#Wip: wordless

[heymacareyna]

Happy STS! If you had to switch the protagonist of your story with another character, who would you choose and why?

I primarily write pairing stories -- romance and erotica -- bc I love fitting two people together in a way that they're perfect for each other. dual POV is my fave bc i can show both of them falling in love.

but if I had to tell the story through a third-party observer's head, I guess I'd pick the following:

Winner: Rhiannon Bordeaux, Embry's housemate. Love her. Can't wait to write her book (again).

Pomegranate Lips: the butch tattoo artist's friend/coworker who cuts the femme florist's hair

The Plus-One Contract: uhhhh maybe Jack, Gabrielle's bestie

Knights and Daze: Head Moon Knight Callisto for sure

Wordless: probs Julie's brother, Levi, who plays football for Stellan. Or no! wait! It'd def have to be Stellan's sister, Rachael, who's also Julie's roommate!

A Rose at Midnight: this is my only single-POV story, so obvs it'd have to be the love interest, Autumn

Holly and Ivy: mutual friend Amaryllis, who set them up!

thanks for asking!

[whovianofmidgard]

WIP list game

Tagged by @thescrapwitch , thank you!

Rules: Make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPS.

Light Touched ch. 13.

A Message Delivered/Recieved (Losgar Unburnt sequel)

A Kiss Here, A Kiss There (for silm smut week)

Forbidden Prey (for silm smut week)

Celebrimbor/Maeglin for silm smut week

You Are Listening to Edain FM

Slay the Dark Vala

7 wips, so 7 tags: @meadowlarkx @thecoolblackwaves @deadqueernoldor @chthonion @jouissants @dreamingthroughthenoise @glorf1ndel

[tadc-harlequin-au]

Harlequin AU - "Stalemate" (canon, fic)

This is a wip art! It will be updated in the future.

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

One step.

Leather shoes made their way on uneven grounds.

The crinkling of glass underneath the soles made their way prominent to the stepper’s ears, but she couldn’t care less.

This was the last known location of the man she’d been tracking for a while now. And this is the moment of truth. Did she still got it? Or will she fall as a trophy on a mantle?

Time to find out.

Squeaks of a rusty metal gate aired out into the open, gathering the attention of a few unwanted pests. But in quick succession, they were no more, swiftly falling prey to the sharp blade of the Puppet. There was not even a chance for them to strike.

Satisfied with her work, she straddles into the grounds of the mansion. First, the gardens.

One could say it was a serene scene, but for her it was a mere distraction. Unimportant. Simply delaying the inevitable.

She steps out into the lush open grass of the area. A huge empty space filled with nothing but prickly green underneath the blue hues of the night. She found amusement in the fact that there’s a chance she can ruin this place once she meets her opponent.

A lone, mossy fountain sat on the front. Not interesting.

She makes her way onto the stairs of the mansion entrance. Each step fills her with more vigor, excitement coursing through her being. The giant, elegant oak door groaned in protest as she pushed it open.

Empty.

No matter, there were many rooms.

She quickly hears the puttering sound of rotor blades spinning, and she looks to her right, finding a mini-blimp with a literal sharp smile, and a vacant expression on it’s glossy eyes.

“Hellloooooo,” it said, dragging the last syllable playfully, “Can I help you with anything?” The blimp asked with not a care in the world.

“I’m looking for someone.” The Puppet claims, pulling out a parchment of a wanted poster. It was useless to waste her energy on this… creature. So she will entertain it’s questions for now.

“Oh! You’re looking for the boss! I’ll lead you to him!” The blimp confirms her suspicions.

He was in this place, and she’d successfully tracked her target down. Now all that was needed was proof of her soon-to-be victory. It was only by a few rooms that she’d found him.

But the sight wasn’t as grand as she envisioned.

She expected a confident, prideful, and powerful fighter….

NOT whatever this mess who’s currently laying on the ground and leaning deactivated against an office desk was. WHAT THE FUCK.

Did she seriously come all this way for nothing?! She felt a little furious, and she redirected her burning gaze onto the blimp, grasping tightly onto the sword and pointing it’s sharp end with malice. The Blimp did not seem to react at her wordless threat at all, still flashing a sharp smile as it slowly turned to face her.

“EXPLAIN.” She demanded. “HE CAN’T BE ALREADY DEACTIVATED.”

“Oh, this is just something that happens allllll the time. Give him a little time.” The Blimp answered, and turned it’s attention back to 'the boss'. She kicked a leg, no response.

“Let me try!” The Blimp says, and with a clearing of it’s throat, it shouts. “BOSS! Someone’s here to see you!”

And in an instant, the exposed chest of the man lit up in two separate hues, and he sits up straight as if plunged underwater for long.

“GAH! WHA- WHO IS IT!” He yelps in surprise, holding a glass bottle by it’s neck as if ready to throw. His shocked gaze soon falls on…. To the Harlequin, who unveils her tattered covers protecting her from outside elements, and reveals her face.

“Puppetmaster. I’ve come to challenge you.”

He blinks a couple of times with wide eyes, and his stare keeps shifting from the blimp, to her, and then repeat. After a while, his gaze falters and an unimpressed groan escapes the strange Puppet across from her. “Not again…” He mutters under his breath. "Bubble, what did I tell you about letting people you don't know in?"

...Not again?

“Wh- What do you mean “not again”- This is the FIRST time I’ve come here!” She replied, and the Puppetmaster only crosses his arms as soon as he manages to get up on two feet.

“And it certainly won’t be the LAST, I see.” He shuffles away, the metal cane tapping to the marble ground with each step he took, and the Harlequin is left utterly confused. She grumpily follows him to the main lounge, ready to demand once more.

“Are you fucking deaf or what? I said I’ve come to challenge you!”

“Not interested.” He feels around in a bookshelf, pulling out a rather large tome. He opens it and retrieves a bottle full of liquid.

He was really testing her patience, huh?

As soon as he turns around, The Harlequin makes quick work of slicing the bottle in half just to show how serious she is. The glass quickly detaches, and the liquid spills onto the floor, leaving the Puppetmaster with an unamused, disappointed stare.

“.... That was the last of it’s kind, by the way. You just killed off one of my favorite drinks” He replies with a hint of unserious humor, and it makes her teeth grit in frustration.

“I AM NOT LEAVING THIS PLACE UNTIL I GET WHAT I FUCKING CAME FOR!” She angrily responds. “So you either stop with your shit and fight me, OR ELSE.” She points the sword straight at his core, and the pair of dentures simply rolls his eye to the side, and pushes the blade away.

“Hmm. You know, for a moment, I really thought you were different.” He drops to the floor and detaches a tile after tapping at a seemingly hollow tile with the cane, revealing yet another hidden compartment full of unknown bottles. He sticks his tongue out a little as he reaches for them, but as soon as one was retrieved, The Harlequin repeats the same action as before, as well as shattering the other bottles within.

He blinks once, then twice. “Can you stop wasting the only thing that’s keeping me from jumping off of the deep end, pretty please?” He pleads, but it’s completely devoid of sincerity.

She growls, and grabs his collar. He is slightly surprised, but quickly goes back to his uncaring attitude while staring at her grip. “Umm… Normally I would not mind the touch, but you’re wrinkling my shirt.” His carefree attitude was picking at her nerves, and she bares her sharp teeth at him. His eyes widen a little, but it’s clearly not from fear.

He shakes it off, and squints at her humorlessly, unfazed by the threat.

“I am not repeating myself again, Puppetmaster. FIGHT. ME.” There’s a surprising yet subtle hint of desperation in her tone, but it was heavily masked by her aggressive tone and he finds himself disgruntled at his own thoughts.

He sighs.

“I don’t see a point in accepting that offer from a rookie like you, who doesn’t seem to know what fights they wanna pick… But fine.” He relents, “I’ll entertain you a little. I’d rather not cause more mess than usual for my little helper, though. All I ask is that we pick a different location.”

She was a little insulted at the term he had called her. But she swallowed her pride down in favor of the fact that he was finally agreeing to the duel. “Very well then.” She lets go of the collar. “I’m fine with any location of your choosing.”

“Much appreciated, dear. I know an abandoned circus arena that is ideal for this.” He taps his cane to the ground, in contemplation.

“In fact… I think you might like it as much as I do.”

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

It wasn’t the walk towards this “arena” that was agonizing.

But rather the wait she had to comply with if she wanted his participation. Nonetheless, he parts the curtains that cover the entrance, but she only crosses her arms and taps her foot. She was antsy, and his stare was questioning.

“You… won’t go first?”

“Why would I? You’re leading the way.” She replies in clear annoyance.

His gaze shifts to the entrance, trying not to be bothered about this as he makes his way inside. As soon as the Harlequin makes her way inside, spotlights let out a loud click as they all simultaneously turn on, all shining at the sand-filled arena slightly damaged by time… or something else entirely.

There’s a little prickling feeling that settles in her chest, and she can sense her core thrum in dissonance. But she doesn’t understand it, so naturally, she shrugs it off as if it never existed.

The Puppetmaster has had his back turned against her all this time. His head hung low, as if staring into the very ground. But she simply clutches at her sword with her left arm, the grip making a loud metallic clunk. He taps his cane to the ground, and it echoes throughout the tent despite the consistency of the very plane they stand on.

“Are you ready?” His voice, despite them being meters apart, is loud, bold and clear.

She grips her sword harder, unsheathing a little. Her right feet drags across the ground, an obvious stance of preparation before the action.

His eyes are hidden, depriving her of reading his full intent once he turns to face his opponent. Nonetheless, she squints, wordlessly giving him her answer.

The cane taps onto the ground yet again, and she rushes like a cobra. There’s a faint hum of voices in the background but she can’t decipher it.

Distractions.

That was all it is.

And a fighter does NOT get distracted.

She unsheathes the sword fully, ready to lunge as soon as she was close enough. A battle cry escapes her as she swings at the sudden cloud of dust that appeared in front of her.

“Slow.”

He easily avoids the swing, and she barely has a second to react at the speed of his movements, finding herself stumbling. Utterly confused, she quickly turns around to face where he had gone. He was now in the middle of the arena, side-eyeing her with interest that she interprets as complete mockery. 

She clutches the sword with both hands and another battle scream erupts from her. He grips at his cane harder, eyes once more hidden as his jaws snap shut in focus. She leaps into the air to bring down a hard slash, but his cane blocks her attempt, and it results in sparks flying from the exertion of force between both parties.

The Puppetmaster quickly ends this standstill by pushing her back, making her feet drag across the ground from the force by a mile.

“...Yet adept form.” He comments, squinting his eyes at her.

She wipes away at her face, just in case. Her posture straightens in confusion, but it is quickly taken over by anger. “YOU ASSHAT, STOP OBSERVING ME AND FIGHT!” a complain, but her expression changes to confusion once more as he disappears in a cloud of dust from her sight.

Where the FUCK did he go NOW?!

His form appears out of nowhere. Looming over. His eyes are devoid of pupils, and for a moment, she finds herself stuttering.

“H-HOLD ON W-WA-WAIT JUST A SECOND!”

There was no time for waiting in a duel of course, but it slipped from her mouth before she could even think about it fully. She could only assume that he was disorienting her, and it was working effectively.

His cane twirls on his hand, and he uses the other end of the metal rod to push her to bend backwards, just to avoid the flaring poke of electricity surging through the cane. There was no time for the Harlequin to get back up, and she cursed herself for making rookie mistakes, and proving his words right.

What was wrong with her today, of all days?

He sweeps her legs, knocking her off-balance down to the ground, but her athletic build allowed for a very quick recovery, and she was back to steadying her stance again.

“Fascinating. What an impressive reflex. You have a fast recovery.” 

The Puppetmaster seems to be taking notes of her actions, and it was then that she realizes he was simply toying with her.

“Maybe this could work… Hm.”

Her sword drops to the ground a loud clank, which forces his gaze to look up at her. But it was too late.

A very hard kick met his face and he barely had the reaction time for it. He could feel the blow produce a gust of wind as he flew to the old safety bleachers (much to it’s destruction), and a loud crack permeated the air as one of his teeth flew off and broke in half.

A heavy cloud of yellow dust hid him from the view of the fuming Harlequin.

He rises up, seemingly unaffected until he reaches to check at the loss of a denticle. A black substance covered his gloves’ fingertips. His gaze once more lands on the Harlequin, who is now emitting visible hot steam from her body, breathing heavily as her eyes shone brightly with the intent of murder.

“I’ve HAD it up to HERE, with your STUPID ANTICS!” She stepped a foot onto the ground, and the cement underneath the sand crumbled. The lights slowly flickered in response, and his eyes widens in alert.

Uh oh. This was not good. The fight needs to be ended as fast as possible now.

“I suppose I should’ve been paying more attention to a duel.” He clutches at his cane for support as he stands up undamaged (besides the lost tooth), but lets go of it as soon as it’s job is complete.

If she won’t possess a weapon, then it wouldn’t be right for him to possess his either.

Both of them rushed at each other in high feats of speed, and a small crater was created as a proof of the intensity of the hit. When the Harlequin would deliver a punch, a dense gust of wind would be produced as the Puppetmaster blocked each time.

There was now more steam emitting from her body, and the clock was ticking. He had no choice.

With a revenge kick to her torso that she blocks with both arms, he sends her flying to where she had previously dropped her sword, as he rushes to his own “weapon” of choice too. 

She grabbed at the sword and rushed.

He grabbed his cane and did the same.

The speed executed between both parties was unmatched, and a heavy cloud was produced for the last time in the middle of the arena as both fighters collided their weapons.

Their gazes were intense, the Harlequin smiling when she pointed her sword directly at his core. But the blue light emitting from the Puppetmaster’s cane made her look down to where it was pointed.

It was also at her core.

Satisfied with the way the Harlequin stopped fighting out of slight confusion, he opts to explain the current situation.

“Now, you can pry open my core and deactivate me just as easily,” he starts. “... But if you so much as move the required centimeter to do so, the tip of my cane will touch your core which will shock your heart with the amount of electricity that can power 5 large cities.”

Her eyes widened.

“We’re both made of metal. How the fuck are you going to defend yourself from this?!”

“I won’t.”

It was a simple statement that made the Harlequin realize what he’s doing. “Do you have a shitty death wish or something? That’s crazy! There’s no way you can produce that much charge either, you’re just fucking bluffing!”

“Am I, now?” There was not a hint of humor nor sarcasm in his tone. He was dead serious.

She couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t fucking believe it.

“We’re at a stalemate, dear.” She gripped the handle of her sword with much intensity, baring her teeth in frustration and denial.

“This fight is over.” He proclaims no winners, and the Harlequin begins to kick the remaining sand in the arena all around, throwing a temper tantrum.

“NO!” She shouted while gripping at her head, uncaring of the noise. “NO, NO, NO! THIS WASN’T SUPPOSED TO END THIS WAY! YOU CHEATED YOUR WAY OUT OF THIS, YOU-” Her joints stopped responding to her actions, and she finds herself kneeling onto the ground. Horror filled her entire system as she tried to decipher what’s happening, but before she knew it, All she could see now was the tattered, faded yellow-red stripes of the tent ceiling.

And then the view of his stupid dentures face came into her sight, and he was back to observing her again.

“You’re still functional, are you?”

“UNFORTUNATELY.” She grit her teeth.

“Hm.” An acknowledgement.

She could hear the way he takes a seat onto the ground beside her.

“You’re quite an odd one.”

“CAN YOU STOP TALKING.”

“Hm….” He contemplates. “No, I don’t think I will~.” There’s a smug pitch in his tone (that would’ve made a vein pop somewhere in her head if she was organic). “You’re the first sane Puppet I’ve talked to in a long while.”

… Was this somehow some kind of cruel punishment?

“Just let your body cool down and re-adjust for now. You really pushed yourself back there.” She couldn’t exactly tell what he was doing, but if the slightly muffled way of speaking was any indication, she could only assume he was checking his now missing tooth.

But that wasn’t what grabbed the Harlequin’s attention. Rather, she was slightly intrigued about how he knows what’s happened to her, when she didn’t.

“What are you even talking about? What’s happened to me?” She asked, temper slowly subsiding, although irritation was still present.

“What’s happened is that you accidentally began to overcharge yourself.” He was more than glad to explain. “Your body couldn’t keep up with the amount of energy spent, and now here you are, lying down on the ground.” He taps at the sand above her head with the golden sphere of his cane. “You also nearly overheated that you could’ve exploded your core. But you can’t feel that, can you?”

She sighs. “Of course I fucking don’t. I’m a Puppet. I don’t feel things, I just do things. At least that’s what I think I should be doing.”

There was a moment of silence between them, one that the Harlequin was more than glad to have. But almost as if being mocked by timing, this quiet was broken by the voice of Puppetmaster once more.

“What’s your directive.”

“Fight SOMETHING, I guess.”

“No.”

“What?”

“Tell me your FULL directive. I don’t want a summarized version.”

She sighs again. “FIND— FIGHT— PROTECT—- CITY—- FROM HARM.” There was a slight pause and a bit of glitching in her voice when she recited the blanks.

“…Well, I must say, this is quite the predicament.”

“Can you stop being so fucking cryptic and just tell me?!”

“... You’re broken.”

“EXCUSE ME?”

“An incomplete line of command. It’s making you act on your own." He explains. "For shorter terms, you’re a loose cannon.” He mutters something else under his breath that the Harlequin couldn’t hear, and for a moment, there’s an unreadable tone with his delivery that she can’t decipher.

“Wha… what the hell does any of that mumbo jumbo even mean…” She would drag her hand across her face if she could right about now.

“Say, how would you feel about an alliance?”

“I feel like punching another one of your teeth out, that’s for sure.”

“I’m flattered, but also serious. You and I are quite possibly the only Puppets left sane here in this world. And I have an idea that I can only really do with YOUR help.”

“I’m not fucking interested in your passion project.”

“Your purpose seems to say otherwise.”

Her brow creases. “What, are you gonna say it involves fighting something?”

“Not just that. It’s also to protect this city from further harm.” Now that got her attention. She’s cautious, but in all honesty, also intrigued.

“We can discuss this even further once you’re all good to go. But for now…” He trails off as he stands up, and she can finally move a little bit of her joints on her fingers. Her body was seemingly cooling down to allow slight movements again.

“My name is Caine. Do you have a name?” For a moment, she senses a foreign bit of deja vu.

“... Just the code on my shoulder.”

“What is it?”

“P-1210.”

“Well, I can’t be calling you that. How about a proper one?”

“Whatever knocks your socks off, I guess.”

“ ‘Pomni’. What about ‘Pomni’. ”

There’s a response at her core that she couldn’t fully understand. But it seems that it wants her to agree.

“... Sure, I-I…I guess.”

“Pomni it is.”

══════☸☸☸════════════☸☸☸══════

[whimsywilde]

Astarion's Mirror

I couldn't get this out of my head after seeing the idea mentioned somewhere. (A TikTok comment maybe?) I haven't written fanfic since DAI. How am I back at this again? I'm not 100% satisfied with it but if I fiddle too much, I'll lose interest and it will disappear in the WIP folder. lol Enjoy!

Thank you Larian Studios and Neil Newbon for this incredible, beautiful, heartbreaking character!

Recommened Listening: THE FEELS by Labrinth

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Astarion…” she paused, hesitating, uncertain if the thought that had just danced across her mind would actually work. Sometimes she forgot he was a vampire. His lack of burning up in the sun tended to put his condition out of her mind. The mirror in his hand, however, had brought it back in stark relief. But… what if?

“As adorable as you are when thinking, I can’t help but feel there was more you wanted to say than just my name.” He smirked at her.

She resisted the urge to fall back into their playful banter. “What if you could see yourself… I mean, sort of.”

“What?” It was more of a whispered plea than a question. “How?”

“I’m not sure if it will work. But, the parasites… they’ve let us see into one another's minds before. It makes sense that we could see more.”

She hadn’t really been looking at him while she spoke, her eyes focused on some invisible point in the distance. Turning her attention more directly to him, his expression caught her off guard. She’d never seen him so vulnerable.

“We don’t have to. I’m not even completely sure it would work. I’ve never really tried to use it before. I just thought….”

“Would you try?” He interrupted, his voice still unnaturally hesitant, absent of the bravado she was used to. “Please.” It was almost an afterthought but may have been the most sincere she’d ever heard him.

She smiled tightly, worried now she’d be unable to connect that way, before closing her eyes and reaching for that alien presence within her mind. She hated the feeling of the cold shiver in her skull as she consciously connected to it and then, taking a breath, eyes tightly shut, reached out to where she felt she’d find Astarion. 

At first the connection was light, barely perceptible, like cobwebs in the breeze. After focusing on it for a few seconds, reaching out to it with uncertain hands, it seemed to expand. With her eyes still tightly closed, it was the tide of emotions slowly rolling up in the shore of her mind that hit her first. The anticipation, hopeful expectation, fear and worry. She resisted the urge to retreat from the intensity of his feelings and the jumbled, wordless thoughts that came with them and, again, focused past them. After several seconds, she was surprised to suddenly find herself looking through Astarion’s eyes at herself. She stilled to allow the image of herself solidify in her mind. 

Her eyes opened slowly. She allowed her gaze to linger near Astarion’s feet as gained confidence in the connection. The impatience he was feeling rushed to greet her through the bond.

“Look at me.” It was something between a command and a plea.

She opened her mind to him as completely as she could, wanting him to know that she had no motivations behind her actions and lingering gaze other than to allow him to see himself clearly, to be a mirror. She took a deep breath, centered herself and began to slowly lift her eyes up his body. Her gaze was gentle and curious, more that of an artist studying their work, rather than the lusty intensity of a lover. She followed the narrow slope of his hips up his chest and across his shoulders, her eyes lingering for mere moments before moving on. As she reached his neck, there was a brief glance to the scars that had made him the creature he was, before following his perfectly coiffed hair around his face. 

Part of her still wanted to tease him, to play. They’d been having fun, taken next to nothing seriously while they traveled and fought together. Even when she allowed him to drink from her, always standing since him hovering over her had felt too intimate, she typically pushed him away afterward with a joke on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes. It was easy and had been so natural to keep him just close enough without letting him in. The intensity of his feelings pouring into her now was more than she bargained for and she had a moment of regret for offering to even try. She didn’t want to feel so much. It left her vulnerable. Opened her up to much more than she wanted to be aware of. Her eyes had frozen at the base of his throat. Why couldn’t she bring herself to look up? She didn’t like the answers her heart was trying to give. His fingers curled lightly under her chin, lifting her face upward, pulled her attention back. 

Her eyes snapped up to his suddenly and he gasped. The light from the campfire flickered and flashed across brilliant crimson. My eyes. Those are my eyes. His thoughts came through their link in sharp clarity. Her attention refocused on allowing him to see his face after so long in the dark and allowed the intensity of what he was feeling to drown out her own heart. She didn’t need to exist for this moment. She was giving this gift and she allowed herself to fall back within to the place of an observer. With her surrender, it allowed him to direct her eyes across his features. He took himself in fully and they stood in hushed stillness, eyes and minds locked together. 

With their minds so fully blended, she almost didn’t notice her hand absentmindedly reaching out to rest lightly on the side of his face. He didn’t pull away. She used her thumb to pull gently at his bottom lip, exposing his fangs to her gaze. 

They passed several seconds that way before her hand dropped, her vision swirling and darkening. She felt her body sway heavily and would have fallen if Astarion hadn’t caught her. Her head was pounding while her stomach churned. She sent up a silent prayer, to whatever god may be listening, that she wouldn’t vomit.

Astarion supported her body against his gently. When she tried to push away from him, he lifted her carefully and carried her to her tent, laying her down on her bedroll. 

“You pushed yourself too far. You need to rest,” he scolded. She wanted to protest; to throw out some snarky remark in an attempt to catch him off guard so that they could go back to the superficial game they shared, but she couldn’t seem to measure out enough strength to respond. Sleep was quickly overtaking her. She was never sure if he’d actually turned to look at her before leaving the tent and whispered a strangled thank you or if it was just part of the fevered dreams of the night.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 27

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: we can breathe because the workplace sloth is gone.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

“Right, can’t start the day without something to drink,” Hela struts in with two stemmed glasses of orange juice. “Not that I think we’ll need to work very hard. Darling, you are the perfect canvas.”

You twiddle your fingers as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Mr. Laufeyson is perched in the armchair, his leg casually swaying side to side as he pinches his thumb to his index finger. You bite the inside of your lip as Hela nears and holds out a glass.

“For you, darling,” she insists, “ahem,” she faces her brother, “I don’t believe we require your presence, brother.”

“Hmm,” he tilts his head, “what do you mean? I have a good eye for colour. Given my line of work–”

“Oh yes, dusty artifacts and tacky antiques, please,” she scoffs, “this is a ladies’ matter. Besides, I didn’t bring enough prosecco for you.”

He squints up at her and retracts his hand to tap his chin. You sniff the orange juice, you smell more than just pulp. You don’t drink, or you never have. You don’t think you’ll like it.

“Always so generous,” he pushes himself to his feet, “I invite you to my home and you cast me out.”

“I won’t be taking manners on hospitality from you,” she retorts, “certainly, your house manager… is that what you call her? Well, she must know how welcoming you truly are.”

“Careful,” Laufeyson warns as their eyes bore into each other.

She cackles and flicks him away with her fingers as she spins on her heel. She smirks at you as she raises her eyebrows and sips from her glass. You peek over at Laufeyson and refrain from tasting your own.

“Don’t make me remove you, Loki,” Hela threatens, “let us not revert to childishness. We’ve enough of that in this family.”

He rolls his eyes and clutches his hands behind his back. He arches a brow at you. A wordless statement. Despite his sister’s orders, you obey him first and foremost. You lower your eyes sheepishly and listen to his soles click out of the room.

Hela startles you as she nudges the bottom of the glass, “go on. Loosen up,” she purrs, “I swear, my brother can be so uptight. This entire place is just as stiff as that rod up his… well, I shouldn’t say that.”

You try to smile and do as she says. You taste the orange juice tenuously. It’s not that bad. A bit sweeter than you expect and bubbly. You always heard alcohol burned. Hm.

“Now, what I would do,” she steps back and holds up a palm, “you could carry a structured shoulder. Oh, or asymmetric. Off-the-shoulder. A cinch here,” she comes closer and touches your waist, “a pencil skirt or cigarette pants.” 

She winks and eyes you up and down. She reaches to place her glass on the round end table near the end of the couch. She puts her hands on your waist and squeezes then drags them down to your hips.

“My, yes, you have a lovely shape under all that,” she praises as you squirm, “what are we looking for? To drive my brother absolutely mad?”

You blink wildly and sip once more, wiggling away to put your glass on the other side of the table lamp. “Just… for work.”

“Work,” she says skeptically, “sure,” she waves you off and goes to the rack of clothes, “come. I don’t mind giving an opinion but this is about you, darling. You choose for yourself. What catches your eye?”

You shyly come forward, rubbing your hands together. You’re not sure what you like better than the next. They’re all so pretty. There are pretty pieces you can only dream of wearing, they just wouldn’t fit you. The tight skirts wouldn’t be practical, how can you walk with your knees bound? And the white. That’s too easy to stain.

After some consideration but not much thought, your hand reaches out to feel a piece of magenta tulle. A sheer layer with polka dots over a satin liner. It’s really cute but maybe too much. You recoil and cross your arms.

“What do you think?” You ask quietly.

She snickers and grabs the magenta skirt, “I think this is gorgeous. A choice. That’ll go in the keep pile.”

“Oh,” you swallow.

“The colour will look marvelous on you, now something to go with it. I think this,” she pulls out a pale pink blouse with white detail on the shoulders, “balances out, but for an evening look,” she turns and retrieves a black camisole, “oh yes, this is lovely.”

You watch her lay each garment over the back of the couch. She pauses and crosses to the end table. She reclaims her drink and hands you yours. She drains hers and bids you finish your own. You do so with tiny sips. You’re still nursing the orange juice as she returns to the wrack.

“How about this?” She pulls out a pair of yellow pleated pants, “very bright but… very you, I’d say.”

“Nice,” you comment, “but… the colour.”

“Oh, I know my brother likes his muted tones but that’s his detriment,” she chides, “I think… oh, there are so many pieces. This,” she takes a strapless bodice with a large bow, “or this,” she chooses a plum satin blouse.

You just nod. You like the clothes, but you just struggle to see yourself wearing them. She turns to the large chest she had Mr. Laufeyson lug in and opens the lid. She presents several pairs of shoes. Flats, heels, booties, everything you could ever need.

“Darling, you must try this,” she holds up a sapphire dress, an off-the-shoulder cut sleeves that drape just off your arms. It’s calf-length and gorgeous. 

“I… that… no, I’d look–”

“Gorgeous,” she insists as she shoves it towards you, “go on, put it on.”

“Um, alright,” you put down your mostly empty glass and take the hanger. 

You feel the material as she picks up the stemmed glasses. “I’ll top us off and you get changed.”

“Oh, okay,” you turn but she stretches her arm out to stop you. 

“Here is fine,” she says, “you needn’t be shy with me.”

“I…” you don’t argue. She’s still Mr. Laufeyson’s sister and that means she’s more important.

You bow your head and turn away. You peer around as she sweeps through to the kitchen. You sling the dress over the couch arm and undress to your underwear. You shimmy up the dress and strain to push the zipper all the way up. 

As you bend your arm back painfully, the gate bell chimes. You flinch. You glance up at the ticking clock and your chest drops. Ronan! You look down at the half-zipped dress.

“Do you require some assistance?” The deep timbre rolls through you.

You squeak and face Mr. Laufeyson. His eyes glimmer as he takes you in. He grins and strides towards you, spinning his finger in the air. You put your back to him, if only to hide your embarrassment. 

He drags his fingertip down the bare skin of your back and sends a shiver along your spine. You press your hands to the fabric as he tugs up the zipper, the fabric drawing taut to your figure. His touch dances along your waist and up to your shoulders.

“Turn, let me see,” he commands.

“The carpenter–”

“Yes, yes, I’ll get to it,” he overrides you. 

You chew on your worries and face him. His eyes scan you head to toe and back again. His lips part slightly as you stand in bated silence. The gate bell buzzes again.

“Ugh, that is a nasty noise,” Hela appears again, “oh, brother, you just can’t help yourself. Go, mind your house, we are not even close to finished.”

“I can look,” he argues.

She scoffs and shoos him, charging at him and kicking out. He backs away, raising his hands defensively. He shakes his head and sneers.

“I’m going,” he sighs, “gods.”

He pivots and strides out. You watch after him, tingling strangely. You can’t tell if you're mortified or something else. You swear, you can still feel his touch along your spine.

“You certainly have your hands full with him,” she tuts, “though I hardly imagined I’d find a creature like you here. Please, don’t mistake my meaning. It is only, you’re not entirely his type. At least, from all I know of him.”

“I… I’m just the house manager,” you utter.

“Certainly,” she drawls and hands you a glass, “because a house manager requires the finest clothing, yes?”

“I…” you look at the glass. You don’t know what to say. You’re a terrible liar. So you won’t talk, you’ll drink and do what you’re told.

✨

You feel wobbly. The world won’t stay still as a giggle tickles in your chest. You don’t know what’s funny. Maybe it’s you. You look at your reflection. You look so silly in the flouncy peach skirt. It’s ridiculous.

“I can’t clean in this,” you hiccup to Hela as she stands behind you, admiring the mirror over your shoulder.

“Clean? Oh, babe, I hope not,” she places her hands on your shoulders, a gesture that reminds you of her brother. She does look and awfully a lot like him. Not Thor though, he’s the odd one out.

“That’s what I do,” you say dumbly, “don’t you know? I’m the maid.”

“Darling,” she hums and brings her hands to the sides of your face, pressing herself to your back, “I don’t think that’s the case anymore.” She caresses your cheeks then your neck, “you’re too pretty to be just the maid.”

“Pretty?” You bat your eyes and tense up.

You pull away from her. You don’t believe that. You can’t. Whatever she’s up to, is just another part of Laufeyson’s tricks. He likes those.

You cross your arms and flop down on the sofa. You stare at the beige heels on your feet. You pout and shake your head. That bubbly feeling bursts and you deflate. 

You bend forward and clutch your head. You feel so heavy, as if you might sink right through the couch and floor. You sense her come near and the cushion beside you dips. You wince as she puts her hand on your back.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I only meant… well, you really are a pretty girl. If anything, I wonder what you’re doing with him,” she says, “you know, he’s so moody. Especially since the divorce, I don’t know how anyone–”

“What was she like?” You whisper, surprised by your own question, though she doesn’t appear to be.

“His wife? Oh, Sif, yes, she was… her own person. That was likely the problem,” he hums, “you shouldn’t worry about her. Trust me when I tell you, he is well and truly past that.”

You nod and sit up, “I’m sorry. I’m…” you blink, “dizzy.”

“Mmm, babe, you are a lightweight,” she reproaches, “you should’ve told me.”

“I’m— I don’t drink. He does. He drinks and he gets all grouchy and he says things. Confusing things,” you ramble without control. She’s right. You’re drunk and stupid, yet you can’t stop yourself.

“Oh, I’m sure he does,” she chuckles. “He sure does know how to make a mess of things, doesn’t he?”

You shrug. You can’t blame him for the mess. It’s your fault. 

“Who doesn’t like some chaos,” she puts her hand on your leg, “I can see what he does. Such a fragile little thing.”

She pets your leg and you watch her fingers as they move in your fuzzy vision. Her nails tickle you through the skirt. She pushes her shoulder against yours and reaches with her other arm to grasp your chin. She turns your head, leaning in.

“A nice little doll to dress up and play with,” she sings before her lips crash into yours.

You let out a squeak. What is she doing? Your eyes round as her tongue pokes at your lips but you keep them sealed, horrified. She’s beautiful but you don’t expect it. What do you do? Why is she doing this?

She parts, staying close, “you’re delicious,” she pushes her hand between your legs, “come on, let’s have a little girl’s time.”

She dives in to kiss you again. You’re too dazed and flustered to fight her. You squeeze your eyes shut, your thighs too as she drags her hand upward. She pushes you down, twisting your body so your back meets the cushion as your legs remain hooked over the edge. You gasp as you free your lips from hers.

“What Loki doesn’t know–”

“Hela!” Her brother snarls as if summoned by his name. 

You exclaim as she hisses and her eyes roll to the ceiling. She pushes herself off and pats her lips with her knuckles. Her dark lipstick is smeared, likely on you too. You stay as you are, paralysed, as she stands to face Mr. Laufeyson.

“We were just getting to know each other,” she says breezily.

“You certainly were,” Laufeyson approaches her staunchly, “you swore–”

“Oh, you know better,” she drawls flippantly.

“And I thought you would, especially–” he stops himself and growls. “Can I not trust anyone in this forsaken family?”

“It’s a bit of fun–”

“For who?” He challenges.

You sit up and touch your forehead. Your lashes flick as you try to see straight. Laufeyson sidesteps his sister and glares at you. You cower. He has to know, you wouldn’t do that.

His eyes search as his forehead furrows. He fixates on the end table then turns on Hela, “how much alcohol did you feed her?”

“She had two mimosas. It’s hardly a lethal dose.”

“Don’t,” he wags his finger at her. “You shouldn’t have given her any.”

“You didn’t say–”

“I shouldn’t have to teach you common sense,” he snaps.

“Now, don’t be vile. I came all the way here–”

Their argument stirs in your chest, roiling hotly. You don’t like fighting or anger. Your hands shake as you wring them and you fight the burning behind your eyes. You stand unsteadily and rock.

“I have to clean,” you say.

The siblings stop and turn to look at you. Hela gives a slanted smirk as Mr. Laufeyson frowns. He sighs and strides forward to grab your wrist.

“No, you need to sober up,” he declares.

“Oh, boo,” Hela sneers.

[alectoperdita]

WIP Wednesday

Who's ready for a hung bottom Kaiba? Jou is. 😈

From the Old Friends universe. Finally writing that hung Kaiba lore. This takes place on Jou's birthday, so it will probably not be posted for a while even if I finish it soon. Oops.

Blowjob and banter under the cut.

---

The moment he released Katsuya, the man unbuttoned Seto's shirt with unimaginable speed. Seto struggled free of it and his undershirt while Katsuya kissed a ticklish trail from his sternum to his belly. Resting on his elbows, he could only watch helplessly as the man made his journey south. He nearly choked on his spit when Katsuya nuzzled his face into the patch of soft hair peeking out of his waistband. Air fled his lungs as Katsuya worked his belt and trousers open. Seto's cock strained against his underwear, leaving a embarrassing moist spot on the front.

Katsuya nuzzled the tent in his pants too. His hot breath made Seto's cock twitch with want. "Always wondered if your dick's as pretty as the rest of you. Time to unwrap you and see for myself. Hah, happy birthday to me."

"Katsuya—" Seto gasped. His hands shot out to slow him for a second, but he only grasped empty air.

Cool air washed over the head of his cock, but hot breath followed as Katsuya sealed his lips around the tip and gave it a filthy kiss. Seto's mind blanked. His hands fell to his side and fisted in the duvet as Katsuya drew inch after inch after inch of his cock free from its prison.

"Holy shit," Katsuya swore, audibly incredulous. "You're huge."

This was the reason relationships became tricky when sex became part of the equation.

Seto swallowed, but the lump in his throat didn't disappear. For a second, he didn't dare look at the other man's face. Having a cock of above average length could be tricky, especially when you were a man who slept with other men. Even gay men could get insecure about comparative penis size. Past a certain length, which Seto was, it became more uncomfortable to work with for everyone involved. It had proven to be a point of friction in a few of his previous relationships.

Unlike in pornos, having a big cock wasn't always a good thing in real life.

After inhaling a shaky breath, he pushed up onto his elbows so he could see the man still anchored between his spread knees. Their eyes locked over the towering phallus.

Katsuya whistled, but there was no derision or disgust or apprehension in his gaze. Merely lust and excitement. "Damn, no wonder you strutted around with all that big dick energy in high school. You're hung."

Seto groaned, but from exasperation rather than pleasure. "Katsuya, please don't make a big deal out of this."

Katsuya laughed, breathless. "How can I not when you're literally a huge deal?"

He traced a finger along the underside of Seto's stiff erection, drawing a line of molten arousal. When he wrapped a hand around the base, he gave another soft huff of wonder.

Seto's mouth fell open, another plea on his tongue for his companion to put the matter to rest. That they had better things to better occupy themselves with. It stayed open in a wordless gape, a gasp and a moan eking out of him as Katsuya sucked the tip of his cock into his hot, wet mouth. Instinctively, he bucked into the heat, sinking in further.

Katsuya made a choked sound but he didn't pull away. Working his tongue and lips in tandem, the man steadily swallowed half of Seto's length. A strangled noise scratched at Seto's throat as he felt himself nudge against the entrance to Katsuya's throat. With a pop, Katsuya peeled off him, gasping for air. Seto felt as dumbstruck as Katsuya looked, with his spit-slicked lips and mouth hanging open as he panted.

But it only lasted a second before Katsuya screwed his face in determination. How could Seto forget what a stubborn fool he could be?

"Let's try that again." The slight rasp in his voice could only be described as pure sex. He went down on Seto's cock again without hesitation.

[anincompletelist]

sunday sentences :D

HELLO HELLO @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @getmehighonmagic @priincebutt @onthewaytosomewhere @magicandarchery @kiwiana-writes @suseagull04 @eusuntgratie @bigassbowlingballhead @itsmaybitheway @junebugclaremontdiaz @saturntheday @captainjunglegym @oxfordslutphase some of yall were EARLY this week I respect your hustle 🫡

bouncing between several wips right now but since we have established that my official brand is Angsty & Emotional Smut™, here! have some more! sjdhksjhdksh

<3333

+

“Thank you,” Henry gasps as Alex shifts forward between his legs, reclaiming a space inside of Henry that only Alex has traversed before. “Thank you. Thank you—” 

“Stop it,” Alex grits, dropping to his forearms to press his temple to Henry’s. “Stop fucking thanking me for something that I was fucking made to do.” He swallows back his own tears and holds his breath until he’s fully seated, the both of them sharing a wordless exhale. 

Alex hates how much it still feels like home. Wants to take a sledgehammer to the walls and board up the windows all at once. Get out with Henry in tow; never leave. 

“Just— just—” Alex huffs, his fingers curling into the sheets beside Henry’s head. The familiar words come too easily, a language millions have now read and picked apart but only he and Henry understand. “Take what you need and know you deserve to have it, yeah?”

+

NO PRESSURE AND OPEN TAG OFC BUT ALSO @firstsprinces @affectionatelyrs @firenati0n @nocoastposts @wordsofhoneydew @read-and-write- @heysweetheart-writes @rockyroadkylers @iboatedhere @rmd-writes @zwiazdziarka @cricketnationrise @anchoredarchangel @lfg1986-2 @futureseaempress @user-anakin @leojfitz @duchessdepolignaca03 @sunnysideprince @ladyknightellen @raysletters @whimsymanaged <3333

xx

[bloomingdarkgarden]

WIP Wednesday | What Bloomed in the Darkgarden.

Estimated posting is 10/17. Enjoy this snippet for now. We've breached cinematic warfare, people.

Lucien Vanserra staggered on his feet as he winnowed to the fevered battle unfolding in the Wakefold. All inherent grace long-since drowned in the riptide of this infernal night.

His vision was wholly blurred, even through his mechanical eye, as he took in the erratic, bloody state of the dark Day Court valley. Eris, too, appeared within a moment- Nesta Archeron at his side, though she tore away from the Vanserras as soon as they materialized. The wound at her side was far from healed, but she had managed, by the grace of the forgotten gods, to survive. Eris had reached her, gotten her out of that blinded, flame-wrought city just in time.

Only to stumble into another version of hell.

Chaos was unfolding at every angle.

A pale steed charged before them, black eyes manic with fear. Her rider sported the armor of a Day Court commander, slumped bloody and lifeless on the horse’s winged flank.

A pegasus, Lucien quickly realized.

And not just any pegasus, but the very same he had once intended for Elain.

An enemy soldier made for the moon-white mare, but Lucien was quicker. He drove his blade through the soldier’s spine from behind with a grunt, and tugged the reins acutely before anyone else could snatch her.

Fallacy was tittering with battle nerves, but calmed instantly with Lucien’s familiar, steady touch and low, gentle murmur.

“Where is Feyre?” Nesta hissed, peering through the dark havoc. “Where are the others?

“Cauldron knows,” Lucien breathed, handing Nesta the creature’s reigns. “Take her and find out.”

Nesta needed no encouragement. She heaved herself upwards, hissing as that wound aside her abdomen wept a steady trickle of blood with the movement.

Eris murmured something inaudible at his other side. Russet gaze scrutinized the savagery and disorder surrounding them, and deeply lined worry was ridden in his pale, regal features. Its source was palpable in the air between them.

There was no way of knowing what turn the blood duel had taken.

But Eris had not ascended. Which meant that Beron was still alive. And more than likely, that Helion was not.

Lucien chose not to dwell on the fact that he himself had not ascended. It wasn’t a burden he had ever particularly longed to shoulder. But the weight of what it could all might mean pressed upon him as war continued to unfold with brutal, sanguine hands before them.

Were their respective fathers still seething it out within the city’s bounds? No one could know. Something inevitably strange and haunting clouded the air surrounding the thought, evading him with a wry smile. He could have sworn only minutes ago that he had felt the unnamable might of ancient magic hush over him, measuring him as a choice.

Lucien swallowed and began to muster together a string of words to breach the subject with his brother, who seemed just as battered within as he himself did.

But it all was stifled as a piercing cry sliced through the smoke-choked skies overhead.

Pernatural stillness fell over the battlefield in its wake.

“Was that-” Nesta uttered, peering up through the dark.

The thought silenced as a raging firebird tore through a break in the black, plummeting towards the enemy line.

Illuminated from within, Vassa raged through the skies above.

Lucien’s wretched, wrecked heart staggered beat for the first time in what felt like decades.

Too many questions fractured his mind- how it was again possible- why- for how long- but they were all lost as she decimated those dark legions in a furious sea of hellish fire. The cull of her captivity fuming every spark of relentless flame.

She was here.

And she was fighting, of all things, to protect his home, his people. Vassa blazed directly overhead and Lucien craned his neck, tracing the flaming heart of that living forge in wordless wonder.

His heart steadied, beating in time with her winged wrath now.

He drew his longknife, pivoted his sword in his hand, and tore into the fray before him.

Again, a piercing cry ripped the skies ablaze, as if she knew, as if she were calling through it- you face no battles alone, should I have anything to do with it.

Ash cascaded from the heavens, soaking the battlefield in the warning of her fury like the first drops of rain in an autumnal storm.

Wild of wing, and wilder of heart, she burned through the night.

He had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

[heymacareyna]

10 first lines

i wasn’t tagged or anything, but I saw @abalonetea post about it and it seems fun!

rules: share the first lines of the last ten things you’ve written

tagging: @korblez @dr-paine @author-a-holmes @the-stray-storyteller @sam-glade @risingshards @novel-emma 

1. “Nadia, look!” Julie Dawson pointed at the fluffy pink-and-yellow wings on a maple tree deep in the Calvert Cliffs state park in southern Maryland. (from Wordless)

2. “F-f-f-fuck, it’s cold!” Bouncing on the balls of her feet, 26-year-old omega Holly Pendergrass jabbed in the code to get into her parents’ house. (from Holly and Ivy)

3. Yelena Montalban glared at the dark clouds overhead before slipping into her Subaru hatchback. (from The Winner Takes It All)

4. Cassia shivers on her cot, her breath a rattle in her throat. (from Kiss of the Lethe)

5. Rosalie Mackenzie had had enough of people throwing alphas at her. (from A Rose at Midnight)

6. Her Highness Elara Ravensfell, Princess of the Moon Court, lurked in the corner of the Sun Court’s massive ballroom, trying and failing to disappear into the few shadows. (from Knights and Daze)

7. Decked out in a black apron and visor, Vi carefully poured a blonde roast into a to-go cup. (from bring me java, bring me joy)

8. Caitlyn Kiramman yearned to know the color pink. (from say my name and every color illuminates)

9. Sigrid shuffles her tarot cards like the rush of a river, cool and calming. (from 78)

10. In her rural Virginia office, Lorena García Fernández bypassed the usual salacious story about the Ìovorian princess and snipped out the article about her business trip. (from Love, Lorena)

[gaysindistress]

Beginning to End

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on google/Pinterest.

pairings: minthara x f!reader

Summary: Swearing to protect the Successor of the house that overtook her own is simply the beginning of their end to Minthara. “A means to an end” she keeps reminding herself, “from beginning to end, a necessary evil.”

Reading @moonselune By the Silk Ties that Bind Us gave me so much inspiration to write for Minthara but also for this specific story. I thought I would finish it and I haven’t yet but I am in my posting all WIPS era sooooo

Warnings: drow society, gore (vague description), violence

Word count: 2.1k

Notes: there’s a flashback and I put it in italics. Idk if I like that but there also needed to be a break to show it was a flashback. Let me know what you guys think

Bg3 masterlist

There is a melancholy that has made its home in my heart. 

A desolation has filled the caverns of forgotten childish love and fond memories of lives past in my chest. I can’t remember when this oily feeling of timeless sadness and weak morals came to me. It’s almost as if it has always been there but has chosen to make its presence known when it sees fit. Perhaps it is the folly of Drow; to carry the weight of Lolth’s tainted love and forever seek refuge from it but to never succeed. Maybe it is the curse of nobility; to be in search of a power so grand that it rivals our Spider Queen but to fail when faced with the reality that there is nothing beyond Her. Maybe it is simply the lasting effects of childhood hope that have yet to die by the hand of adulthood. Then again it could be a foul mix of everything that sickens my heart and poisons my body.

Freezing stone presses into the skin of my forehead as I lean against my window frame. The cold stone and this sickness brews an interesting storm within my stomach. A younger me would be demanding bloodshed and the hearts of those who threaten me but I don’t have the liberties that I once had. Now I must take heed of my mother’s constant reminder to hold my tongue whilst I sharpen my blade and devise a plan. 

How ironic those words seem now. 

The ceremonial cape she’d specially designed for me does little to prevent the cold from setting into my skin. Made of the purest spider silk and thousands of small Lolth’s candle shards, it acts like a suit of armor more than anything. It’s a vibrant and intimidating display of our House’s strength, our fortitude that granted us the win over the former House Baenre. Beneath the cape is the usual attire of our house; a high necked dress made of dyed black spider silk and embroidered with thread made from compressed mushrooms. Its long sleeves hug my arms before falling into a bell shape from my elbow to my wrist. Slits on either side of my hips reveal fitted trousers of the same fabric and black mushroom leather boots. 

Aside from my own sighing and quiet murmuring, silence has occupied the room that has acted as my prison since my birth. My personal guard has remained wordless and stands statuesque at my door while only occasionally looking in my direction with disdain. Her looks of disgust were returned tenfold, prompting a battle of the side eye between us. I fear that if my mother were to see the obvious hatred written across my guard’s face, I’d expect her head to be staked outside my door as an example of what happens when one crosses the Matron or her Successor. However this isn’t a fate that I imagine my guard will ever face; as a former high ranking House member herself, she is far more calculated with her emotions than most and reserves her small displays for when we are alone. 

A curt knock at the door causes me to jolt and bump my head against the glass. The thud isn’t loud but with how painfully silent it had been, I know my guard heard it. She lets out a snort of amusement before opening the door a crack and speaking in whispers to whoever is waiting on the other side. A dull throb begins to form at my temple and I try to rub it out with my fingertips but with no success. All I manage to accomplish is to smear makeup on my hand and bring more attention to the sensitive area. 

Murmured conversations fill the room with nothing discernible floating towards me. 

“What did they want?” I ask her when she closes the door and retakes her place in front of it. I glance over to her when she doesn’t respond to find her red eyes staring at me, filled with annoyance and her oath sworn anger. I dare to ask the question again and receive a nose crinkle and loud sigh in turn. 

“If you’re going to ignore me, you might as well sit down and be completely inadequate at your job,” I snap at her. It doesn’t seem to even bother her but it makes me feel better to have made a dig at her. Rather than be upset by it, she does just that and sits in an all too casual position in my reading chair by the fireplace. She makes a show of getting comfortable by letting her head rest on the back of the chair, her hands folded on her stomach, and her legs outstretched before her. I imagine she’s even closed her eyes to really prove how ‘inadequate’ she can be. 

Shaking my head at her little display, I get up from my perch and make my way to my wardrobe, ridding myself of my ceremonial attire as I go. The cape is the first to fall with a surprisingly heavy thud as it knocks against the wardrobe’s doors. 

From the corner of my eye, I see Minthara lift her head to see what I’m doing but it promptly falls back again. Weaponless due to my mother’s own wishes for this evening, I must not lose a threat to Minthara or apparently anyone else in this city. I begin to take off my boots but one gives a particularly difficult time and I fall toward, barely catching myself in the wardrobe’s frame. The wood snags on the palm of hand and rips at the skin. Blood wells up and quickly begins to seep into the wood under it. 

“iblith,” I curse, my nose flaring as I try to remain calm. Like swarming toadstools, the closer I try to approach the task, my mind becomes more hostile and grows fat with toxic rage. When it inevitably bursts, my body becomes flooded with the noxious energy of indignation and craves retribution from those that caused it in the first place. 

“iblith,” falls from my mouth again when I pull my hand away and see several wood fragments embedded in the flesh. It’s a mess of bleeding fat, torn skin, and splinters. If i were to tend to it now, it would be clean and healed within a matter of minutes but something about the sight compels me not to.

This evening was meant to be the celebration of my debut as my mother’s successor. A bit trivial considering that wasn’t a secret to begin with but now that House Vandree sits atop House Baenre and she its matron, the celebration was to be what solidified her position. However much like most things in this gods forsaken city, there is always a thread of deceit and betrayal woven in its people’s actions. As I’d been announced and was being brought to my mother, an arrow pierced just above my mother’s head on her chair. With a roar of anger, she leapt up from her seat and ripped the arrow out. She passed it off to her personal guard before glowering down at the crowd. 

The world seems to be in servitude to my mother, Thana Vandree. She’s a creature that knows no limits or bounds with her power; everything bends to her will without hesitation. She’s able to wield any weapon with the ease of a skilled warrior, learn any spell with minimal effort, and disarm any being with a single look. Our goddess favors her and grants her whatever she desires, only adding to the idea that she is untouchable and dangerous. 

From my place beside her, I could see the magic ripple from her like heat waves and I could feel it wrapped around everyone in the room. I watched as she stalked everyone from her place and scanned the crowd for the offender. 

“Such an act of violence will not be tolerated in House Vandree. I demand whoever thought it smart to do such a foolish thing to step forward.” 

The room froze and no one dared to breathe but her. 

Her personal guard let out a sneer when someone attempted to escape. My mother simply raised one brow as her guard and others overtook the poor soul. She began to lecture the room about how violence towards herself or any of her house members would be met with severe consequences. Her sermon fell silent when her guard dragged a rather frail looking young drow male to her feet. 

She smiled wickedly at her guard, “I think a demonstration of such consequences are in order, don’t you?”

The frightened male began to sob profusely but it did nothing to quail the fires within my mother. 

“Please! Please don’t kill me, i…I’ll tell you…” he sobbed and sobbed while all those around us erupted into a burst of cheers and shouts. My mother’s slim hands hung at her sides as she slowly circled him and his tears grew tenfold. Two guards readied their blades for her but she held up a finger and gestured for them to back away. She drew a small dagger from her guard’s belt much to his dismay and tossed it to the crying male. 

“Please Netan-tallar, please I beg you!”

“Stand,” she said with a bone chilling timber to her already low voice. He did as he was told, scrambling to grab the dagger and get to his feet before she changed her mind. More voices erupted around the two as they circled each other and she smirked as she sniffed the air. We could all smell it; the fear and despair that leaked from the poor male. 

“Your daughter told me to do it.”

My mother’s eyes flickered to me. 

“My daughter? My successor asked you to do what?” She asked while holding eye contact with me. 

He rambled on and on about how I had been the one to order him to kill my mother. Most of his words were lost between the crying and sniffing but it was still clear that he was implying that I wanted her dead.

“Is this true, my child?” Her voice slithered through my ears and rooted itself into my mind like a wriggling tadpole. My answer fell from tightly pressed lips as I promptly told her no and that I had never seen this male before. She only gave me an affirming nod. I’m still not sure what made her believe me but it shocked me nonetheless that she accepted my answer so quickly and without question. 

Her attention turned back to the male as her  guard pushed him towards her and he attempted to strike. A flash of black and white hair blocked my view of what happened yet I still knew. 

We all knew that her justice would be simultaneously ugly and beautiful. 

Everyone was silent at first and waited with bated breath as a thud sounded through the now quiet room. I looked down to see the male’s head rolling towards me and looked back up to see my mother already staring at me, a smirk on her pale lips. We shared a brief look of understanding before she spoke, “my Successor is loyal to me and our house until the end. This is not an act orchestrated by her but someone else who dares to frame her. This pathetic male is still the mouthpiece of a greater plot and thus his death will not satisfy me. Let it be known that I will not hesitate to slaughter every last person who is found to know about this plot.“ she beckoned me to stand beside her, “let it be known that my successor will be our champion in sniffing out this plot and bringing its creators to their knees.”

At the moment it seemed like a well placed sentiment but now I’m realizing that it was a set up. My mother had asked me to be weaponless, something that no drow never does. The arrow was shot at a perfect moment and landed inches above her head. The male spilled enough information to cast suspicion while still being vague. It was all a ruse.

“Penore-rin?”

There’s a warm wet feeling against my chest where my hand is cradled and its coppery stench fills my nose. My eyes burn and fill with tears as I blink back to reality. through the tears, I make out Minthara’s crouched form before me.

She says my title again, “Penore-rin?”

Pulling my hand away, I glance at it and then at her. An uneasy feeling of fatigue has begun to creep up on me. Every muscle in my body is contorted yet relaxed while my blood grows too thick to pass through my veins. My head feels like it’s full of spiders; every thought skittering away and spinning webs of confusion. I try to speak but the words get stuck behind a lump of terror and realization. 

“Y/n.” She says sternly, dropping the formality of my title altogether. My eyes flutter closed as my hand drops to my lap. I hear her mumble something under her breath before she takes ahold of my hand and a gentle healing glow fills the space between us. The pain in my hand has vanished but something vile is still coursing through my veins. The relief allows me to whisper out one last thing before I fall victim to this villain inside of me. 

“Thana's going to kill me.”

[elodiah]

WIP Wednesday

Not a terribly interesting snippet, but nonetheless a little bit more from my latest Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt. A sequel/second part to my Hug Game prompt fill “Break”, which made people grumpy with me for leaving it where I did. 😏

All he wanted to do was curl into a helpless ball, but he had to remain resolute for both their sakes. Mobius needed him to be strong, and Loki refused to divulge anything to these maniacs, not least because he knew that Mobius would never forgive him if, after all of this, he caved purely for him.

But damn it, he wanted to; anything to spare Mobius pain. Loki was unashamed to admit to himself his outright terror in the face of this latest trial. Already beyond exhausted, he really wasn’t positive whether he could withstand it.

The two minion guards manhandled Mobius into the chair after securing the door behind them, and strapped him down firmly. Loki and Mobius maintained steadfast eye contact throughout, conversing in wordless assurances.

Tagging @kcscribbler , @lokimobius , @in-my-loki-feels , @loki-is-my-kink-awakening , @silentxsymphony , @thosegayoldmen , @mirilyawrites , @impulsemuppet

[witchywithwhiskey]

Pumpkin Daddy Ransom? 😏

Navy! i know i'm getting to this ask a little late, BUT i wanted to wait until i had something to share beyond what i previously wrote about my pumpkin daddy ransom wip.

i've been working on editing this fic (and writing my other fall sugar daddy wips) and i'm really happy with how it's coming along! there's a bit more emotion to it that i expected. i was originally going to try to do fun, short fics like my spring series, but nooope. this fic's gonna be 7k at least! i'm hoping to post it on sunday, but we'll see 😅

anyway! here's a different little snippet from pumpkin daddy ransom (not the final title)!

It was a little early in the day, just before lunch time, but you were still surprised by how empty the parking lot was. And you didn’t even see any workers, or cars that might belong to them. It was just Ransom’s BMW and the deserted farm.

“Where is everyone?” you asked, turning in your seat to Ransom. “Are you sure they’re open?” It was the weekend, they must’ve been open, but you couldn’t make sense of why no one was there.

Ransom snorted, giving you a devious smirk as he put the car in park and turned it off. 

“I bought out the farm for a couple hours, it’s just us and the pumpkins,” he explained, squeezing your thigh one last time before stepping out of the car and rounding the front to open your door for you. 

You stepped out onto the gravel in a bit of a daze, still shocked by his words. You knew Ransom was wealthy—he was a high-level executive at one of the most successful prestige publishers in the country, not to mention the money he inherited from his family—but him buying out an entire farm just for your date was one of the most extravagant things he’d ever done. Your mind reeled as you tried to fathom how much that would even cost.

Ransom curled a finger beneath your chin and tipped your face up to look at him. He’d taken his sunglasses off, so you were met with the sight of his sparkling blue eyes. Paired with his devastatingly handsome smirk, your knees instantly went weak and your mouth parted in a wordless plea for him to kiss you.

He dropped a quick peck to your lips that was over too soon and swept his thumb across your cheek in a soothing gesture, your surprise melting into happiness as you realized you got to have Ransom all to yourself on your date. 

“C’mon, did you really think I’d agree to go pumpkin picking—to go tromping through the dirt on a farm,” he scoffed, his tone warm even if it was a little derisive. “And deal with hordes of screaming children and their families?” 

Ransom raised an eyebrow at you and you couldn’t help but snort a laugh as you rolled your eyes. You didn’t even need to answer, because of course Ransom wouldn’t want to deal with anyone else while he was enduring the absolute torture of going pumpkin picking. But then his next words distracted you from thinking about how spoiled he was.

“Besides, I haven’t forgotten our deal. I have plans for you, and we needed the farm all to ourselves for them,” he teased, his smirk turning impish as he ducked down and captured your lips in another quick kiss.

[fettuccin-e]

Hi! Congratulations on your 3k followers!!!

Can I request ❝  don’t be nervous,  i’ll guide you through it.  ❞ with Poe?

Ty!

hello!! first poe request AHHHHHHH (if you want a secret nonnie i actually have a 10k poe fic sitting in my wips wahhh) HOWEVER this will be the first poe content i've ever published!!! so thank you!!! i hope you like the little blurb :)

Tags: Poe Dameron x Reader, afab!fem!reader, phone sex (holovid sex?? same diff), mutual masturbation, fem!petnames, dirty talk lol who do you think i am (w/c: 897)

Find the prompts for the 3K Celebration here!

You sit across the bed, holovid propped up across from you, Poe projected from it. He’s been gone on a mission for so long, too fucking long, and you know that the desperation you feel for him is painfully mutual.

Of course, taking your clothes off for your boyfriend in person is far less intimidating than stripping for him in the emptiness of your bedroom as he watches from lightyears away.

You can’t help how you close your legs from his view as you sit across from him, still in your sleep shirt, and fiddle with your hands. Somehow, he seems to be opposite to you in nearly every way, wonderfully bare-chested, in his pajama bottoms and radiating pure confidence. He’s ethereal.

“Don’t be nervous, baby, I’ll guide you through it,” he croons, and fuck, his voice through your earpiece makes it seem like he’s right up against your ear. You shiver, visibly, and you watch a smug grin spread across his face. 

He already knows your answer, but you whisper out a faint, “Okay,” anyway.

“Alright sweetheart, spread those legs for me, yeah?” he murmurs, and you nod, just barely, before you spread yourself for him. He’s seen you naked before, he’s done much more than just see you, but this? This feels vulnerable in a way you’ve never felt before. It feels raw, the way Poe just stares at your slick cunt through the monitor, unabashed and hungry.

“Good girl, honey,” he says, and Maker, your pussy weeps at those words. You are good, you’re always good for him. “Go ahead and rub that perfect clit for me.” Your hand moves, faster than you meant it to, before Poe is murmuring, “Slow, baby, slow. Just like I do, right?” And it’s true. You bring your hand down to your aching clit, tracing over it slow, too fucking slow, just like your bastard of a lover always does.

You gasp. “Poe, it’s- I’m so wet,” you whine, almost shocked at how slick and achy your pussy is. Poe isn’t even here, and yet, your cunt gushes at the sight of him through the holovid, his voice crooning in your ear.

“Maker, I know, baby, I know. Look at you-” he groans as he pulls out his cock from his pajama pants, gripping the shaft in his strong hand. It should be you, that should be your hand. “Look so perfect for me, my sweet girl,” he murmurs, “one finger baby, go ahead and put one in.”

You nod, wordless and desperate, as you sink your middle finger inside yourself, pressing your thumb to your clit. You’re so empty, cold without his weight on your back, his thick fingers filling you up, his cock breaking you apart. “Need- need more,” you whine, high in the back of your throat, “please, Poe, ‘s not- it’s not enough.”

“Hey,” he coos, “‘s alright, honey. I’m gonna take care of you,” you watch, through lidded eyes, as he tugs on his cock, eyes trained on where your finger plunges relentlessly into your cunt. “Add another, baby,” he whispers, and you don’t waste any time doing just that.

Two quickly turns into three, your desperation for each other, the long nights spent apart, running your patience painfully thin. The tip of Poe’s cock is shiny and slick, and his chest heaves with every pass of his hand. Beautiful, he’s so fucking beautiful like this.

“Can’t wait to get home to you,” he groans, enthralled as you hump your hips into your hand, fucking yourself as deep as you can with just your three fingers. “Gonna- gonna keep you in bed for days, stars, baby, I’m going to fuck that beautiful pussy so fucking hard, the whole base will hear it.”

You hiccup as you moan, your body flushing with a heat that is both embarrassed and painfully aroused. Your cunt clenches around your furious fingers as you jackhammer them in and out of your heaving body, hanging onto every word that slips out of Poe’s mouth. “Poe- I can’t- I can’t, stars, I want to cum, please, please let me cum.”

Poe bulldozes on, pulling his hand back to spit on it, all lewd and primal, before furiously jerking his cock again. He’s so much rougher with himself than you are with him, rushing himself to the end so that he can tumble over the precipice with you.

“Maker, baby, so fucking- so fucking gorgeous, can’t wait to eat that pretty cunt, wanna taste you so bad right now, sweet girl.” He groans through gritted teeth, but he doesn’t tear his eyes from you, not for a moment. “Use that other hand, pretty girl, and rub your clit. Hard.”

You let your free hand fall to your clit, working yourself over as you keep fucking your fingers in and out. “Fuck-” you nearly scream with it, “‘m gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna-”

“Cum, sweetheart,” he grits, and you sob as you clench around your fingers, rubbing hard circles into your clit with your other hand, as you watch Poe splatter cum over his hand through the holo. It’s intoxicating to watch, the way his eyes clench shut, his mouth gapes open. 

Your mind whirls with ideas of how you can get him to look like that again and again. As soon as he gets home to you.

[eddiebabygirldiaz]

wip wednesday

tagged by @wikiangela @lover-of-mine @rewritetheending @evcndiaz @daffi-990 @try-set-me-on-fire @jamespearce9-1-1 @loserdiaz @hoodie-buck @callmenewbie @transboybuckley

muah thank ya darlins <3

posting another little tease of my (somewhat) secret fic because i got REALLY into it last night and have to share

But Eddie says it like Buck chose to leave, like he wanted it, and nothing could be further from the truth.

He wants to tell Eddie that, to explain in a way they so rarely do with each other, too often relying on wordless communication and actions and surface level discussion which can sometimes be wonderful and other times be ruining, but what comes out of his mouth is, “You let me go.”

Eddie blinks at him, lashes curving and weighty as they dip into the sheen of tears springing up in his eyes. He is frozen still and almost lifeless, like Buck’s words were a swift blow, severing his heart from his chest.

Buck lets his hand slip away from Eddie’s arm, muscles turned leaden, too heavy and too packed with the ability to hurt for him to allow himself to keep touching Eddie.

He wants to raise his hand and catch those words in his palm, clutch at them tightly and grind them into dust, turn his palm into their graveyard.

Because those tears are his fault. Because the hurt blooming on Eddie’s face is his fault. Because the wounded noise seeping out of Eddie’s chest is his fault.

It wasn’t fair of him to say that. Not when he knows Shannon told Eddie the exact same thing, minutes after telling him she wanted a divorce, trying to explain to him that they were different people who didn’t fit the way they used to, that they let each other go too much to be able to keep each other.

tagging @elvensorceress @shitouttabuck @rogerzsteven @monsterrae1 @buddierights @paranoidbean @diazass @chronicowboy @911onabc @folk-fae @gayedmundodiaz @malewifediaz @spagheddiediaz @jeeyuns @bigfootsmom @honestlydarkprincess @eowon @eddiediaaz @zerokinkade @colonoscopys @bvckandeddie @hippolotamus @giddyupbuck @butchdiaz @bucks118 @housewifebuck @athenagranted and anyone else who wants to share!

[ilikebookssomuch]

Random KotLC fic WIP because why not

let me know if I should continue with this crackpot idea :D

Biana screams, her face twisting in pain as she reaches a hand out of the flames, grasping for my hand. I grab onto her and pull, sparks flying in my hair and catching my cape on fire. I shriek as the flames eat at my back, but I keep pulling. After a moment, the smoke chokes me and I let go of Biana’s hand. 

She screams, a long, wordless shriek of agony. Blisters erupt along her bare arm and the side of her neck. I nearly vomit, but there is too much smoke and ash in my throat. I blink rapidly, and when I open my eyes again I have lost sight of Biana. 

Fitz is nearby, attempting to rescue Dex from the boulder he’s caught under. His pant leg is on fire. Dex’s face is bloody and there is a gash on his shoulder, the sleeve ripped. Dex’s leg is caught under the boulder and the fire is creeping closer.

Fitz! I transmit.

He looks up, snapping his head around to meet my eyes.

Use telekinesis!! Fitz nods and turns back to Dex. My bare feet pound on the gry grass beneath me splinters embedding themselves in my toes as I run.

Tam is battling with a figure in a black cloak. Linh is trapped under a force field, and I can see her trying to draw water outside of the glowing dome. Five ogres surround Sandor and Grizel so I turn towards them, flinging goblin-throwing stars from my cape pockets. I knock down two of the ogres, and now I can see Sandor and Grizel back to back with their swords raised. They seem like they can handle it, so I keep running. The fire is at my back now, red-hot and towering over me. 

Nearby, Wylie is battling Gethen, but he seems to be losing. I pull Hope from her sheath and charge into the battle. Wylie is flashing a beam of bright purple light into Gethen’s eyes, so I take advantage of the momentary distraction and stab Gethen’s arm. I wince a little when I see the blood, but I am used to violence by now. 

It’s always there, hiding in the shadows. We’ve been at war with the Neverseen for almost two years, and this is one of our most deadly skirmishes. Fintan sparked the Everblaze while we were all assembled in the Black Swan’s newest hideout. So much for that. 

The hideout is surely burned to the ground by now, and Fintan seems to have escaped. Gethen, Vespera, Trix, Umber, Brnt, Lady Gisella, and dozens of other black-cloaked figures are fighting against the collective and a few other elves I haven’t met yet, about twenty gnomes, fifteen goblins, four trolls, and thirty dwarves are all here fighting with my friends and me. I haven’t seen Mr. Forkle yet, so I decide to look for him. 

I close my eyes, the sounds of screams and shouts and metal against metal clanging together and the fire popping and sparking in the distance. I tune all of that out, concentrating on the sounds of thoughts instead. 

This is it. That’s Tam. I keep searching. 

Where is Dex?! Juline’s panicked thoughts are so clear. Sharp and piercing my brain.

GRIZEL!! Sandor is distraught, the image of Grizle with a deep gash in her side blaring into my mind. I hold back tears, but I can’t give up. Mr. Forkle is so important, he can’t be dead. 

What about Keefe? I shove the thought back. I don’t have time to think about his betrayal right now. Finally, I catch a whisper: I wish my brother was here.

Mr. Forkle had a twin brother, but he died in the collapse of Lumenaria a few years ago. Months later, Keefe disappeared; and the only sign of him was the note I found next to Iggy’s cage. The memory of That Day resurfaces and I am thrown into the past.

* * *

I have just gotten home from a particularly awkward meeting with the Black Swan. I burned down the Neverseen’s storehouse, but basically no one was pleased with that. I shove my frustrations aside and grab a ripplefluff before heading upstairs.

When I enter my room, I tense. There are footprints on my flowery rug, and Iggy is a different color. He has stripes of teal and blue and purple and pink now, and –I rush closer to his cage– there is a note held under the corner of the cage. I read it, my worry increasing with every word. 

* * *

To the Mysterious Miss F,

Ugh, I’m already regretting saying this. But this is serious.

 I know that a lot has been happening lately, with your abilities, and my crazy mother. And I’m sorry. But I figured out a way to control myself. I hope you won’t hate me for it. 

This is for the best. 

—Keefe.

P.S. I love you, Sophie. Always have. Always will.

Goodbye.

Tears start to blur my eyes, but I still catch the words “I love you.” 

Does this mean what I think it means? Is Keefe…. I can’t think about this. He’s just getting used to his ability. He’ll come back. 

Right?

[xxnashiraxx]

WIP Wednesday Friday Cause I Can

Hey Everyone!

I'm currently in another state waiting for my flight much later today, but I couldn't help the stroke of inspiration I had yesterday, and decided to write a FARRRRRR off future smut scene- with some fluff mixed in- in my fic between Ofelia and Astarion. Like sooooo far- I don't know why I'm torturing myself this way, but well... 🤷🏻‍♀️

Anywho, thank you all that tagged me (I think most recent was @verbenaa or @elinorbard , love you two ❤️)

Please enjoy this lengthy thing, it'll likely change a little bit and expand once this chapter does come out, but that's far away!

He presses her into the dirt, hands gripping her hips so hard she's afraid they'll leave bruises. The pain is dull, distant- inconsequential in the presence of their mixed pleasure. The way he moves makes her vision spin until the heavens above look like a whirlpool of bright, trailing lights.

He maintains eye contact as he pistons into her, her back arching off the hard ground as he drags her closer and closer- her walls fluttering and her clit pulsing in time to each thrust. It’s so good… so good that she can’t keep his name off her tongue as her eyes shut and she twists and bucks into him like a feral animal, lost in his touch and rapidly spinning out of control. He pushes her closer until the fingers of his right hand slip between her wet folds and circle her bundle of nerves, her body exploding in sensation and fire.

Her orgasm snaps like a whip- faster than she can blink. She's tumbling over the edge, mouth falling open around a wordless cry as he cradles her in his arms, scattering kisses over her collarbones to calm her shivering and twitching body.

It takes a moment to regain her composure- no more than a few seconds, she's sure- but it feels like forever when she finally focuses on him again. His gaze is soft, so unlike anything she's ever seen, and she immediately startles out of the daze, afraid he's withdrawn again.

"Are you okay?" She whispers frantically, rising to her elbows as he stills inside her. She suppresses any sounds, not wanting to make this worse if he's suddenly no longer a willing participant.

"I'm fine, darling." He presses his smile against the side of her head, leaving a soft peck on her cheek. She loses a bit of her balance when she moves her hands until they're gripping either side of his jaw, peering up at him with concern and fear. She doesn't want to put him through this again, gods she knew it was too soon for him to make this decision. She's so selfish for agreeing, so selfish and fucking horrible-

"Mmm!" She whimpers when he whips his head up to capture her mouth in a kiss. It's bruising, demanding and hot and she stays quiet when he knicks her lip with his fang, drawing blood that pools in both their mouths.

"Everything is fine, Ofelia." He murmurs between kisses, sweeping his tongue inside to swallow more before suckling at the cut. "I'm here. I'm here, and I love you, and I want to finish inside you. Gods... you're so tight..." She shudders and whimpers at his voice, at his filthy words. She clenches around him, and his answering groan sounds ragged and desperate. "Please,"

She pulls back to peer up at him, searching for lies- deceit. His tadpole reaches for hers in his heated gaze, and when they tangle, she feels his sincerity so severe that it makes her shiver.

"Okay," She nods, pulling him back in for another kiss. He resumes his thrusts, swelling so fully inside her that she's starting to slip again. She can't keep her voice quiet, his name pouring from her mouth as easily as the little "I love you"'s mixed in-between. She loves him... loves him so much it makes her entire body ache - wanting him closer even as he's buried fully inside, dragging over her walls in a way that transcends any feeling that ever came before it.

She's melting away, her mind going fuzzy and dark around the edges. His face is like a vision- sweat making his hair cling to his forehead, lower lip anchored beneath his fangs, smeared scarlet. His eyes, gods, his eyes... The red is eclipsed by his black pupils, staring into her hungrily, just like when he feeds and she leans forward to kiss him again, nibbling at his lower lip and wordlessly begging him to bite her as her tongue glides over one fang. She feels it unsheath, barely having to do anything to encourage him as rough hands grip her chin and waist to sink his teeth into the corner of her mouth.

She cries out softly, trembling beneath his harsher treatment, clenching around him until he’s groaning into the bite. He’s taking from her, and the usual tingle of pleasure spreads from the top of her head to her toes until a second climax dawns on the horizon, his cock throbbing and growing warm inside her. It’s overwhelming feeling him turn hot this way, his tongue laving over the place he’d bitten her as his hands find her thighs and he lifts her legs up, above, until her ankles rest around his shoulders and his hands prop him up at either side of her head. At this angle, he fills her so completely that she’s thrashing and wailing his name, arms locking around his neck as he slowly pulls out before pounding back inside.

“Astarion!” She cries, holding tight, her heels digging into his back as he groans and kisses and bites at her neck and chest. One hand finds her breast and kneads at it softly, a stark comparison to the way he pummels into her wet cunt, the traces of venom from his fangs leaving her delirious and scattered. She zeroes in on a drop of blood leaking from the corner of his mouth and as she watches it trail down his chin, the web holding her in place begins to fray, torn asunder when the crimson fluid drips onto her lips.

A bolt of electricity shoots down her spine, her hips lifting off the ground as he pounds harder, every muscle and piece of flesh honed in on coming inside her. She loses track of his gaze as stars burst behind her eyelids, his deep voice gravelly with want as he calls her name and soothes over her twitching thighs.

“So good… coming on my cock… twice…” She’s blinking tears from her eyes as his hips stutter, tadpole breaking through the haze of her second orgasm to tip his feelings and emotions into her mind. She can feel him getting close, feels the twitch in his cock and the sudden swell like they’re one in the same and the sensation makes her body contract around him again, offering the bliss he’s been so madly seeking.

Tagging @ladyduellist (i want more cowboy Astarion, sorry I'm so needy- at your own pace though 🤠❤️) @preciouslittlebhaalbae (because I'm starving for more Erin x Astarion) @inkymoonbunny @khywren and every single other person who sees this ❤️

If you saw typos, NO YOU DIDN'T THEY’RE GONE NOW