#get the wine away from him

[caniasfire]

@accultant asked: ☕️ + Gale?

how many glasses of wine had he drank already? he lost count. but he kept on calling the waiter, and they kept on filling his glass. he had only begun drinking more rapidly after talking about astarion, unpleasant memories flooding his mind, uncomfortable feelings wrapping around him. he felt nauseous. pathetic, you're pathetic. he could hear the laughter . . . was it the other people in the tavern? or was it his brother? his father? everyone else in the court? was it him? long nails dig into his palm as he clenches his fist, his lips pressed into a tight line. he downs the glass in one go and presses his eyes shut afterwards, fighting back the nausea. weak, small, feeble, gullible.

iago breaks him out of the prison of his mind with a question, and he stares at them, through them, like they're speaking in an incomprehensible language. "gale?" he gestures to the waiter, who doesn't look too happy to be returning to his side again. "gale." he moves the glass away too soon, making the waiter spill some of the wine, but he doesn't pay attention to that. he just keeps drinking. "he talks like-- like why can't he talk like a normal person? does he think he's better because he knows big, fancy words? does he think i'm stupid because i don't understand half of what he says? as if i didn't have enough people staring at me because of my accent. oh, but if i had a high elf accent i bet it would be sexy and mysterious." well, that's not necessarily about gale. he had never treated him differently because of it, unlike other people they had met in their travels. "i can't stand him he's irresistible. i bet he talks shit about me behind my back." maybe if he says that enough times he'll believe it, but he needed to justify his anger one way or another.

he runs a hand around his neck, and feels the scars the vampire left behind there. a constant reminder, for the rest of his life. "i don't get him. why me? why did he call to me? why did he. . . it was going to be so easy, soooo fuckin' easy." he bares his teeth, it's almost a smile. "i was going to snatch it for myself and finally for the first time in my life be on top. i was going to be a conqueror. they wouldn't control me no longer." clink, clink, clink. he taps his fingernails against the glass, wine slides down his chin as he drinks. "i had it all planned out, i even got ketheric to kneel." he wipes the wine off with the back of his hand with a little too much force. "but now, here i fuckin' am. after all the people i've doomed, all the people i've killed, here i am, playin' good guy. all because . . . " he takes in a deep breath and sighs loudly, shaking his head. "why me?" his eyes shift color for a second, a warm orange flicking across bright yellow irises. he closes his eyes, hands pressed against them; it felt like his skull was going to split open. he gets up a little too quickly and barely catches himself from falling with the table. his usual struggle with maintaining his balance combined with all the glasses of wine he had didn't really help him in making his way to the bathroom, but he eventually got there.

[teyrnacousland]

Thinking about post game Illario again and the mental state he must be in. He's literally lost everything.

Things will never be the same between him and Lucanis. Even if they do get better someday, they can never be the same.

He is never going to be First Talon now. He's actually gone down the ladder, which I don't think he even considered as a possibility, since he figured it was a success or death kind of deal. The man who loves being admired and adored now has to face a future full of disdain and hatred.

He has to watch Lucanis become First Talon. Something he wanted (needed). And worse, something he knows Lucanis doesn't want. He has to watch Lucanis continue to be suffocated under Caterina's grasp and the weight of her expectations until it kills him. He's back to having to watch and wait for Lucanis to die. He was able to justify killing Lucanis in part to prevent this exact fate and now he has even less power to stop it than he did before.

Where do you even go from there?

[nateezfics]

does anyone else constantly think about smeared lipstick paradigm hongjoong or is it just me.

[bonefall]

I know you're keeping Clear Sky as an antagonist (and he's very compelling as one in your rewrite), but I'm curious: if you absolutely had to give him a redemption arc, how would you go about it? (Besides not fridging his sister and wives, of course.)

If I was forced to give Clear Sky a redemption arc I'd slip a femur right out of my legmeat and beat someone to death with it

I'd never write a redemption arc for him, ever. It would be a completely different character.

Clear Sky's redemption arc is not even an idea worth considering; This an extremely consistent abusive family member who drives the entire plot, a predator who will leverage the love people have for him, whose defining characteristic is that he dresses up his megalomania as "Just Trying to Protect Everyone"

And I'd give that up?! for what?

I'd rewrite the whole plot, JUST like how the writers did with TWO born evil foreigner villains so their story wouldn't get boring, so I could prove the he could be a good boy if he wanted to? WHY?

It's doing the same thing the Erins do, totally uninterested in the story of his victims to write yet another plot centered around the pain of an abusive man.

Elder Bones is disappointed in you if you even think about it, actually. I am holding the femurbone in my hand as we speak. I'm gonna GETCHA

[tenwhiteandalusians]

and then no one said anything about the fact that if i watched ONE MORE episode tenax pulls a "i'm not angry i'm just disappointed i'm hurt" about scorpus signing with the white faction.

[cuteniaarts]

Wine stains on porcelain

(Alternatively: @katkastrofa and I have created 5 OCs in 3 days and I suffer from chronic “I wanna draw the little guysssssss” disease)

[kulliare]

yippeeee the dices

[evilyn-is-gay]

I found something for Sun

[cagcd]

29 to late 50's

[godsprettiestprincess]

Amara has a giant old house with a massive dusty library and secret passages and a dinosaur skeleton in the foyer. Jack loves it there

[aromanticasterisms]

diluc standing directly in front of the fucking vase is killing me

[todayisafridaynight]

psst. hey. kid... *looks around alley* ya wanna buy some watches? https://archiveofourown.org/works/47582044

YEAH I WOULD LOVE TO BUY SOME WATCHES ACTUALLY CAN I HAVE MORE

LINK TO THE FIC SO YOU ALL READ IT RIGHT NOW

[yourfourthparent]

I GOT TO THE FUCKING SCENE. WITH DAVID. I'M RUINED.

[dahlia-molinas]

it must be so awkward to be one of dionysus's kids at camp halfblood like not only is ur father literally twelve feet away from you playing cards with chiron but he's a campus meme. he is forced to stay legally sober because ur grandpa is mad at him. he burns through 80 diet cokes a day. he regularly fake claims kids in order to bully them into getting him wine. he's just some insane little guy. and he's ur DAD

[webism]

☆ bestfriend!satoru likes seeing you in his clothes a little too much.

it starts with lending you a jacket when you're out late and it gets cold. he laughs at you first, makes fun of the way you shiver, but then his eyes drift and he realises he can see your hardened nipples through your shirt and suddenly he's layering you up in his jacket just to keep his mind from short-circuiting.

but the sight of you in his jacket is no help either, not when you drown in it because he's so damn tall and he's reminded of the difference in size between the two of you and for the first (more like third) time he's wondering what you'd look like beneath him in a mean mating press. how you'd feel shaking under his body weight: like how you're shaking now, but pleasure wracking your body rather than the cold wind.

he tells himself it's fine to have these thoughts. you're his best friend, you spent every waking hour together: it's only natural that his thoughts would eventually drift southwards. he'll snap out of it, he just needs to jerk off and clear his mind.

so he walks you home, and lets you keep the jacket.

but that night, he's in the shower with hot water scalding his skin, eyes squeezed shut as he strokes his cock at an inhuman pace. fucks his fist with anything but you in mind—he thinks about all his past trysts, about whatever porn he's seen lately, about his fucking cursed technique.

and he thinks he has it, he's pumping his cock with crazed strokes in an attempt to cum and clear his mind, but just as that pleasure starts to break into white hot lust, all he sees is you. in nothing but his jacket, wrecked on his cock and begging him for more.

and when he cums, he sees your eyes pleading up at him from where you’d rest on your knees, ready to take his load into your mouth because you crave the taste. He swears he can feel your fingers splayed over his thighs… your tongue tracing the pronounced vein that runs up the underside of his cock… your heated presence in the shower alongside him.

satoru says your name as he cums, and realises he’s wholly fucked and not coming back from this.

so, naturally, gojo plays into it.

the next time you see him is at his place, you come around to spend time with him and talk about the mundane that always seems exciting when spoken in the lilt of your voice. he offers you a drink, pours you a glass of red and promptly spills it over your pretty top—purely accidental, of course.

and he only takes a moment to admire the way the soaked fabric clings to your skin before he’s bolting into action and offering you a shirt of his own.

“it’s like you’re trying to steal my wardrobe, huh? first my jacket… now my shirt… got something to admit to, hm? you like wearing my clothes?”

it’s playful banter, you think, and roll your eyes with a huff as he hands you a shirt that’s oversized even on him. he wants to see you drown in the fabric, covered in him through clothing until he can cover you in another aspect of himself.

you make him look away while you change, though you know it’s an effort wasted because he’s all-seeing or whatever. and when satoru finally gets a look at you in his shirt he knows it’s game over. it’s like he’s left a mark on you, staked him claim not through bite marks or hickies as he usually would, but through the fabric that adorns your skin. his clothes smell like him, look like him, and are being worn by you.

he’s beyond hard, his cock is tenting his pants and he’s almost offended you haven’t yet noticed, because there’s no hiding a boner when you’re his size. you’re sweet enough not to look, even steal a glance out of curiosity—but he isn’t; his eyes are roaming your skin in such a heated way you feel feverish. it’s how he notices the wine that has spilt on your skirt as well.

he could tell you—offer you a pair of his sweats and cum in his own pants as the way they’d hang off your hips—but he doesn’t. instead, your best friend satoru gojo, the man you know like scripture, drops to his knees and takes the hem of your skirt between his fingers.

“what are you doing?” you think he’s cruel for a joke like this, when he looks so good on his knees, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as if he’s aching for a taste of you. you squeeze your thighs together, groan at the thought of gojos relentless teasing if he realises you’re soaking wet right now. “this isn’t funny.”

“i’m not laughing,” he says, tone flat. “your skirt is stained.”

“oh,” it is, you can see the wine seeping into the fabric.

gojo laughs, his grin sinful. “what? you get all flustered when i’m on my knees? how lewd.”

“shut up,” you try and step backwards, put some space between him and your pulsing heat, but his hands come to grip your thighs, fingers cool as they brush under your skirt and press into your skin. “you’re an asshole, toru.”

“i know,” his fingers creep higher. “i’m sorry.”

“no you’re not.”

“i know,” he parrots. “but you will be.”

“wh—“

in one practiced movement, satoru rips your skirt down and exposes you to him. he has to bunch up the shirt of his you wear with one hand and keep you from running with the other, but he’s met with a beautiful sight as a reward for all his pining.

“for coming to my house with no fucking panties on and acting like you don’t want me to fuck you like we’re more than friends.”

you learnt quickly upon befriending satoru gojo that he always seems to get what he wants. this is no exception, because after he spends so long fucking you with his tongue that his knees go numb against the cold tile, he’s got you laid down on his couch, his t shirt bunched up over your waist just enough for him to watch his cock sink into you over and over and over again.

he loves the sight of you grabbing at the fabric to keep it out of the way— how you whine for him to just let you take it off, all for him to press his lips to yours and conjoin you so you couldn’t undress even if you tried.

how with each thrust of his ravaging cock into you, he’s whining like he’s not the one in control. babbling filth as if he’s not got you pinned and taking every last inch of him—he’s pussy drunk and overbearing in his excitement and slurring his words as he speaks against your open mouth.

“never allowed to wear your own clothes again,” he steals your breath with each gasp he gives between thrusts. “only mine. i’ll burn yours, fuck, i hate your clothes.”

“you…” gojos fast rutting stalls your sentence. “…you brought me that skirt.”

“yeah? well where is it now?”

you recall the lecture you tried to give him when he threw your wine-stained skirt into his trash bin. you’d protest his dictation of what you wear if you had the mind to do so—but his cock is hitting your g spot in tandem with the ministries of his fingers over your clit… you’re half-near brain dead with the way he splits you open and unravels you like the threading of his clothes he’s fucking you in.

you can’t count your orgasms, only feel them shoot static up your spine with each one gojo manages to pull from you. and when he cums, spills over your parted thighs to dress you further in the essence of him, you swear you hear him babble something about putting a ring on your finger some day, to dress you in something of his permanently.

but friends don’t talk like that.

they don’t fuck like this either, though.

[fushiguho]

✰ drunk sex with satoru is soooo sloppppyyy and wet and aghh! 😵‍💫

cw fem!reader, sex under the influence, sloppy sex, spit, unprotected, spanking, creampie, breeding kink go brrrr

empty wine glasses are strewn about the wooden coffee table, trace remnants of pinot noir swirling the bottom of the dishes. what was meant to be a wholesome night of tipsy jeopardy and anagrams turned into a sloppy, drunken fit of greedy hands and utter desperation.

the two of you are entangled in a fervid, knotted mess amidst the soft carpet of his living room. tattered garments of clothing droop haphazardly from your writhing bodies. your flimsy, silken sleep shorts are mindlessly tugged just below the plush skin of your thighs, bunching around your knees as satoru nudges your panties aside with a blind hand.

you kiss eachother silly, drunkenly moaning and pulling at one another like two feral cats in a barren alleyway. two long fingers are messily gliding between your swollen lips before brazenly spreading them apart. a throaty little whine leaves you, hips bucking against the hand that paws at you.

“uhuh f— fuuckk.” is all he can manage between little gasps of air, his breath warm and narcotically sweet. “off… take this off,” he murmurs impatiently, hooking his lithe fingers beneath the hem of your shirt, “god, let me seeeee, i wanna see you — wanna taste ‘em.”

as you allow him to yank your shirt over your head, the prettiest cry is dragging from your gaped mouth and his cock twitches. hurriedly, satoru’s warm tongue is lolling out, latching against one of your hardening nipples and sucking. he groans greedily as he laps against your skin, swapping between your breasts with fervid eagerness.

“so pretty,” he babbles drunkenly, mindlessly pushing the fat of your breasts together to lick along the expanse of your soft, perspiring skin, “such a good, pretty girl… god, i wanna swallow you whole.”

a breathy little giggle interrupts your fit of whimpers, head spinning as your fingers thread throughout his mussed ivory hair, dragging him closer. with a whimper, your head is deliriously craning back, pressing into the lavishly plush carpet. gossamers of treacly saliva connect his bottom lip to your skin as he pulls away, gasping. satoru trails his lips up your exposed throat, sloppily kissing his way to your parted mouth in a slick, slovenly mess.

“open that mouth for me,” he mutters against the corner of your lips, remnants of overpriced alcohol on his breath, “i wanna see your tongue, stick it out gooood for me.”

like the obedient girl he knows you are, you’re dropping your jaw and presenting your tongue to him. a gurgled sound leaves him, his body shuddering from your unrelenting obedience. between words of praise and heaving pants, he’s leaning down and drooling onto the plush center of your tongue. a deep, sensual groan belts from the pit of his sternum as he leans even closer to fully take your tongue into his own mouth, sucking on it with a satisfied hum of pleasure.

you possess half the brain to kiss him back properly as he envelops your lips yet again, messily kissing you into the floor of his high rise apartment with little recollection of how it even got to this point. satoru can hardly help the way he’s tugging at the waistband of his sweats, but he drunkenly forgets to undo the knotted bow so he whines impatiently as he struggles.

“fuuuck, help me!” desperately, he’s reaching for your hand as he whines, pulling it over his stiff cock so that you can somehow untie the tight little bow at the top of his sweatpants. “god, take them off before i fucking cum.”

eventually, you manage to get the hem of his sweats just below his twitching cock and with a low, droning groan of relief, satoru is woozily pulling you on top of him. he watches drunkenly as you pull your sodden panties aside before raising your hips above his drooling cock head.

that poor, weeping cunt drools down the length of his cock. warm strings of pretty arousal leak from your tightening hole, filthily marrying with the amalgamated precum that lewdly seeps from the swollen head of satoru’s cock. god, it’s a fucking mess — the both of you are practically spilling over with honeyed arousal and overbearing lust as you paw at one another.

abruptly, those large, greedy hands are pulling you down, down, down. satoru stuffs you to an unapologetic hilt in one fell swoop, savoring the obscene way your cunt tightens around him, wordlessly begging for more. he listens to your body’s aching cries of pleasure as he drags you off his cock, but it’s only to plop you right back down again with a shared mewl of rapture.

“oh my god, c’mereee.” it’s almost growl as he yanks you closer with a little more force than intended, his desperate hips beginning to rut beneath you. “kiss me s… so sloppy, i wanna taste that mouth, fuck.”

two big hands are reaching for the sides of your face, dragging you impossibly closer. you whine so prettily into his mouth as his tongue laps and glissades over yours, rivulets of drool spilling from the corners of his lips. wanton whimpers drip from his unabashed mouth, his pretty boy noises like kindle to a rampant flame.

“fuck, 'm so dizzy.” you mumble, a thin gossamer of candied saliva tethering your bottom lips together, marrying you as one. “your cock feels soooo good… soo p-perfect.”

satoru’s mouth gapes, those messy, ivory brows knitting together and screwing his face up in a way that makes your stomach sink. big hands are squeeezing the fat of your ass, lengthy fingers digging so deliciously into your warm skin that you let off short little gasp. a loud, earsplitting thwack! follows, resounding off the walls as his hand lands against your skin. the contact has your poor cunt clenching so hard around his cock that it’s evoking a long, guttural cry from his throat.

“hit me again…” it’s merely a breath lost between your shared pants, “fuck! hit me again, sato. do it a-again!”

a drunk little giggle leaves him, but he does it again, and again, and again — messily smacking the fat of your ass before soothingly kneading the raw skin with the palm of his hand. your head hurts trying to make sense of the prickling pain as it’s quickly being pacified by the same hand.

“c’mon, fuck me good.” he urges, shamelessly pulling you back and forth across his aching cock.

and maybe later you’ll blame the alcohol for the way you’re sloppily bouncing up and down the entire length of his cock, tongue hanging from the corner of your mouth like a bitch in heat, but none of that matters now. you can hardly help the hands that are running over your breasts, sluttily pulling your sensitive nipples between the pads of your fingers as your head dumbly slumps to the side.

satoru let’s off a throaty little groan, pushing your damp panties further into the crevice of your thigh, desperate to see more of that wet, sloppy pussy. greedily, he’s spreading your lips, a heavy thumb catching your swollen clit in a frenzied slew of unintelligible shapes and it’s pulling your jaw slack.

“mmh such a messy cunt… look at t-that.” he blathers, pupils dilating at the sight of his big thumb effortlessly gliding over your twitching clit, aimlessly slipping around the bundle of nerves. “did losing to me in jeopardy make you this wet, huhhh?”

you shake your head stupidly, grinding your pussy down onto him as you hold his cock deeeep. “you… those fucking sweatpants… the wine”

“fuck, the wine.” he affirms, nodding up to you in silent agreement. and it’s that same fucking wine that has him on the verge of unloading an obscene amount of cum inside of you with a rickety stutter of his hips. “gonna make me c— cuuum.” satoru chokes.

“cum inside of me.” it’s a timid whisper that tumbles past your lips faster than you can bring a hand over your mouth and gasp in your feigned incredulity.

that throbbing cock twitches. “f— fuuucck, stop d-don’t say that.” he dismisses half-heartedly, a nervous little laugh following his breathy words. “it’s just the wine, baby—hah, don’t say that… you don’t mean it.”

“please, baby? it’ll make me cum soo h-hard.” woozily, you’re dropping your head to pull his lips into a slow, filthy kiss — panting into the depths of his honeyed mouth as you whine so sluttily, begging for his seed. “wan’ you to get me pregnant.. ‘m so closeee. baby, please?”

the deep, gurgled sound that leaves his sore throat is purely a beacon of hope, he’s caving. pathetically. a hand is splaying across your throat before desperately dragging you closer. his fruitless protests are hopelessly lost, swallowed and forgotten in the endless of abyss of pleasure that is you.

“yeeeah? is that what you w-want? me to breed that perfect cunt?” it’s merely a growl, hotly mumbled against your lips, slick strands of saliva threading your mouths together before snapping with the growing distance. “will that make my pretty girl happy?”

you nod down to him, pretty brows furrowing in your crescendoing arousal as you rock your wobbly hips down against him. a heavy digit is steady on your clit, thumbing your poor cunt over and over and over, relentlessly tracing over the twitching bundle of nerves so many times that your back arches away from his touch.

“shiiiit, ‘m cumming… fuck fuck!” he hiccups, unsteady hips rutting against yours, fucking himself so unbelievably deep that he’s spilling out an obscene amount warm, viscous cum, marking your pulsing walls. “oh god, cum on it... cum around my cock and allll of that fucking cum like a good, sloppy girl.”

satoru gapes as you shudder and choke on your gasping breaths. he watches the narcotic jerk of your hips as you chase your orgasm, your head deliriously lolling back to dangle beyond your shoulders. god and you sound so fucking pretty, just whining and gasping and humming out beautiful sighs of ecstasy like a beaten record.

your stomach tightens, core aching with an undeniable need as you cum around his messy cock, the pad of his thumb steadily rubbing you through it, teasingly following the unpredictable buck of your hips. if he were of half the brain, he'd cum again, stuffing you with yet another filthy load of cum but, you’ve fucked each other dumb enough.

“n– never buying that shit again,” he murmurs breathily, chest heaving as he pulls you into a warm, sweaty embrace. “you talk too crazy.”

you shrug, an impish grin kissing your lips. “now what did we learn about buying wine off of suguru?”

"never fucking do it."