t the greatest..” You admit, letting out a breath, slowing the car down once again. “..I was sliding a bit, thinking it’s time I get some new wheels.” John hums in agreement. “Definitely. Please be safe, love.” You chuckled glancing around the road, furrowing your eyebrows when the double yellow line seems to fade. “I’m trying my best, Jo—“

You’re suddenly being jostled around violently after a big impact from your front, your seatbelt digging into your skin as something launches your car off to the side. “SHIT—“ You scream, attempting to stop the car, but the rain causes you to slide across the road. Something hits you from the back and you feel you physically feel yourself lift in your seat—and then you’re fading in and out. You wake up with wetness against your face, pain in your ribs, your arm, your skull—

You let out a choked sob as there’s ringing in your ears and your eyes refuse to focus—but you can tell you’re upside down. You see a pair of legs sprinting towards you through your broken side window, and you aren’t really register what’s happening. You blink and the person is try to pry the door open frantically. You still don’t hear them; it’s almost like a silent movie.

The door gives, the flipped car jostling from the force used to pry it open. You blink and fuck—It’s John. His eyes are wide and his jaw is tense, shaky hands. He’s grabbing the sides of your head, forcing you to keep your head still—his lips are moving but you can’t hear him. You sob and you try to reach up to touch him, and he lets you. Your eyes look at your own hand as it’s caked in your own blood, causing you to inhale shakily. This isn’t happening. The pain starts sitting you harder, a pulsing in the side of your head.

“Hey—“ John’s voice suddenly cuts through and you blink, and you’re back in the hospital room. You’re breathing hard and fast, causing your chest to ache more than it already does. His hands are cupping your cheeks like he was in the flipped car, and you let out a panicked sob; your machines make loud beeping noises in retaliation. “Hey, it’s okay, I got you. You’re alright, you’re okay..” John quickly murmurs, his thumbs gently wiping your tears away. “Focus on my voice, okay? You’re alright. You’re in the hospital, love.”

You sniffle and nod, shakily inhaling once again as you try to calm your panicked lungs and struggling heart, your good hand coming up and gently grasping his wrist. “I-I was flipped over—“ You choke out, which John quickly meets with soft shushing and a kiss between your eyebrows. “I know, honey. I know. I got you, you’re safe now.” You nod, choking out another whimper as you lean into his touch—because John’s right. He has you; you’re safe, he’s the one who got to you first. You’re sure you’ll want to ask him how he found you so fast later, but all you want to do right now and feel him and hear him. Because you’re alive.

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satocidal · 5 months

Text

𓂂 ˚ ☆ ꙳ * ࣭ “Business Ventures?” — Suguru Geto and Satoru Gojo

Synopsis: just the best business investments—one that involves you, the owner and his bot best friend—and your desires<3

— word count: 1.4K

— a/n: in contraspect, this arose from my deep desires and I perhaps am speechless about it <3 (sorry for the shitty smut but I had to write it) (this is the fifth try please work😭)

— warnings: MDNI!!Fem Reader!! This is spire nasty smut honestly; p -> v sex; no sub-dom dynamics; scene set sort of in a brothel? Where Satoru is the owner; no use of protection (be smarter people); creampie; reader treated as an object(?); degradation and praise

Click-clack-click— the sound of their footsteps sounded through the small hallway, girls scrambling about around him- half naked, adorable and very fuckable.

“Come on in,” the grin that was spread across Satoru’s face—“you’ll love the new investment,,” not a look he passed back towards his best friend, Suguru—neither did he, too busy eye-fucking the side-chick that was clinging onto Satoru’s side.

“She’s new,” Satoru chuckled, referring to you, “but fuck she’s good and tight,” his eyes bounced on many girls zooming past them—hand carressing the ass of the girl next to him.

“Why’s she so special—I bet this one’s just as good,” a wide grin Suguru adorned as he said so—hands itching to reach out and touch her, “ah well,” Satoru coughed, “she’s mine—off-limits for you,”

And as if on cue, the girl leaned up on her toes, kissing Satoru’s cheek—giggling when he slapped her face slightly—“only in front of the clients doll—not my best friend,” a wink, “and our regular,”

A disgruntled scoff Suguru passed—“and the new one? She’ll be mine?”

“If she wants,”

A knowing look passed between Suguru and Satoru—“Last room down the hall, you’ll be the first one tasting her like this.”

“What, you won’t come with me to watch at least?” A smirk, Suguru knew the answer.

“If you insist,”

“You Better be good for her, she’s precious,” Satoru added in—“the best.” Suguru snickered.

“What the hell,”

Suguru couldn’t help but mutter out—the room was mostly empty, save for the hole in the wall beside them.

“Fuck here” a sign above it, neon and all so pretty in purple, it read.

“I’m actually fucked in the head in the right ways aren’t I?” Satoru cackled while Suguru couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea as well.

It was obvious to what it was—a glory hole, no doubt it would help Satoru and his business skyrocket— but fuck, it seemed so dirty an idea.

“Anyone there?” Suguru sounded out as a joke—but just at that, the gears worked, and there you were—ass and pussy sticking out of the hole.

A pretty little thing.

“Check her out,” Satoru’s words however, almost fell to deaf ears, for Suguru was already kneeling behind you—or specifically, down to face your pretty pussy and ass—pink with a puffy little clit—dying to be played with.

He could tell you were wet already, your pussy lips all so perfect and juicy for him—and it was true too, all so evident in the way your slick collected on his fingers the moment he pressed and spread around your folds.

You could feel the light touches, clenching at the way the foreign hand seemed to inspect you, it wasn't Gojo you knew were sure.

But just at that, another hand reached out—colder—ah, you were sure this was Gojo.

A sudden jump and flinch, your face burned at the way the two men—separated from you by a wall chuckled at your ministrations.

“She’s jumpy eh?” The first man, his voice softer, smoother—fingers still playing around your pussy.

“All the perfect ones are,” Gojo seemed to reply, wasting not a breath in reaching fingers down to your clit and pinching it.

“Be gentle Satoru,” the first voice seemed to speak out, it was gentler, softer? But it knew what it wanted— “fuck off Suguru, she’s ours, aren’t you pretty thing?” You moaned loudly at the way Satoru circled your clit.

But ah, there it was, the name—Suguru.

Suguru and Satoru.

The intentions were clear down right—where Suguru wanted to taste you, make you fall apart for him, Satoru was there to show you off—mark you.

“Who’s gonna fuck her first?”

“You’ve had your go once- I’ll do it,” you were sure his voice held an edge of dominance to it—a snicker from the other man you heard— “never gonna say no to free pussy huh?” Punctuating his words with a slap to your ass, you were sure he held a constant grin to himself.

And just like that, you were there at their disposal to be fucked as a glory hole—“look at the way she clenches Satoru,” and you clenched further still—sweat resting at your forehead as you felt his fingers finally touch your clit.

“Bet you’re tight huh?” Not a word you let out, choosing simply to moan as you felt his tongue land flat against your pussy- “fuck I’d stretch you out doll, but your pussy’s practically begging to be fucked like this,”

And just at that, the sound of a zipper going down entered your ears—so close, so so close—you could feel his tip rubbing against your folds, plap- plap- plap—he slapped his dick down on your pussy.

Slowly, steadily his tip came in contact with your opening, so eager that you were for him—tight and perfect.

In seconds you lay there, shamelessly moaning for him as he tried to make you comfortable —“a fuckin’ moaner aren’t ya?”

“You should hear her when you use your mouth on her,” Gojo grinned—the sound of his moans as he stroked himself filling the room just as well—“she’s a god damn dream,”

How embarrassing, spread open for the two men—being fucked and watched—such a needy slut that you were.

Suguru kept his rhythm simple, your eyes rolled back in the way his tip rubbed against your gummy walls, the slight bend to the left, almost as if he was mending you walls to accommodate for his length.

“Y’er s’tight doll—m’not gonna last long,”

You clenched at him harder right then—hoping he’d cum sooner for you.

You bit down at your lips, the constant pressure of his hips slapping against your ass—the way you were just an object—you knew Suguru wasn’t bothered about your pleasure or release—you were a mere glory hole after all.

You loved it.

And soon enough, the thrusts turned sloppy, faster—you could feel his dick twitching inside of you—so close.

“Shit- m’close,” he grunted—a sharp slap landing on your ass, “do I cum inside of her?”

It wasn’t your choice either—no, he was asking Satoru- your owner.

“Yes ‘course, she’s a fine doll—perfect to be bred,”

You squealed as right at the end of his statement, you felt him gush in—it felt sticky, hot, he shot into you— thick ropes, Suguru didn’t bother pulling out either—making sure that your cunt remained stuffed, filled with his cum.

Hot breaths passed out as You felt Suguru finally pull out- whining at the sudden emptiness, another chuckle the boys let out.

“My turn,” the eagerness in his voice was all so obvious you could’ve found it almost endearing—had it not been this filthy an interaction.

you’d experienced him before — just as good he’d been too.

Your hole clenched around nothing as his warm breath fanned on your clit—“shit dude, you stretched her out already—but she’ll be fun still, won’t you?”

The answer wasn’t needed, he was satisfied with the jiggle of your ass as he squeezed it firmly.

Always the impatient one, he wasted no time, slipping in all so easily—he was thinner, longer—just as hard in the way he thrusted into you, and far more vocal.

Where Suguru was all grunts and curses, Satoru moaned the same as you—eliciting an especially pornographic moan as he entered you—“you’re so warm inside princess,”

“She is, isn’t she? Fucking perfect,” you heard the other boy speak—all so aware of the to set of gazes at as Satoru chuckled while inside of you.

“I’m telling ya, she’s the best slutty thing ever,” you couldn’t help but moan louder, it felt so degrading to be used this way but fuck, it only made you wetter.

Satoru made sure to hit the spots inside, deep—where Suguru was rougher, meaner it was almost as if Satoru only wanted to tease you and please you—“you’ll cum with me right princess? We’ll cum together yeah?”

You were sure he’d already been at edge all the while Suguru was using you anyways—you didn’t mind how fast his orgasm arrived, hell you could beg for him to fill you too.

It was in the way that both the men continued cooing and talking about you—in the way satoru thrust into you, all the while slapping and circling, pinching and playing with your clit too.

It was in the way you could cry from all the pleasure.

Both of you moaned simultaneously—until you felt his dick twitch and throb inside you—and just at that, you finally let go—mind going blank for a second too long as he continued thrusting.

Caught off guard, Satoru couldn’t do much when he came into you—stuffing you once more with cum.

Right as he pulled out, you could feel his fingers at your opening again, pushing all the cum inside you—to secure you.

“I swear to god if she gets pregnant-”

“It’ll be fun finding out who’s it is heh- and anyways,”

A sharp slap landed on your pussy, you cried out-unsure of who it was, “she’s meant to be used like this.”

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wispstalk · 2 months

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Some writing advice for hunting, bc I see a lot of hunting scenes in fantasy that make me itch. More under the cut. Don't read if you're sensitive to blood-and-guts discussion or animal death.

Finding game:

- I don't hunt much these days bc I don't feel like getting my ass out of bed at shitfuck o'clock every weekend during the season. Which you have to do, because much of the time you come home empty-handed. Successful hunts come about when you're out there often.

- You don't really have to be a good tracker to hunt, but you do have to know the basics of your prey and you have to be able to interpret the landscape even if it's unfamiliar. It's less likely a tracker is looking for "bent blades of grass" or whatever and more likely they are noticing game trails, sheltered areas where nests and burrows are, a spot of thick vegetation which would indicate a water source.

- Scat and footprints are useful too ofc but to varying degrees. If I'm hunting deer it's just confirmation that they're in the area; more often I use knowledge of their habits to actually find them. If I were hunting something elusive and solitary like a cougar I would pay more attention to the tracks but that's also a reason people hunt with dogs!

Actually hunting:

- Bows are not the only hunting weapons, though would be most common in ur typical medieval fantasy type setting. Spears and lances, slings with stones, and clubs would also be used. And knives and swords but in this hunter's opinion, FUUUUCK that.

- Lung shot is a quick death. Heart shot and head shot too but that is much harder. Other shots might mean tracking a wounded animal as it runs away. This is where things like broken twigs/bent grass are especially telling, and ofc blood. Small game bleed out faster and won't get as far but you might spend quite a while running after an elk shot in the flank.

- This highly depends on the prey but hunting often involves more sitting around than people realize. I bring a small pad for my booty ass bc sometimes you'll spend hours in a strategic spot waiting for the game to pass by. Also hides (the shelter, not the skins) are a thing and most hunters would consider shelter-building an essential skill.

- Hunting seasons are not entirely a modern convention -- there are better times of year to find different animals. But there would be less concern, historically, about killing animals during the breeding season than we have today.

- Even when I was hunting regularly and more confident, I got a huge adrenaline spike EVERY time I had an animal in my sights.

Big game:

- A deer has a lot of meat on it and though it's not a bad thing to leave a carcass for scavengers, your party of two or three adventurers probably will not go to the trouble of hunting deer unless they have some nearby place to cache, preserve, or trade what they can't eat before it spoils. Are they leaving it behind or do they have some way to take full advantage of such a large kill?

- If your character gets a large game animal they're probably going to field dress it: deal with all the blood and guts on site, then quarter it so it can be packed back to the campsite or whatever. My dad is a big burly mutant man and he cannot carry a deer by himself. You can carry game on poles or horseback too but field dressing is pretty typical in a situation where u can't just fling it in the back of the truck and hang it at home.

- I grew up eating bear and when it comes up I'm often surprised how many people don't know that people hunt bear for meat. It's tasty imo, especially makes a good sausage

- I can hunt deer alone, though company is nice. I wouldn't attempt hunting something more dangerous by myself. Large animals especially are better taken down as a group effort. In the TES context for example it would be kind of insane to hunt horker alone. Not that some folks wouldn't try.

Small game:

- A character who subsists mostly on hunting is going to be eating a lot of small game. They are probably going to use traps and snares in addition to actually going out on hunts.

- Look up "rabbit starvation." Small game is often (but not always) lean and going without fat for a long time can cause serious health issues.

- I joke that you don't hunt turkey, you just go get one. Game birds are kind of stupid. I plan a deer hunt, but I have gone out and shot grouse on a whim.

Processing:

- Draining blood, skinning, plucking, butchering, dealing with all the bones and guts, storage and preservation: pretty time consuming and involved. It's a good excuse for social activity.

- The moneyed classes likely would not process their kills themselves, unless they're doing some kinda randyll tarly masculinity flex for the symbolism. Kitchen staff or a local butcher would handle it.

- A good skinning knife is kinda wide and short. Some game knives have a rounded tip which keeps it from puncturing the skin in case of accidental slippage.

- Skinning is done with a light hand bc puncturing the digestive system means you've poisoned the meat. I will say it is less difficult than I expected it to be the first time I tried it.

- We don't eat a lot of offal in the US but a deer liver, for example, would be considered prime meat by many and eaten first. Bear, walrus, and seal liver contain toxic amounts of vitamin A and would be thrown away.

- I've been told every animal has enough brains to tan its own hide, but I think there are some exceptions. It's definitely true of deer and elk. With small animals like rabbits it's hardly worth the effort of getting the brains out and other things can be used but brain tanned leather is soooo soft and nice.

- Hides and pelts are useful and valuable and would be kept or traded if circumstances allowed. You can tightly roll a hide to keep it from drying out before tanning, or you can freeze it, basically indefinitely. You can also air dry it once scraped clean and soften it later, which is what fur hunters would most likely do for efficiency's sake. Tanning is also so so so fucking gross imo. Really slimy process, and tanneries REEK.

That's all I can think of for now and this is already hella long but the takeaway is that it is generally a pretty involved activity and more impactful on lifestyle than I usually see depicted. So there ya have it

#meta #writing

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