#and the lack of slit eyes and fangs

[ranger-danger]

:) yuan ti son.

[hanafubukki]

i know i have already been in your inbox today dear Hana, but based on your recent reblogs….i must ask if you have any thoughts on how the Diasomnia men might enjoy predator play dynamics? 👀💕 hehe

You’re always welcome to my inbox Dear Gray 🫂💞

Absjsjshs I’m giggling in bed while writing these 🥰💞

For the Diasomnia men:

Lilia Vanrouge: The amount of times I thought of this dynamic with him will astound you. For Lilia, it’s the thrill of the chase. The hunt. It’s gets his blood pumping. His demeanor changes. He goes from our preppy peepaw to the General. He’s shadow incarnate, always one step behind you. He’s playing with you, makes you think you got away. But if you actually manage to trick him? Put up a fight? Oh, how surprised he will be. His sweet prize. How he wants to ruin you. I can see blood red eyes in a dark night sky. Color saturated by the bright moon up ahead. Nails sharpened, eyes slits, and fangs sharp; truly the predator. He will catch you and will make you beg. The taste of your fear on his tongue. Just thinking of his voice and the animalistic sounds he’d make as he takes you right where he caught you 🥰

Malleus Draconia: Malleus I think would love the chase as well. He usually has to keep his dragonic nature in check. For him, his bestial nature comes out. The tails, wings, scales, elongated fangs, his voice spoke with a hint of rumble. Depending if he’s in mating season or not, the chase can be long or short given his patience or lack of. I think Malleus would want to play with his prey more than chase. Make you beg, bring you to the brink and then deny you, dress you in his pretty jewels, etc. His precious Little One. Keep you to himself as he lets his baser instincts take you. You will smell like him by the time the night is over.

Sebek Zigvolt: Right away for Sebek, I see him more into the tussle aspect. He wants to show his strength off. He wants to show his abilities. He can protect and he can fight. There’s also power play added to this. He’s stronger than you. He can beat you. Submit to him. You’re a weak prey and he can easily break you, but he won’t. So imagine his surprise when you don’t give in so easily? When it takes more effort. He’s having fun. The end result increasing his gratification when he finally has you by your pretty throat.

Silver Vanrouge: For Silver, I also think it’s the fight part of the dynamic. Not the same way as Sebek where power play comes in, but more of the calculative aspect. There’s the chase he enjoys but it’s more the resistance he likes. Having a tussle and he does his very best not to hurt you but to subdue you. The gentle hand that calms his startled and frightened prey. He loves having you relax into him. He won’t hurt you. His dove. He’ll calm and soothe you before having your submission, but at this point you can’t help but submit to his ways. He makes it so easy to lure you into that blissful state before he takes you.

Thank you for asking Gray 💞 just thinking about this has me in a daydreaming 🥰🌺

[valentine-cafe]

˖⁺. “ GUYS MY AGE don't . . . ” :

﹙ various older men x fem reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

. . . various older men x fem reader !! 🍒 : 

older men just do it better. whether it be how they take care of you - treat you - touch you. . . how could a guy your age ever compare? why be a 'babe' when you could be a darling?

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ age gap ( reader is obv over 20 ! ) ˖ fingering ˖ penetrative sex ˖ thigh riding ˖ groping ˖ also just a lot of fluff and affection n spoiling  | wc : 2.8k 

﹙ receipts ﹚: I've been wanting to do this for a while. to all the girls with daddy issues - this one's for you 

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

𖹭. GUYS MY AGE ───

﹙ Jìngyí 209. ﹚. . . don’t know how to treat me !! 🍒 : Spoiling has always been one of Jìngyí’s strong suites. Whether that be café and dinner dates, showers of gifts and endless shopping sprees.

‘You’re spending too much on me!’ you vehemently complain.

‘Well someone has to use my money,’ he counters diligently.

The latter is where you find yourself. Sleek, ebony vicuña weaved into a stunning dress with silk that caresses your skin and whispers the hundreds and thousands of credits your beloved is so ready to put on his bank statement. All to see you dolled up for him.

With shifts in front of the changing room mirror, you suck in a breath at the stare of amber from the reflection. You spin around to greet his sophisticated, seated stance not too far away. His heavy stare worships you from top to bottom. Every curve, every cling of fabric. “Do you like it?” The deep croon takes on the sensation of his hands you can already feel tracing along your hips and thighs.

“Well. . . it is a bit pricey.”

The click of his tongue finds your right ear before you can so much as blink. “Not what I asked, sweetheart.” Cold fingers separate the slit of vicuña at your thigh and remind themselves of your wonderful skin. Much like icy lips that reminisce along the path of your neck.

The mirror strings your gazes once again. You suck in a breath when those familiar chills stroke along the inner corners of your panties. On instinct you urge to look, but the flex of firm fingers on your flesh keeps your eyes on his.

“I asked: if you like it, darling?”

Cotton underwear submits itself to the pull and slither of his fingers. They search for wetness rather than fabric — and once treasure is found they stroke in delight. Spilling hushed breaths from your lips to fog the reflective glass.

“I. . . w-well I - Jìngyí.” His thumb presses for answers at your throbbing clit, that weeps along with your slit for your answer to the sensual interrogation. Not that he would halt even with your breathy - “yes gēgē. . .”

He muses with a kiss to your jaw. Your wet pussy quickly becomes the centre of his attention, other than the pinch of your nipple between his free hand. Since you wish to be so stubborn and stiff with his spoils, he will simply have to ease you.

“Then it’s yours, sweet thing.” The obvious bulge flushes into your ass. A small greeting for what’s to come. The grind into your plush flesh reminds you of the shame he lacks. If his fingers already pumping at your poor cunny were not enough of a prompter.

Jìngyí’s drawl hums into your ear. The sweetest nectar a serpent could muster. Through slitted pupils and the sharpness of fangs peeking from his grin. “And since it is yours; why not break it in, hmm?”

His fingers plunge to the knuckle and he groans out at your hiccupping cry and spewing pussy.

꒰  mad doctor ˖ snake monster ˖ villain character ꒱

 

﹙ Alessio 1311. ﹚. . . don’t know how to touch me !! 🍓 : To grow accustomed to Alessio’s physical affection was to grow accustomed to air leaving your lungs. A fruitless endeavor. Whether it be his squeezes of adoration. Or the way he needed to rest his hands on your hips, thighs, waist and shoulders - as though his palms would surely burn if he did not. And his kisses. Oh his kisses. He may be a felon, but his lips are the true criminals. Devils eager to steal the very essence of your life. Vampiric.

All of these combined only seemed to heighten to the heavens with time apart. He’s a busy man, and you are far from different. So when you stumble through the doors of his late-afternoon apartment. Best believe he’s upon you like a bee to honey.

Yet instead of stings, his hands are sweet on your sides. To the caresses on your neck. The sap of his kisses were evident with the way his lips seemed to remain glued to yours. Heavy to pull away. Let alone breathe.

“Alessio,” you whine. Two rough thumbs apologise in rubs to your cheekbones. But the trails of saliva joining your mouths drips with guiltlessness. His chuckle joins the mix of empty remorse.

“That’s my name, hermosa.”

He’s on you again. Are you aphrodisiac itself? His mouth cannot get enough of you. Nor his hands that back you into the marble countertop and bathe your body in the setting sun poured from vast windows. They clamp on your waist and squeeze his fingers to delight in the flesh.

Your hands join the profession of need, with arms that hook round his neck with playful fingers finding the back of his black hair. It’s only right with the way his hands roam you in search of who-knows-what. Or perhaps there is nothing to be found. Only the essence of your sweet skin beneath his callouses and the shivers it strikes down his spine.

His lips take the carnal trail too. They travel along your neck and find their perch on the corner of junction of your jaw. Sucks and nips induce squirms — and he is left with no other option than fix his grip on your hips.

“Come now, pretty girl.” Alessio’s groan rumbles against your throat almost drunkenly suckles and kisses upon. Like a signal, his palms flatten against the sides of your thighs. Then slip back to catch the cushiony flesh and roughly squeeze. One even delivers a spank to your ass for good measure before he’s yanking you flush against him.

His height topples over you. Dark strands tickle your face as his lips remember yours and race home for round two - or three - maybe four? You cannot keep count when his black lipstick smears you breathless.

“Show me you love me.”

He punctuates with a jerk of his hips. His hard tent drags along your clothed folds so perfectly that you have to grapple for steadiness on his broad shoulders. A skillful tongue eagerly drinks to intoxication on your whines.

And oh - what a greedy man he is. With a hand shoving the back of your head closer; so that you have no other option than to breathe him in as air. Than to cling to him like a lifeline.

As stated. To get used to his touch is to grow accustomed to suffocation itself.

꒰  rockstar ˖ mercenary ˖ punk character ꒱

 

﹙ Orion. ﹚. . . don’t know how to please me !! 🍒 : “What do you mean, that your previous has never tasted you?”

What a poetic way to express his surprise the first time his head swam between your legs. Lust darker than the Abyss had cleared for the shine of shock at your words that day. It appeared the right hand of Lord Darkness could simply not fathom that your former lover refused to worship you in this way.

Ever since, Orion made it his life’s mission to set the stars on your vision whenever he went down on you. Regardless of how many times he’s tasted your sweetness. How many times he’s gorged and drunk on your ambrosia.

He’d never get tired of the flex of your muscles squishing his face your tight leg-lock. The fist of your fingers through his hair black as night. Not to mention the flutter and roll of your eyes, the weight of fat tears on your lashes.

Much was evident tonight after his hours of patrol through the city of shadows. No difference in the caress of his delicate, large hands along your perked breasts. The tickle of his tongue on your thigh. Nor the eagerness to lift your leg over his shoulder.

An angel of his stature, an Admiral of the Abyss, down on his knees for your divine pussy. As though you were his god. You certainly are in his eyes.

“Cannot believe,” he pants into your wetness, taking a moment to gulp down your juices. Still, some poured down his chin and throat. “That fool. . . let this go to waste. Sightless.”

Sightless, quite the way to describe your current state too. With your head draped back into the cushions of the seating. Eyes tittered the line of blindness with the white that invades your vision. Much like his relentless tongue lapping away at your wetness.

“Soooo wet. . . such a pretty pussy you have here for me, yes, love?” Another gulp. To compensate for the lack of stimulation, you receive a tight spank to your spurting cunt. Your sob raises to a slew of hiccups and cries of his name when he dives back in. As though mere seconds away from your heat is a sin of the highest accord.

“O-Orr - Orriii - i-on - p-plea - hic -”

Dark wings envelope your shivering form while his arms lock around your thighs. His lower face needily grinds into your pussy. Eager for another squeeze of your cum and slew of cries. The bridge of his nose certainly takes the memo seriously - as always - and roughly rubs into your quivered clit.

“Thaaattt’s my girl. Mhhm - hah - feel that?” He slurs into your heat. Drooling just as much as your oversensitive pink flesh. “’s is how you should - mngh - should be treated. Buck, sweetheart.”

What more can you do but obey with rushed jerks into his face as your tummy coils? As you stutter his name to the divine and squirt all over his face with fingers squeezing his dark hair through the gaps.

It’s not as though he will stop any time soon. Not when he’s drunk on your cum and eager to prove that this should be the standard. Laid back with a man feasting between your legs — just as you deserve.

꒰  abyssal angel ˖ dragon character ꒱

 

﹙ Rasui 9948e. ﹚. . . don’t know how to read me !! 🍓 : Quiet men have a certain observation to them. You have learnt such in your relationship with a certain fire elemental. The retract of his his tongue is exchange for keen skills in reading each and every one of your signs.

Or perhaps it is simply him. A man his age surely is aware of all the signs and symptoms of the female body and mind to the t. It doesn’t surprise you any less every time he so effortlessly points out your needs. The craving of your essence that even you at times do not realise.

Today was not the case. You knew well what you wanted. Needed. Your skin missed his flame. His warmth a lathered memory on your flesh. The throbs between your thighs call his name — and yet you don’t so much as peep.

Rasui is a busy man. You should be grateful that you’re even allowed in his office when he’s got that much paperwork on his desk. At least, that’s what you’ve convinced the depths of your eager mind.

Every low hum he sounds when observing a document, the hushed mutter that deepens his already baritone voice; it thrums through your very being. So you squeeze your thighs in failed attempts of alleviating some on the unbearable tension.

He’s glanced at you a few times. Whenever you’d shift in the seat to ‘readjust’ your dress and urge it further down your thighs. A fault on your behalf. Wearing a dress around him after waking up that needy. . . you were hungry for problems.

Greedy for a bit more than that it seems. Your cunt’s insatiable to the thought of his thick cock parting your walls. Or his fingers. His hot tongue —

You force your lower face into your palm and press further into your book. Gorge your eyes on meaningless words you have forgotten how to read. What’s comprehension when the thought of him rearranging your insides tastes sweeter to the mind?

His mere presence is enough to leave you wanting. What have you become? A depraved whore? You feel like one.

“Habibti.”

The only thing better than the filthy imageries plaguing your mind like a sinful broken record. His voice. You will your gaze to him and hone every fibre of your body to attempt normality. Topped off with a tight-lipped smile and flex of your thighs beneath the cotton of your dress. “Hmm?”

The pat of his thigh is the only response you get. Oh no. There goes your manners. “Come. Treat yourself.”

You don’t know whether to cry tears of embarrassment or relief. It doesn’t stop your muscles from pulling and legs to shuffle over to your boyfriend. Straddle over his thigh and flush your heat onto his pants-clad thigh with a breathy gasp.

“- ‘m sorry.”

“None of that.”

Eyes dancing with flames and desire cast you affection. Poured out next onto your cheek as he thumbs the skin. Then a pat to your thigh after he rids the hem of the dress to bunch higher. “Don’t apologise for needing me. Take what you need.”

That long awaited sensation of warmth encases your thigh. An idle rest and motivator while his free hand scripts across his document. As if you are not getting off on him with small rocks of your hips and stuttered breaths.

“Th-Thank. . . Thank you.”

“Of course.” His lips meet yours for a moment. In tender pecks to match the aid of his grip to your grind. To kiss on your soft moans and drink them like honey. “Anything for his sweet girl.”

꒰  fire elemental ˖ mercenary leader ꒱

 

﹙ Vespasiano 781. ﹚. . . don’t know how to need me !! 🍒 : At times you wonder if you should have thought twice before falling for a Lieutenant. One of special ops especially. His side of the bed felt like arctic whenever you’d roll on over in search for him in the middle of the night. The phantom of strong arms haunts your skin. From the time the moon rises till sun takes its place.

A repetitive cycle. For days. Weeks. Until your very flesh calls for him. Your heart and soul join the choir of pining. Deployment was an evil, cruel thing.

It mattered not how often he’d communicate. Nothing compared to having his deep voice drawled right beside your ears. Large, warm hands flat on your waist, to your hips and then their squeezing destination at your thighs.

Tonight is different. The strings of your heart play a chord of joy. You watch the windows. Wait the door. Each creak of the floorboards. Every pair of footsteps out of the house.

For a moment, you lost hope at the mockery of the clock’s arms stretched wide across its face. Sink into your slump of loneliness, now missing his touch more than ever.

You’d forget about them the second the lock turned. His arms are all you know once his black boots hit the threshold and your senses flood with the scent of sandalwood. His lips grow hungry and reach for yours — you catch on instinct with his hushed groans and stumbles into you.

The both of you forget his height. Vespasiano’s height staggers over you and pushes you back into the house with his foot carelessly shutting the door. A fumbling waltz through the foyer to the nearest wall. His hands reach - and caress - and grab. Whatever they possible can at your long-awaited body and heat.

“Amore mio. Dio. . . missed you s’fucking much.”

Forget the wall. He needs you up and personal with his skin. Merged into one if he could help it. His palms greet the back of your thighs and remind them of his strength. Effortlessly, he hooks you closer like a lasso and lifts you. Hips reuniting too. Lips familiarising your neck and leaving behind a hundred apologies.

“V-Vesp. . . oh Vespasiano,”

Your hands thread to his hair and grip at his greys in a desperate attempt to keep him right there. Swimming between your thighs and scouring your body with hands and lips in search of who-knows-what treasures.

His deep groan vibrates the front of your throat and he plops you over the nearest piece of furniture. Lips meet yours again. It’s treason to leave them for longer than a minute. His hands abandon their perimeter mission to instead cup at your face and rub calloused thumbs on cheekbones.

“Missed that the most, dolcezza. Missed my name on your tongue.” Muffles to your mouth — ain’t no way is he leaving any time soon. Not when he has to reward your tongue with his after those sweet sounds. His hands return to their worship and once more, you fear his height will topple over you completely. The only thing stopping him from collapsing into your very being is the tightness of your legs round his waist.

“C’mon,” he huffs down your neck. Kisses to your collarbone and hands slipped beneath your shirt, up your sides as his dull green eyes peer into yours. On the verge of heart-shaped pupils and a haze of clear ache for you.

“Move those hips. Show me you love me.”

꒰  lieutenant ˖ vampire ˖ dilf character ꒱

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[teddybeartoji]

this could work for bf! satoru or snow leopard! satoru but i feel like he'd be REALLY into omorashi... stay with me here.

idk how he discovered that he was into it but GREAT GOD ALMIGHTY 😫

just imagining him curled up into you quivering out of desperation. you have a steady hand on him (conveniently placed where his bladder is) to hold him in place. poor thing has tears in his eyes, just begging you to let him go already (but we both know he doesn't mean it)

satoru has never looked more gorgeous to you

he's more than capable of overpowering you to leave and properly relieve himself, but god, does it feel good to be at your mercy (or rather lack of )

his desperation just gets worse the closer he gets. he just NEEDS to relieve himself somehow, so he proceeds to beg you to have your mouth on his. this time around, you decide to be a little nice and listen to his pleas. and god he just melts.

It's so damn messy, but neither of you can get enough of it. satoru is drooling everywhere and moaning into it. idk how, but he managed to sound even cuter than before.

neither of you care to pull back for air, and the lack of it gets to satoru's head as he feels a wave of warm and pure bliss wash over him.

or maybe it was something else........

YEAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH GRAY I NEED TO KISS YOU SUPER ULTRA SLOPPY STYLE HOLY FUCKKKK I'M GONNA GO WITH OUR LITTLE LEOPARD AGAIN BC FUCCCKKKKKKKKKK IT'S SO FUCKING HOTT

18+ mdni; snow leopard!gojo x gn!reader + piss kink

sitting on his big thighs, you jerk him off with your one hand while the other presses down on his bladder. he squirming, his hips can't stay still underneath you and he just looks so pretty like this. he throws his arm over his face in desperation and your heart swells at the sight of his exposed neck. purple and red marks litter his marble skin - they look like they belong there. he's whimpering and mewling like the baby that he is and he loves it so fucking much.

"need to go. i really– need to go." you can hear the pout and it makes you want to push him even further. the tip of his cock is so fucking pink and swollen, pre-cum leaks from the slit and your mouth salivates at the thought of taking him down your throat. his tail thumps and swings in the air from all of the excitement and his fuzzy little ears twitch uncontrollably.

"yeah?"

you sound so mean and he fucking loves it. you're not concerned abt him – no, no fucking way. you want to push him further and further. you want to break him. you swipe at his leaking slit with your thumb and watch his fangs sink down into his plump lower lip. his hips lift a mere inch from the bed but you push him back down with ease.

the leopard peeks from under his arm, his teary eyes observe you as you punish and torture him with a toothy, proud grin. the slick sounds from your hand steadily pumping him fill the room alongside with the mewls that keep bubbling up his throat.

the pressure in his stomach keeps getting stronger and stronger and he knows he really can't hold it in any longer. his slender fingers wrap around your wrist, gently pulling at you to get your attention.

"please– fuck. i can't– i can't hold it, i'm sorry." oh, his eyes are so beautiful like this. his flushed cheeks are stained from the tears that have already spilled from the corners of his eyes and his lips wobble so desperately.

"don't be sorry, baby. just go."

he can't tell whether you're joking or not, but he's getting so fucking close that he really doesn't have the time to figure you out either. you tighten your fingers around him and shimmy yourself down his legs, bending yourself closer to his cock. never taking your hand from his lower stomach, you slowly but surely add even more pressure on his bladder to finally convince, to force, him to let go.

his fingers dig into your wrist but he doesn't push or pull – he's making sure that you won't take your hand off of him. his eyes are even wider now, his curiosity is eating him alive. what do you mean by 'just go'? he watches your smile stretch even wider, even further, as you rest your head on his thigh. your breath fans his dick and he shudders at the sensation. fuck, he really can't hold it anymore.

tears spill from his lashlines, his pretty angel eyes, and you press a kiss to his base. you feel him twitch in your hand, you feel his tail whip at your back. he can't control it. he's about to burst.

more pressure. his eyes roll back into his head and his ears twitch again. you squeeze his tip and kiss down his sensitive balls.

"i— "

he has never sounded this broken. his breath hitches in his throat and his nails are beginning to leave little dents in your skin. his other hand finds your cheeks, but it doesn't stay there. his fingers push through your hair until they stop at the back of your head, pushing you closer into him. your nose brushes at his soft skin and fuck – he feels you smile against his balls. he can't do it, he can't do it, he can't do it.

"give it to me, angel."

his eyes finds yours just as your lips part and wrap around his swollen tip. he can't look away. his balls contract as he stares at you. his face is red as a tomato and he's panting as if he's about to fucking die.

he is about to die. your mouth is so warm around him, your tongue is so wet and this whole situation is just too fucking much. you lower your head and bury him deeper inside your throat. saliva drips from the corners of your mouth and his hips buck up, making you gag on him so deliciously.

when you try to pull away, the hand resting on the back of your head stops you. humming around him, he bucks his hips again. his head lolls back onto the pillow and his back arches – he looks gorgeous. pressing further down on his tummy, you prepare for what's coming.

his tail thumps fervently beside you and his whole body twitches. a broken moan spills from his lips and warm liquid fills your mouth and throat. tears form in the corners of your eyes from the suffocating feeling but you surpress the need to pull away. you want him to feel good. he's your baby after all.

you press down on his tummy a little more, intent on getting every drop out of him. he feels so good, it feels like heaven. you feel like heaven, your mouth. the sight of you only makes him more insane – your own tears, the spit and piss trickling from your lips. your eyes. they twinkle up at him, so determined, so focused on taking care of him.

you gag again and tap on his thigh to let him know that you need air and he immediately removes his hand but keeps it on your cheek as you pull off of him with a loud gasp. piss dribbles down your chin and neck and satoru thinks he's going to pass out. you take a deep breath in but waste no time diving back in. he caresses your soft skin as you wrap your lips around him once more, letting your mouth fill with the liquid again.

he's so fucking in love with you.

everything is so messy. piss soaks the bedsheets below him and spit coats his heavy balls. a bead of sweat rolls from his temple and his hands shake. his fuzzy tail wraps around your middle as you drink him up like he's the only thing that could satiate your thirst. taking your hand off his tummy, you bring it down to his balls. you massage and fondle them only to watch your big cat sink even deeper into the bed. your smile widens as you kiss his tip and the underside of it, making him curse under his breath.

"you're so cute, baby."

your purred out words immediately go to his lower stomach; another kind of pressure builds and grows – the knot tightens with every kiss and every lick and every touch and every breath. he whimpers at you, his eyes big and glassy. his lips are parted and you catch sight of his sharp fangs.

wrapping your hand around his cock again, his whole body jolts and you tease him with a laugh. you squeeze at his base and tongue his sensitive slit – you know he can give you more. you take the tip back into your mouth and take him down your throat while jerking him off at the same time. all it takes is a steady pace and a tight grip and your mouth is being filled again. thick and sticky cum floods your throat and you swallow as much as you can; some of it still escapes your soft lips though – a mixture of spit and cum and piss coates your lower face and satoru thinks you look beautiful. moans fall from his lips like a waterfall, he's not even trying to hold back. it's not like you want him to do that anyway. you're just as greedy as he is.

you give him a smile and then he's already pushing himself up from his position and pressing his lips against yours. he can taste everything and he can't help but moan into your mouth. you pump him lazily as you let him suck on your tongue like a good boy. he paws at your skin and you know he's hungry.

he's fucked out and he's exhausted but he'd be nothing if he didn't take care of his baby the way you take care of him. it's your turn now; you let him mark you with his scent and taste and he can't wait to let you do the same to him.

[mill-3-rd]

LUNAR CYCLE — s. winchester

discovering other ways to control yourself during the lunar cycle, a drabble (+16)

he doesn’t mind helping you each month, he knows you find it difficult to control your hormones and he loves that you can seek out his comfort. the month starts off normal, you’re unaffected by your werewolf gene and nobody could be able to tell off the bat, even if they were a hunter.. but then you get irritated: a result of the brewing ravenousness that will come when the moon is full. as a pureblood, you can control when you transform aswell as your hunger, but it doesn’t mean that you’re any different to a regular werewolf under the influence of a peaking lunar cycle. but that tension is released when the moon is round and bright: full.

your fingernails drag down SAM WINCHESTER’s back and he hisses into your neck. the humidity lingering on your collarbone is a leftover sign of his panting from near fatigue.

your head falls back into the pillow arrangement you had set up since you began renting your apartment, messing it up like you had done for the last two nights. a long, drawn out whine leaves your mouth which reveal the fangs that keep contracting with your lack of self awareness in such a state. sam feels the sharpness of your fingernails and realises how desperately you’re holding back.

his big hands caress both the legs over his shoulders and he whispers, “‘s okay, let go f’me.”

there’s another gasp from you and a flutter of your eyelids before sam takes his head out of your neck and admires the hang of your top canines over your bottom lip as it quivers. he can see the goldenness hiding beneath black lashes and low lidded eyes and if sam looks close enough, he can see the dark slit in the centre.

his right hand comes up to cradle your face, lustful eyes glaring at your sharpened teeth and he lets his index finger glide over the pair. you shudder and whine and it tells sam just how sensitive your teeth are.

your backs arch in sync, both your stomachs flattening against the other’s: sam due to your nails wraking back up to his shoulders and leaving marks in their wake and you because he’s hit a certain spot inside of you.

your thighs twitch: a telltale sign that your close and sam’s left thumb dips and begins to circle the bundle of nerves left neglected between you two. you moan, your eyes rolling into white while a string of curses fall from your kiss bitten lips. all that’s left is for sam to catch up to you so the two of you can finally rest.

[sorcerousundries]

I wanna ride

Face sitting with the baldurs gate 3 women

Includes: Lae’zel, Shadowheart,Karlach

Warnings: NSFW content, AFAB!reader, Facesitting, cunillingus,fingering(Lae’zel, shadowheart) bondage,biting/marking (Lae’zel). blindfolds, implied shibari, sensory play(ice cubes)(Shadowheart). Face riding, spanking, squirting(karlach)

Content under the cut

Lae’zel

She has your hands tied behind your back, the rough rope cutting into your wrists, your bare chest on display as she bites and sucks hickeys into your neck and breasts, circling your nipples with her tongue.

You throw your head back, squeezing your eyes and biting your lip as mewls leave your lips. You feel her fangs nip into into your soft skin, breaking the skin every now and then, the sting sending bolts of arousal down to your cunt, your clit aches from the lack of attention. Your eyes flutter open at the sudden cold sensation, you look down to meet lae’zels sharp gaze, she grips your waist pulling you forward to rest on her thighs. she leans back onto her elbows, giving you a sultry look. You understand what she’s asking, you shuffle up to hover above her face, you pause for a moment, the familiar feeling of anxiety filling your chest. Your thoughts are pulled away from you as Lae’zel grips your hips, her nails slightly digging in “Sit.” She growls, it sends butterflies racing through your stomach. You slowly bring yourself to rest on her face, your clit sits directly on her nose, you gasp at the pressure, your legs going weak, you sit your full weight on her face, you feel the beginning of a grin before she starts to nip at your clit, bringing her fingers up she starts to tease your slit, you moan lewdly as the warm feeling pulses through your cunt and abdomen, she spreads your folds and starts to push her fingers into your cunt before scissoring them, spreading you open. Your moans increase in volume.

The feeling of her fingers stuffing you full and her teeth grazing against your clit makes your head hazy, your vision blurs as the warmth spreads through your body and the coil in your stomach starts to tighten, threatening to snap.

She pushes her fingers in up to her knuckles and curls them at the same time she scrapes her canines onto your clit.

The coil snaps and you throw your head back, scrunching your face in pleasure, your cum gushing into her face, she laps up every drop of it.

Shadowheart

She brings a lacy blindfold over your eyes, tying it behind your head and tugging it slightly. “Is it too tight?” She asks softly. You shake your head “words please.” She corrects, “no, it’s not to tight” you assure. “Good” she purrs raking her nails down your bare body, sending shivers down your spine.

She lays down, bringing her face between your thighs but not before grabbing a cube of ice from the small bowl beside her, she glides the ice around the inside of your thighs, making you moan and whine as the ice gets closer to your cunt but never quite providing the stimulation you yearn for.

She chuckles at your impatience before bringing the ice cube between your folds rubbing it up to your clit and down to your slit continuously, you buck your hips and she pinches your hip, tutting “no moving.” She scolds, her tone making your hole clench around nothing. She dives her head down between your thighs, lapping at your cunt. The ice cube moving with her tongue. Your thighs tense and flex at the stimulation on your cunt.

She hooks your thighs over her shoulders before leaning back bringing you onto her face, she sucks and nibbles on your clit. Her fingers trail up your legs until they reach your cunt, she takes the almost melted ice cube and inserts it into your cunt, before taking another ice cube from the bowl and teases your slit before inserting it alongside her fingers. You moan and mewl, gripping at the bed roll.

She chuckles, sending vibrations to your clit as she thrusts and curls her fingers in your cunt, making you gush around her fingers, desperately chasing your orgasm.

Her tongue flicks and swirls around your clit, making your cunt tingle with desire, your back arches as you hump her fingers subtly, she smirks at this and removes her lips from your clit, making you whine at the loss of attention on your clit, your whine turns into an unexpected gasp of pleasure as she starts to thumb your clit in tight circles, pressing down on the nub.

She sucks and licks all around your cunt, your head spins from the feeling of her fingers pumping in and out of your cunt joint with her thumbing your clit and licking your folds, you grip her hair in your shaking hands “S-Shadowheart, fuck m’gonna!..” your cut off as your cunt convulses around her fingers and shockwaves of pleasure crash into you. your back arches into a deep curve as your cum soaks her hand and forearms, she rubs languid strokes onto your clit as you come down from your orgasm.

Karlach

Your thighs squeeze around her head as she growls into your cunt, the vibrations making your hole clench around her tongue “fuck, look at this pretty pussy” she groans. your puffy cunt, slick with your cum from your previous orgasms gleams in the candlelight.

“K-Karlach..” your mewl, your hips stuttering as you hump against her face, your clit bumping against her nose with every roll of your hips. “Taste so good baby” she mewls, her big arms curling around your thighs to lock you against her face as she sucks your clit, her tongue darting out to trace your slit every so often.

Your hips buck, starting to ride her face. You feel her grin as she circles your hole with her tongue, dipping it into your slick cunt, moaning at your taste on her tongue. “That’s it, ride my face” her voice muffled by your cunt, you barely hear her, desperately chasing your orgasm. You feel the knot in your stomach start to tighten as your abdomen flexes.

“Come on, you can give me one more, can’t you?” She teases.

You whimper, the tone of her voice making your cunt desperate for release, “Karlach please” you whine as your hips start to jerk with every grind against her hot mouth.

She palms your ass with her hands, slapping it and stroking the red marks she leaves from her big, calloused hands.

The pain sending arousal to your clit, puffy from the lack of attention, “aw, does this pretty little clit want some attention” she coos, moving a hand from your ass to pinch your clit, rolling the nub between her thumb and index. Your eyes roll to the back of your head from the friction against your sensitive clit.

Your toes curl as your thighs start to tremble, her mouth hot against your cunt with the rough pads of her fingers rubbing against your clit.

Your head spins as a new unfamiliar feeling of desire pulses through your cunt, realisation comes to you through your foggy thoughts “fuck- karlach I-I think m’gonna squ-“ your cut off as your eyes roll back and your mouth forms an ‘o’ shape.

You feel her lightly chuckle as your squirt soaks her mouth and drips down her neck.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC ~ Dead on main ~ Signs of Death

~~~Eye of Death~~~

Jason liked to think that Danny has cat's eyes. And by that Jay doesn't mean mixture of a predatory look and a cute purr of his boyfriend's core that comes with non-human being thing. Just cats have slit-shaped eyes. Danny have them too. And Todd is so into it.

Jason:

I don’t understand why he takes his eyes off me when I call him Kitty or try to catch his eye. He’s a dog lover but I didn’t think he hated cats. They’re cheeky and charming, just like him. Danny’s not embarrassed by his fangs or his white hair. So..why?

Later Sam explains to Jason that after the portal incident Danny did not immediately learn to live a half-life and for the first few days dropped dead several times.  And because she tested it using Ripault sign, the shape of his pupils ended up looking like cat's one in his phantom form.

P.S.Ripault sign - a sign of death consisting of a permanent change in the shape of the pupil produced by unilateral pressure on the eyeball.  So, a pupil  of a dead person acquires an oval shape, and in a healthy living person such a reaction is not observed. This is associated with the inevitable post-mortem drop in blood pressure and the lack of activity of the central nervous system, which manifests itself in the absence of ocular muscle tone.

Tacker adds that Danny also died with his eyes open, so in his Phantom form he barely blinks. It seems pretty creepy too everyone, well, except Jason. Thanks to Tim he used to have blank stare near him.

~~~~~~ the Lazarus heart ~~~~~~~

Team Phantom also tells him that when Danny's too focused on phantom's task (save, protect, escape) his systems just stop keeping Fenton's body alive.

No blinking and fixed pupils are the first signs Jason has learned to watch for. After that, breathing stops. Only a few times he recorded a complete cardiac arrest. After the battle with Pariah Dark, Danny passed out on the couch and lay without a heartbeat, so the blood clotted exactly where it had collected under gravity. Those cadaveric spots appeared in several places really frightened Jason. 

So during the fight his boyfriend's ghost side stops monitoring functions of his human body at all. And it doesn't help that cardiostimulation for Phantom is pointless. He died from exposure to electricity, so the generation of a signal to work the cells is now under full control of the core.

Jason fights with Danny for a long time, convincing him that he should take better care of his health. As a compromise, they decide to put several sensors on them to monitor some parameters around the clock. Jason curses that it was his idea when Batman enters their apartment at night, smashing the window. It turns out that death is still following Jason. His heart was the one that played the funeral march on the cardiogram and froze, and he didn’t even notice it.

The old man managed to break several of his ribs while doing CPR but Jason only came to life when Danny pulled the hyperventilating bat away from his body and let ectoplasm take its course.

P.S. Lazarus syndrome, also known as autoresuscitation after failed cardiopulmonary resuscitation, is the spontaneous return of a normal cardiac rhythm after failed attempts at resuscitation. 

[feyascorner]

2 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. While seeing him leaving tore you apart from the inside and out, he chose not to see you. He decided what the end of your relationship would be without ever stopping to ask you. You should hate him, truly.

But as soon as you swing open the door, you only have one dying wish.

You want to see him.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. and he finally makes an appearance;,; ik the first two chapters are a bit slow but i think i can start picking up the pace now woohoo!! Reader/Tav’s feelings are supposed to be confusing on purpose but I may have overdone it a tad,,

He hadn’t had time to gather any of his belongings when he left. And while your other companions graciously rid of everything they could into a single box packed away in the corner of the basement, even they could not bring themselves to throw the handheld mirror away–whether because of the intricate designs framing its reflection that surely held value or because of your apprehension for throwing it out, you’re not sure. You haven’t used it yourself, too afraid of even touching its handle out of fear it may crumble away.

One of the orphan children that Cora’s harboring places a cup in front of you. You raise a brow at her, silently asking how Cora’s doing, and she only shakes her head solemnly before scurrying away.

“Where were you at the time of the murder?”

“They’ve already said numerous times where they were,” Lae’zel spits in the Flaming Fist’s direction. “Are all Fists this incompetent, or are you just a special case?”

You run a hand down your face while Gale attempts to calm Lae’zel. Shadowheart’s had her eyes trained on the cups perched around the table for quite some time now, occasionally glancing up to listen to the Fist’s interrogation. Unfortunately, the cups lack their usual alcohol, but you don’t complain about the water with how dry your throat is. You pat her shoulder, and she finally meets your eyes, nodding before resuming her focus on whatever the Fist is saying. You’re not sure yourself at this point.

“As Flaming Fists, we must put the guilty in their rightful place, regardless of whether they’re the hero of Baldur’s Gate or not,” he straightens his back, then narrows his brows at you. “And right now, all witnesses point here. You were seen leaving the tavern with a man reported as missing this morning. Care to explain that?”

You can hear Gale’s chair scrape against the floor. “You can’t be serious. They saved the entire city, for Mystra’s sake! If they wanted bloody murder, they would've been positively drenched in blood by now.”

However, all you feel is the searing stares of your other companions, who remain blissfully unaware of the encounters of your previous night. But you can tell they’re not accusing you, unlike the Fist—they never would—but rather demanding an explanation. You sigh deeply. “I didn’t go home with him. We spoke for almost two minutes before I left.”

“And what proof do you have of that?”

“Considering I woke up in the Blushing Mermaid, I’m sure you can do a little questioning there to find some witnesses,” you stand, the chairs of your leg scratching against the tiled floors. “Are we done here? I need to go speak with Cora, because her husband just died."

“Sit,” he hisses, his fingers reaching for his weapon. “I won’t repeat myself.”

The air becomes tense in mere seconds. It'd been uncomfortable moments ago, but not as much as this—not enough to make Lae’zel reach for her sword as she’s doing now. Your eyes narrow warningly into slits at the Fist, but his subordinates only step forward to stand on either side of him as if daring you to take another step. From the corner of your peripheral, you can see Shadowheart’s palm spark with light. The others occupying the Highberry household, even from outside on the patio, are talking in hushed whispers, all gazes trained on your very breath. And after a suffocating silence, you hear a chuckle from the door.

“Now, Yevir, we shouldn’t be treating our city’s most esteemed citizens with such hostility.”

Grand Duke Ravengard–Wyll’s father–steps into the home, shaking his head. The Fists, who were willing to go head to head with you mere seconds ago, are now turned and saluting the Duke, which makes Lae’zel scoff at your side. “You lot are dismissed under my name. Though I do have a word to exchange with the bard.”

Former bard, you want to correct him.

Your companions exchange an apprehensive glance at one another before you step forward. “And what do I owe the pleasure of speaking with the Duke?”

“You jest. We are all allies here,” he smiles. “Come, we must speak privately.”

You grin wickedly at Yevir as Ravengard steps past you toward the office in one of the other rooms. Yevir only shoots knives with his eyes, and you return the sentiments by sticking out your tongue mockingly, which earns a snort from Shadowheart. Then you quickly follow after Ravengard, shutting the door behind you.

“Have you had any news from my son?” he asks, facing the window with two arms locked behind him.

“Karlach’s been sending a few letters. They’re limited, as you might expect, but they do come,” you say. “She says Wyll is doing alright. They both are.”

He lets out a breath that can’t be mistaken for anything but what it is: relief. “Good. Now, as for what went down between you and Yevir in the other room, I apologize on his behalf. He’s always been too passionate for his own good. Righteousness is admirable, but not when it blinds your judgment.”

“A lot of things can blind judgment. I don’t blame him.”

He turns to you, and despite the questioning gaze in his eyes, he ignores it. “I’m sure you’re well aware of what’s been occurring in the city—you recently received a first-hand experience.”

“So has half the people on the block, apparently.”

“I’m not talking about Cora’s husband.”

He reaches behind his back, pulling out a slim file and holding it to you. “The number of victims is increasing every day now.”

Flipping through the pages in the file, each one is etched with the murder scene of each victim. There’s one with a man haphazardly buried half in the ground, another with a woman collapsed next to the alleyway in Wyrm’s crossing, another of a man bleeding out in the fields of Rivington. You flip the pages again and again until you arrive at one you would’ve preferred to forget.

“Colin Hedgins,” Ravengard says. “Though most of the Fist, including Yuvir, is unaware, his body was found this morning.”

His silvery hair is stained with what you can only assume is blood. His face, which is stretched in horror, makes you wonder if maybe slitting his throat yourself would have given him a more peaceful leave to the afterlife. Not that he really deserved it. You swallow hard, shutting the file away. “So you think I killed him too?”

“No. In fact, I’m sure you didn’t.”

“Then why show me this? This is classified information, no?”

“Each one of these victims has one similarity aside from their brutal deaths,” he frowns. “The puncture wounds on their neck, and the fact that their bodies seem to be drained of blood.”

Your breath hitches. While you’d had your suspicions, surely not all of them could have been of vampires? With Orin and the Bhaal worshippers now defeated or retreated into the shadows, the city had gotten eons safer—this just felt like a slap to your face. One group of murderers after another, it seemed. Instead of replying, you stare at Ravengard with pursed lips, urging him to get to his point.

“Wyll has told me of your relations with the vampires,” he says, and it makes your teeth clench. “He was gone by the time I’d joined your camp, but Wyll tells me you had a vampire for a companion for most of your journey. Could he be involved in-”

“No.” The answer is fast. Almost instant. And while a part of you feels disgusted for defending him, even now, another part refuses to let you live while the city thinks of him as nothing but a bloodsucking monster. Even if everyone thought of him as one now. “He wouldn’t have.”

The worst part is that he fully could have, even if you don't want to believe it. Your mind flashes back to the way his hands had felt around your throat, and for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Ravengard’s expression softens, and you see it again. Pity. Gods, you’d do anything to never see that kind of face again. “I’m also aware that you two had an—-arrangement. One that involved more than just mere friendship. But you must know if we cannot catch the vampire spawns that are running rampant in our city, dozens if not hundreds of more people will die.”

You want to tell him that he should not search for sympathy in you. Because you were once a person willing to get rid of 7000 spawns for the sake of one lover, who only ended up trying to kill you. “He won’t talk to me anyway. I’m sure you also know he didn’t leave on good terms, seeing as you seem to know everything about my love life. I can’t help you.”

The words come out snappier than expected, but Ravengard doesn’t react like he expected this.

“I see,” he says. “Then perhaps you’ll at least be able to keep an eye out. And please, report to me.”

You don’t budge.

He takes it as a sign to leave and moves toward the door. “If you do change your mind, let me know.”

You want to tell him your future is not a matter of what you want. It’s what he wants, and he’s already chosen your fate.

“And is anyone else aware that an entire horde of vampire spawn is living under the city?” Shadowheart says in exasperation. “No wonder they think Astarion’s the one who did it. They think there aren’t any more vampires here anyway! With that many vampires, imagine what destruction they could bring if they miss a few meals!”

“Surely we can convince our sharp-toothed friends to lay low in the Underdark with the others for a while? We convinced half of them. I don’t see why we can’t convince the other,” Gale suggests.

“A warrior who seeks blood shall have blood,” Lae’zel hisses. “I see no reason for them to leave. If I’d been a spawn, I would stay behind a city full of cattle than return to a place of eternal darkness.”

Your head hurts. From continuously sleeping anywhere but the comforts of your bed or from what’s going on, you don’t know, and you don’t care. You just want a nice long bath to wash the dirt on your face and a hot meal to go along with it. Your companions continue arguing, and it’s times like these when you wish Wyll and Karlach were still traveling beside you—they were usually the diffusers of the group.

To an extent, you had been too. Not anymore, though. That was the least of your worries.

“Why must we fix Astarion’s mess in the first place?” Lae’zel adjusts the sword she’d been cleaning on her lap. “We are not dogs to do his bidding. And from what I recall, we have no longer relations with him.”

This finally urges you to speak, almost instinctively. “We have to help. That’s final.”

It's not often that you reinforce your power as the appointed "leader" of the group, preferring to incorporate their opinions rather than choosing all on your own. They all turn to you with a mixture of suspicion and mostly cringe from Lae’zel. Your face flares in response. “I’m just saying we can’t just let a bunch of innocent people die!”

“Of course,” Gale coughs.

You can feel yourself losing your composure, your palms feeling clammy. Still, you straighten your back. “Astarion has nothing to do with me either. I’m doing this for the city.”

“Right.”

You opt to just clear your throat. “I’ll talk to Petras. We’ll figure out a way for all of us to be happy.”

Lae’zel rolls her eyes, but Shadowheart only raises a brow. “And how exactly are you going to find Petras? It’s not like he has a mailbox or an address.”

“I’ll figure it out. Always do,” you smile, and her face softens. “In the meanwhile, I’ll have to rely on you guys to pick up my work for rebuilding the city so I can focus on tracking him down. I don’t think it’ll take too long—maybe a week or so.”

Gale’s face knits together in concern. “And you’re quite sure you won’t need any of us to accompany you?”

“They’re fully capable of taking care of themselves, wizard,” Lae’zel snaps. “Very well, then. We’ll await good news.”

Looking back on it, perhaps you did need the help.

Days upon days of searching, yet nothing. You’re sure you covered almost half the sewers at this point, and you’re not sure if you’re just insanely unlucky or the vampires just left while you’d been searching elsewhere.

But the number of deaths says otherwise. 

So you’d turned to a new approach. If you couldn’t find them, you’d let them find you.

The days stretch longer, with the city being in its summer season. And while you’re grateful, since it means vampires will have less time to hunt, you always despise the way this cloak is sticking to your skin and the hairs that seem glued to your cheeks with the hood stifling any hope of breathing freely. Still determined, you force your legs forward into the darkest alleyways you can find.

Though you’ve had a few fruitless days, pacing aimlessly throughout the city during the dead of night into early morning, a part of yourself keens at the moonlight draping over you tonight.

It had been on a night like this, one where the clouds make way for the moonglow to illuminate what lurks in the city during the night. Though at the time, instead of the comfortable bed in the house you and your companions managed to buy after scraping enough gold together, you were sleeping on a bedroll that did little to shield you from the rocks, doing nothing to even the ground below.

Back then, your companions were nothing but that—companions on a journey you hoped to end as quickly as possible to return to the taverns and bars of Baldur’s gate, where you would spend your nights singing the familiar tunes that your patrons enjoyed most. So after the camp celebration with the Tieflings, when Astarion led you to the forest clearing where you first felt skin other than your own, you realized this adventure of yours was more than just that. It was a new stepping stone in your life.

He’d held you close to him, offering you whispers of affection while his hands ran through your hair. He’d kissed you, his hands caressing either side of your cheek. He’d let you marvel at the scars on his back, his hands resting on your waist.

The same hands that wrapped around your throat months later. You can still feel them sometimes.

Despite your speech to Gale before Cora’s husband showed up dead, you weren’t sure how you would react if you ever saw your former lover again. On nights that weren’t plagued with nightmares, you stayed up, wondering if you’d cry. If you’d reach out for him, embracing him in a hug you never wanted to let go from. If you’d let him brush his knuckles on your cheeks, if you’d let him press a kiss to your forehead, if you’d let him love you again.

You weren’t sure. And a part of you—the part shoved deep inside the corners of your heart—wonders if never seeing him again was a blessing. That regardless of the ache in your heart now, never seeing him would save you from something worse.

So deeply lost in your thoughts, you barely notice the murky figure swinging a pipe at your head.

Nearly scathing the surface of a concussion, you dodge, but he’s too fast. Before you’ve even begun reaching for your knife, the figure swings you toward the wall, and you swear you can hear it crack as your back collides with it. Your vision only manages to straighten itself once the figure has you shoved onto the ground, either of their knees on the sides of your hip. 

Instinctively, your hand flies up to stab at their arm, but you’re no match. They twist your wrist, forcing you to drop the blade, and pins either of your arms to the ground. You can’t see anything but the glint of their fangs against the light.

You’d fought vampires before, and you had never seen one so fast. So aggressive. So primal. Astarion had entertained you with friendly spars, but you’d also fought Cazador to the death. Even he hadn’t been this fast.

“I just want to talk to Petras! I’m not going to hurt you, I–” Your pleas go deaf on their ears.

When you squint, you can finally see the blood staining their fangs, and you realize that they’ve already fed.

They’re fed, and they’re still hungry.

A fed vampire, is a strong one, you remember. And if you add their hunger on top of that...

Even as you try to yank yourself away, they only squeeze their grip harder, enough to cut off blood circulation. The color drains from your face, your expression almost fearful. No, it does scare you. It scares you that this is only a spawn, but they can still attack someone so ferociously. It scares you that Astarion could have done the exact same thing to you.

The spawn yanks your head to the side with a claw on your hair, allowing them access to your throat. You thrash and kick, but to no avail, forced to watch as they’re about to sink their teeth into you. You hate your mind because even at death’s door, all you can think about is him.

Is this what he would’ve done to you had your companions not been there to save you?

Is this what he wanted to do the day he first approached you, asking for your blood?

Anger burns in your chest, and with the last bit of your strength, you lift your head and bite them first. Your teeth sink into their throat, feeling the break of skin just before they rip you away, wailing in pain as you’re carelessly tossed to the ground. As they grasp at the wound on their neck, you take the opportunity to lunge for your knife.

You feel genuine rage for the first time in what feels like forever. No self-pity, no dejection, no sorrow for losing the man you’d given everything to, but rage for the state you were reduced to just because of him. And that while his leaving tore you apart from the inside and out, he chose not to see you. He decided what the end of your relationship would be without ever stopping to ask you.

You thrust the blade into their chest, and they stop. It’s no stake, but it’ll do for now. And as their throat gurgles with blood, all you can hear is the desperate panting of your own breath when their body falls to the ground, face first. 

You pray they’re dead.

Then, your vision in one eye blurs with red. When you lift your hand to your forehead, you feel the warm blood trailing down, probably from when you collided with the wall. The little strength left in your legs vanishes as you reel forward, your knees crashing onto the mud beside the spawn.

Though you thankfully manage to collapse on your back rather than your poor counterpart who’s probably choking on the dirt and grim of the city grounds even in death, you can feel your head going light, even as your hands tighten around the knife laying on your chest. You greet the moon again, this time with a breathy laugh.

Seluné must be smiling back at you, surely.

You’re not sure who’s standing above you when you open your eyes again, being only seconds away from entirely blacking out. But you think it must be an angel, with his snow-white curls and how he revels under the veil of the moon. You want to reach out to him, but your shaky arm says otherwise.

He’s beautiful, you think, even if you can’t make out his face.

You hope the angel doesn’t pity you.

Apparently, heaven is at Elfsong Tavern. You’d imagined being greeted with the smell of roses and a fresh stream rather than the overwhelming stench of booze, but you suppose it’s fitting considering how you’d died in a puddle of what you assume to be a concoction of cat piss and your own blood.

No, that can’t be right.

Looking around frantically, you lurch forward, the sweat and mud sticking your hair to your skin. Multiple pairs of eyes bore into you. You’re slumped in the tavern's kitchen, several Fist soldiers peering at you curiously. And finally, you manage to make out Shadowheart, whose hands are hovering over you with a gentle glow.

“Lay back down, I’m almost done,” she frowns.

You ignore her request. “The spawn! I’m not sure if they’re dead–”

“Never mind that,” she snaps. “They found you blacked out on the ground next to a dead body and a broken wall. What in bloody hell happened last night? Do you know how much it scared us when the damn Fists were banging at our door at 4:30 in the morning?”

Your head spins, and you clutch at your head. “Got ambushed. I tried to talk to them, but apparently, they just wanted a midnight snack.”

“Heavens above,” she breathes. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“No, I was so close, Shadowheart,” you shake your head frantically, smearing at the mud still plastered on your face. “I’ll be more prepared next time. If I manage to just capture one of the spawn alive, I could ask them where Petras is-”

There’s a loud yell from the hatch leading to the basement. Your head whips in its direction, then to Shadowheart, staring at her inquisitively.

She sighs, finally lowering her hands to her side. “Look, I need you to listen to me very closely. As your friend, I can’t have you losing your composure in front of the Duke downstairs. They’re in the hideout, but they’re also with–”

You hear Gale’s voice holler. “You’re the only one who knows them well enough, Astarion!”

Suddenly, your blood runs cold. While Shadowheart tries to keep you still, nothing can stop you as you yank the hatch open, sprinting downstairs. You run through the secret entrance to the hideout, your mind racing rapidly with words you can’t even decipher because they’re going by so fast. You want to hide away and barge into the room simultaneously, and the pounding of your head does nothing to help.

You're different now, you assure yourself. A part of you hates him for what he did, and you're willing to act on this hatred. You won't be passing out on the street, drunk on the pit of isolation he left behind, praying he'd appear from thin air and assure you things are fine. You're better now, and you did it all without his help.

But as soon as you swing open the door, you only have one dying wish.

You want to see him.

The room is cold–empty, except for three figures alongside two more guards standing at the door. Ravengard, standing at one end of the circular table, has his arms crossed, brows knitted together comprehensively. Gale, who had been pacing back and forth around the room, freezes instantly when he sees you. So does everyone else.

“Ah, and here comes the star of the show.” You haven’t heard his voice in so long. It almost feels foreign.

Standing between the other men on either side of the table, Astarion’s eyes bore into you, lips curled in a grin barely showing off his fanged teeth. When you lock eyes, yours grows wider as you take him in.

He looks almost the same. The same curly white hair, the same blood-red eyes, and the same smile that once brought you joy yet now only fueled the endless longing of your nightmares. While you expect yourself to feel anger, relief, or shock, all you feel is the rapid beating of your heart, your mind void of everything besides how uncomfortable the dried mud feels on your face. Your breath hitches as he lifts a finger to the side of his head. Only then do you also feel the warm liquid sliding down your cheek.

“You’re bleeding, darling.”

With the inevitable urge to barf up nothing from your empty stomach, you're back to being the same person as you were four months ago.

Tags: @ayselluna @littleenglishfangirl @bg3obsessedsideblog @iwillpissyourpants @cyberpr1m3 @ukeia-uchiha @snowlotr @road-riot @spacekidnova

[kittenintheden]

I Slit the Throat of Your Confidence

oh hi there did you guys order the Astari'zel hatesex (except not really but kind of but not really)? here that is for you. mind the tags please.

AO3 link for bookmarking

Rating: E Pairing: Astarion/Lae'zel Word Count: 5.5k Content: 18+, rough sex, fighting kink, blood play, blood drinking, blood kink, these bitches fight as foreplay, oral sex, fingerfucking, edging, orgasm denial, biting, scratching, reads like hatesex but is kind of more like respectsex, they're matching energy, BDSM themes

Lae’zel misses Créche K’liir. Desperately.

The gray, porous rock with its endless twining mess of hollows and caves was a young githyanki’s dream, ripe for guerilla warfare and games of Capture the Crest that inevitably turned to bloodshed. Many of the chambers were stained rusty brown from the generations before, and she’d added layers of her own in time.

Being terrestrial leaves much to be desired. It is not her first time among the istik and groundwalkers – she’d been on reconnaissance missions to the vast caverns under the place they call Waterdeep many times before. She’d been preparing for her first true test, her first scout command, when the ghaik vessel passed their asteroid by and pulled her and a handful of clutchmates into its web.

And now she is here, her fate as much as sealed if she’s to continue working with this blundering band of… adventurers. All of her advisement to abandon the ridiculous teethling – tiefling – weaklings and reach the nearest créche had fallen on ignorant ears. It is by sheer tenacity and the will of Vlaakith alone that they have not become that which she is duty-sworn to kill.

Instead, they are having a… party.

Lae’zel’s lip curls as she watches the others making merry and growing more intoxicated by the hour alongside a gaggle of their horned charges. Sparks fly through the air from one wizard or another, younglings lurk about undisciplined, and the choices for stress relief are sorely lacking. They all smell of alcohol and hope. She’lak and shka’keth.

She rolls her eyes and folds her arms, casting her judging eyes over those remaining reasonably in control of their faculties. There’s the human-turned-devil, who smells of soft history but well-worn struggle, as well. He’s a possibility, she supposes.

A glance to the side reveals her first companion, the one called Tav, deep in conversation and their cups with that sniping half-elf cleric of some terrestrial god. Lae’zel cares not for the details.

Another scent passes by her keen nose and she looks the other way, regarding its source. The dainty elf smells of blood and death, of course. He’d revealed his vampiric nature not but a few nights prior, and while she deeply mistrusts every silky word that drips from his wretched tongue, she can’t deny that he seems well-learned in the art of carnal pleasure. At least, he claims as much, but she’s seen the way he moves. She’s seen the way he hunts. His words may be hollow, but the body doesn’t lie.

The decision is made, then.

She approaches Astarion just as he takes a drink from his misbegotten bottle of wine. He pulls a face and glances her way.

“Oh, hello,” he says in that lilting, maddening way of his. “Decided to partake after all, rather than simply glowering from the shadows, have you?”

Lae’zel plants her feet shoulder-width apart and folds her arms, eyes tracking from his overwrought hair all the way down to his nimble feet and back again.

Astarion points at her from around the bottle and leans in. “This is the part where you respond with your words, darling.”

The scent overlaying the death note that lingers on him is pleasant enough, after all.

She jerks her chin his way. “I tire of this pathetic attempt at revelry. I suspect you do, as well.”

“There we go,” he says, the tip of a fang flashing past his lips as he gives a half smile. He takes another drink and pulls another face. “Ugh, you’re not wrong. Even the wine is terrible.”

He tosses it aside and seems entirely unbothered by the sound of shattering glass. When he turns back her way, he rubs his fingers together as he regards her before gesturing in her direction. “Was there something I could help you with in that regard or did you just come over here to stare unnervingly?”

Lae’zel takes a step closer, into his personal space, and he stiffens defensively, narrowing his eyes at her. “Your scent reminds me of home. Of wounds sustained in battle, of slain enemies scattered across the stone.”

Astarion gives her a long, slow blink. “Is this your idea of endearing small talk? Not that I’m complaining.”

“Ch’k.” She leans her weight onto her back foot. “I am informing you that I find you a reasonable choice for an evening of carnality.”

“Ah,” he says with a mirthless laugh, looking past her off into the distance. “Of course you do.” His usual bravado is curiously subdued, which she finds of interest.

“Are you not amicable?” she says. “I will take my interest elsewhere.”

She turns to do just that and pauses as he says, “Wait.”

He’s looking at her with hooded eyes, head tilted to one side. “I didn’t say I wasn’t interested,” he says, voice lower in timbre. “You caught me off-guard, is all. I didn’t think you cared for me much.”

“I don’t,” she responds. “I find your theatrics tedious and your fighting style chaotic. But you are nonetheless an appealing candidate for coitus, and that is my present interest.”

“How did I ever manage to lure in such a sweet-talker?” he drawls, sighing in exasperation. Then he cocks a brow. “But fine. I could do with a bit of fun, and the sort you’re proposing is of far more interest to me than anything I’ll find here.”

She nods, unsurprised, and says, “Good. Then meet me after the revelry has run its course. I shall be waiting at the ruins nearby.”

Lae’zel walks away without waiting for his response. Behind her, she hears him say, “See you later, then. Lover.”

“Do not call me that,” she says without turning.

***

She paces the length of the ruins, hands clasped behind her back. There’s no nerviness to her gait, no tension in her shoulders. The vampire will come to her, or he will not. Those are the only possibilities, and whichever outcome occurs, she will deal with the fallout. Fretting over what could be makes a warrior weak. There is only the now.

Astarion makes himself known with a gentle clearing of the throat and she whirls to regard him. His approach was nigh-silent, but that’s hardly a surprise.

He leans with an arm on a pillar, one foot crossed casually over the other, but his relaxed posture does not fool her. Lae’zel know how quickly he can move.

“You came,” she says, allowing the slightest smile. “Good.”

He flicks his hand at her as she approaches. “How could I possibly turn down an invitation as intriguing as ‘meet the deadly extraplanar girl in the abandoned ruins so she can either come on me or kill me.’” He leans in and gives her a smirk. “Maybe she’ll do both.”

Lae’zel scoffs, circling him with her hands still behind her back. “Remove your clothes, istik. I will allow you the honor of pleasing me at my direction. If I deem you worthy, I may offer pleasure in return.”

Astarion gives a sharp laugh and pushes off the pillar, facing her. “No, no, no. I don’t think so. You came to me, darling. And why is that?”

She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Have I been unclear as to the nature of this meeting?” she says. She honestly hadn’t thought the man a complete idiot, but even she can make a mistake.

“Oh, no, you were very clear.” Astarion steps closer, his head moving from one side to the other as he regards her like a predator would. It raises her hackles. “What I’d like to know is why you seem so certain I’ll be the one taking orders. You’re the one with a…” He trails his gaze from her face down the length of her toned torso and back up. “... need.”

Lae’zel does not cower. She does not suffer weaklings. And she does not back down from a challenge.

Her hand spreads wide on his chest and she effortlessly forces him back until he’s pressed up against the pillar he started from. To his credit, he doesn’t gasp, nor do his eyes go wide with fear. Instead, his expression remains amused. Interested.

“I do not submit to inferiors,” she growls.

“So why…” He raises one eyebrow. “... did you come…” His grin widens, exposing his fangs. “... to my tent?”

Despite herself, Lae’zel feels her gaze fall to his mouth, all pale lips and sharp teeth. Her eyes flick back up to meet his.

“I thought you a worthy adversary,” she admits at last.

“Ah,” he whispers. “There it is.”

Then he shoves off the pillar with strength that surprises her and crushes his mouth to hers, putting her just enough off balance to stagger back a step. He takes the second of advantage to fist his long fingers in the back of her hair and hook his leg behind hers.

Lae’zel’s heart thrums at the promise of a fight.

He’s fast. But she is gith.

With practiced skill, she counterbalances herself to thwart his attempt to sweep her leg. He meets resistance and overcorrects, and that’s her opening. She twists her arm up under his and uses the momentum to spin him around so she can get him in a modified headlock. From behind, she leans in close to his ear.

“As I said,” she hisses softly. “I do not submit to inferiors. So show me you are not one.”

Without so much as a sardonic quip, he stomps on her insole with his full weight and bites her arm at the same time. Lae’zel is not often surprised, but the absolute audacity of the move throws her long enough for him to twist free. When he turns to look at her from several feet away, he smirks and goes to wipe the small smear of blood from the corner of his mouth.

“Chaotic enough for you?” he teases.

In response, she surges forward, moving like liquid mercury, and fakes him out with a right hook to block while she brings her left hand up to cuff him squarely under the chin.

“Bleeding hells,” he swears as he stumbles back, fingers going to his jaw. There’s a flash of fury on his face, of spite and vengeance. Then it’s gone, replaced by a calculating look. His lip curls back, showing teeth, and his pupils dilate. He moves to circle her and she responds by moving in the opposite direction, keeping their same distance. Astarion’s fingers clench and flex, clench and flex.

“Gloves off, then,” he says, voice low and breathy.

She raises her hands in a ready stance, welcoming an attack. “I never said they were on.”

A thin trail of blood drips down her arm from the bite. Astarion’s eyes snap to it and his mouth twitches as if he’s preparing to bite again, teeth peeking. He tenses to pounce and looks her in the face again.

“If you want blood,” she says warningly. “You must take it from me. If you can.”

That’s all he needs in the way of permission, if that’s in fact what he sought. Astarion springs forward like a tightened coil, using what little he has on her by way of body weight to catch her around the middle and send her staggering back. Again, he goes to hook her ankle and send her off balance, and again she adjusts to match him. Just as she raises her elbows to bring them down squarely in the center of his back, he releases her unexpectedly and steps around behind, turning with the grace and speed of a trained dancer.

He brings up his foot and kicks, connecting with the small of her back using all the leverage he has to shove her forward. This time, he actually manages it. For one solitary second, she loses her footing, and then he is on her from behind, looping an arm through both of her elbows and pulling them back so her sternum arches out sharply. She hisses from the strain in her shoulders.

And before she can regain the upper hand, he sinks his teeth into the side of her neck. It is an icy sting, foreign and sharp, and her warrior’s instinct immediately looses a battle cry that echoes throughout her ribcage. She cannot fall. She will not fall.

Astarion manages to get a few healthy pulls from her before she wrenches herself away, hand going to the wound he left there. It comes away bloodied and she raises her gaze to his face.

He looks like a creature possessed. The carefully crafted hair he maintains much to her disdain is falling from its coif and his mouth and chin are smeared with her gore. His tongue licks at his scarlet-stained teeth and he grins, feral, shoulders hunched forward and pupils blown out so wide she can scarcely see the irises of his eyes. When he moves, he jitters, jerky and unnatural. Nothing like the smooth flow of his usual airs.

A lesser woman would be terrified.

Lae’zel is not a lesser woman.

When he comes at her again, she drops, rolling onto her rear and back and using his own momentum against him. She takes him by the shoulders and continues to yank him up over her head, following after until she can push herself over top of him, pressing her thigh firmly between his legs. He makes a noise up at her from the stone floor, a trilling, growling sort of purr.

She silences him with her mouth over his, tongue running over his mouth before dipping inside and tasting the cosmic metal of her own blood on him. When she pulls back, her face matches his.

“Nasty thing,” Astarion says. “This is what gets you going, hm?”

He flexes his thigh, trapped between her own, and she feels the first teasing tingle of pleasure pull at her core.

Lae’zel laughs, heady with violence. “You think me affected, istik?” Quick as a heartbeat, she snakes her hand down between his legs and he chokes off a gasp as she firmly grips his cock through his clothes, the length of him gone fully hard against his leg. Her hold is strong, just barely on the right side of painful, and she feels a pulse go through him. “I have never seen a groundwalker so aroused by the promise of blood. Are you as excited at the prospect of pain?”

With that, she grabs the split of his shirt with her free hand and tears it open, the fabric splitting with a satisfying rip. He cries out in indignation, then again when she sinks her own teeth into the flesh of his chest. When she’s satisfied, she sits up, then stands and backs away from him, leaving him staring at the fresh bite on his skin with an expression of shock and interest.

He glares at her and pushes himself up to standing, his erection now very clearly visible through his fitted trousers. A flap of his torn shirt flutters in the slight breeze moving through the space and he flicks at it.

“I just found this shirt,” he growls. “Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find something out here that doesn’t look like it’s been through six generations of peasantry?”

She grins back at him, swaying from foot to foot. “And what are you going to do about it?”

He pulls the shirt loose from where it’s tucked and shucks it off, using it to wipe the worst of the mess from his face before tossing it aside. His skin is like marble in the moonlight, pale and solid stretched over the muscle beneath.

“I’d run, were I you,” he says.

“I do not run,” she answers.

Astarion springs and they lock arms again. It is a battle of speed versus strength, cunning versus training. Every time she gets the upper hand, he finds a way to free himself and get her back in turn. Round and round they go, bruises and bites, tongue and touch.

When he next gets her on her back, his forearm presses her to the ground just below her windpipe. He does not throttle her, but he’s making it clear that he could. Instead, his lips soften slightly, pulling over his bared teeth, and he appraises her face. She writhes and wraps both legs around his waist, intending to flip him, but he has his full weight across her torso and one of her arms pinned to the stones.

“Will you relent?” he says, tilting his head to one side and sounding for all the world as if he’s asking to kiss her.

“I will not,” she pants, writhing again. “You do not have me yet.”

“Hm,” he hums, eyes roving over her face once more. “Then I’ll consider this an opportunity.”

“An opportunity to wh-” she starts.

Astarion grinds himself into the cradle of her hips, hard. She feels the rigid length of him roll along the crux of her legs and her eyes shutter closed.

“She likes that, I think,” Astarion purrs.

He does it again.

“A break, perhaps?” His own voice is starting to go reedy. “Exchange pain for a bit of pleasure?”

“I will…” She pulls in a shaking breath, warmth blooming in her center, pulsing with a fierce edge of adrenaline. “... allow it.”

He rolls off her instantly, going to his back beside her, and begins wrestling with his own fastenings, nearly clumsy in his desperation to remove his remaining clothing. Lae’zel follows suit, albeit more efficiently. Her clothing and underthings are unfussy, made for utility far more than form. Astarion’s only just kicking off his bottoms when she climbs atop him, straddling his torso with her powerful thighs on either side and holding herself up out of his immediate reach.

She jerks her head down at him. “You wish to show me you are worthy of my gifts?” she says. “Then give me your hand.”

Astarion narrows his eyes at her, mistrustful, but he does as she asks, holding up a hand. Lae’zel accepts it.

“Good,” she says. “Now pay attention.”

Then she moves both of their hands between her legs, manipulating his fingers as she’d like them.

“I assume I am your first githyanki,” she breathes as his fingers brush her sensitive places. “I will only teach this once.”

She takes his middle finger and touches it to a tender place to one side of her slit. “Here.” She moves it across to mirror a spot on the other side. “Here.” Then she takes his thumb and places the pad over the spot at the front, a harder ridge that would normally be a hood on a softer species. “And here.”

He continues to watch her, his tongue peeking out to lick his lip.

“This is called kalach’ra k’rel vah, the points of the star,” she says. “Skilled lovers can hit all three at once and ah-”

“Like this?” Astarion lilts as he instantly relocates all three points and presses them hard with the tips of his fingers. “Or perhaps this?” He twists his wrist and brushes over the hot spots in a sweeping motion.

“Ah,” Lae’zel says again, radiant pleasure expanding deep in her belly. She tips forward and grips his biceps for support.

“Am I doing it right?”

Now he’s teasing her and she does not approve but oh Vlaakith'ka sivim hrath krash'ht if his detestable lockpicking habit isn’t working out in her favor at exactly this moment.

“Stay your fool tongue,” Lae’zel gasps, arching into his touch and canting her hips in time with him. A tingle twines up her spine like a serpent.

“Is that really what you want?” he says as he tilts his head back and curls his tongue out past his teeth in an obscene show.

“Ch’k,” she breathes. Loathe as she is to give so much as an inch, she cannot deny that she’d dearly love to shut him up. She pulls his face to hers, taking that wretched tongue against her own. The kiss is fierce and deep, leaving both of their lips cut from it.

Lae’zel wraps a hand around the back of his head and yanks it to one side, her face going to his neck. She inhales deeply, sweat and blood and death and life and fight. Then she runs her tongue along the vein climbing the column of his throat and keeps going along the edge of his ear.

Beneath her, Astarion bucks hard enough that she feels the head of his cock strike her thigh. A long groan sounds from deep in his chest and he twists, mouth pressed to her neck, and the wet heat of his tongue is stroking up to the place near her jaw.

She pulls back to place another bruising kiss on his mouth. When she pulls him back by the hair, she says, “As you were.”

He curls his lip at her in a snarl, but dutifully returns his hand to its work between her legs. Lae’zel lolls back and rolls against him as he plays her like gith are all he knows.

After a moment or two of blissful, bone-deep, aching pleasure in near silence, Astarion breaks it again.

“Anything else?” He tries to sound bored, but the winded words don’t fool her. His arousal must be growing unbearable.

Lae’zel rises and falls against him, trying to get the friction she needs. “Inside,” she breathes. “Partway up, softer than the rest.”

Without another word, Astarion slides two fingers across her and inside, exploring but a moment before he finds the place she indicated.

Lae’zel howls to the sky through the broken ceiling, praising the stars in Vlaakith’s name for the boiling knot of tension that will feel better than githyanki silver at release, better than the eternity of the Astral Plane, better even than riding a dragon-

Astarion pulls his hand away and lays back.

Her howl turns to one of rage as her head whips down to meet his knowing smirk. Even as his own breaths become shallow with need, he teases.

“Can’t let you have all the fun,” he says, examining the hand that had just been giving her such ecstasy. He glances back up. “I just wanted you to know that I’m capable, should you like to, oh, I don’t know…” He waves his hand through the air. “Admit that I’m not an inferior.”

The tempest behind Lae’zel’s eyes flickers in warning. Then she does the most terrifying thing she ever does – she smiles.

She’s off him in an instant and Astarion sits up on his elbows to watch, trying to figure out her next move. By the time he does, her face is already dangerously close to his cock and he’s having a sudden avalanche of regrets about certain previous choices.

“Ah, ah, I like that where it is very much,” he chides nervously.

Lae’zel holds his eye and continues lowering herself.

Astarion tenses. “Seriously, watch the teeth, watch the teeth the teeth the-”

Then she takes him down deep, mouth and tongue sliding over his length, and Astarion fully understands that githyanki tongues are uniquely textured.

“-the tee- oh.” One of his eyes twitches a bit as his expression goes slack in pleasant surprise. “Oh, that’s very… mmmn.” He collapses onto his back. “Okay.”

Lae’zel is honestly tempted to bring teeth into the mix anyway simply to teach him his place, but even she must begrudgingly admit that the elegant arch of an elf losing himself to the pleasure of her mouth is an alluring sight. His chest twitches as it rises and falls with his breath, his head thrown back and brows furrowed as if in concentration, lips pulled back to reveal the tips of his teeth.

Alluring, indeed.

“That shouldn’t be allowed,” he grits out, cracking his eyes open once more to peer down at her.

She nearly pulls off him for his ignorance, but instead she moves her tongue back, firms the tip, and runs it around the entirety of his glans. That’s always the most sensitive part for gith, and if the anatomy translates…

Astarion arches his back clean off the ground and snarls out a curse.

Lae’zel truly thinks she has him right where she wants him. Up until he sits back up on his elbow, tents his knee, and tangles his fingers into the back of her hair, an inferno in his eyes as he smolders down at her. Slowly, he thrusts into her mouth deeper, testing the water to determine whether she can take it.

She meets the intensity in his gaze and pushes herself still farther.

She never backs down from a challenge.

His fingers twist tighter in her hair and his hips begin to snap harder, fucking her mouth until he’s hitting the root of her tongue, then the back of her throat. Githyanki do have a gag reflex, but Lae’zel has trained to suppress hers for any number of applicable reasons. Perhaps she did not originally intend this one, but it applies nonetheless.

“Shit,” the elf spits, eyes falling shut as he continues to thrust, hand holding her in place as he does. “Gods, that’s not fair.”

Fair. As if anything about this union has ever been about what’s fair.

She’ll remind him.

His toned thigh flexes as he continues to leverage himself in a steady pumping rhythm that would not under any circumstances be considered gentle. He pants out his breath as the force of it leaves trails of her saliva trailing down. There’s not enough time or relief between thrusts for her to swallow. His loss, that.

When she’s decided she’s had enough of his antics, she puts her palms on his hipbones and pins him to the ground. He bucks against her in vain. Not as weak as she initially anticipated, especially not in his legs, but her muscles are corded steel. He groans out his frustration.

She pulls up and off of him unhurriedly, raising her head until she can look down upon him. His breath huffs angrily as he glares from beneath his furrowed brow, the tips of his elven ears flushed with borrowed blood and his cock shiny and slick from her mouth.

“Surely you did not expect to finish so easily,” she says, her words slightly raspier than they were. “Not while I’m left wanting. That is not why we came here, k’chaki.”

“No,” he says lowly as he pushes himself up to sitting so he’s at level with her. “We came here for a godsdamned fuck.”

He shoves her back and she goes, caught off guard for once. He crawls over her as she flips herself onto her belly, set to push back. Astarion slams one hand down over one of her wrists, and the other hand down over the other, and grips them both tight, laying his full weight over her.

She hears the shiver in his voice as he leans close and says, “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this.”

Lae’zel rolls her hips and draws up her legs to spread herself for him.

“As you were,” she whispers.

A low sound rumbles through Astarion’s chest as he grips her hips tight and presses himself into her. They combine in a way that is at once familiar and alien. It leaves them both crying out.

Lae’zel feels the prick of Astarion’s nails deep in the skin of her thighs. She wraps both hands around his forearms and digs her sharpened nails into him in kind.

His hips snap, thrusting into her hard and fast. Lae’zel drowns in sensation, of his cock stroking in and out, of his heated breath against her neck, of the scent of all that grounds her all around. With a surprising amount of awkwardness given his typical precision, Astarion fumbles a hand around to the front of her and attempts to find the places on her body she’d shown him before. It takes him a moment, but he manages, leaning heavily over her as they move.

Lae’zel’s mind blanks in bliss, the warming wave of first pleasure sweeping over her as he continues to move. She moans through it, a string of githyanki praises and blessings spilling past her lips.

Above her, Astarion’s breathing is labored. “Hells below, did you?” he gasps. “Tell me you did.”

With one more slight moan, Lae’zel pushes herself up, her back against his chest and forces him back as he bites back a curse. He pulls out of her and she turns, the movement lazy, and leans in to grip his jaw with one hand and pay him another kiss.

When they break, she says, “I have reached the cliff. The edge is near.”

“The fuck does that mean?” Astarion huffs in exasperation. His curls are flat now, falling around his face damp with sweat.

Lae’zel grins and pulls him to standing, putting both hands on his chest and backing him up to the nearest wall. She lays her body across him fully, letting the skin-to-skin contact send echoes of pleasure over her. This is the euphoric state, the one just before clarity. It is the only time she would dare let a soul call her “cuddly” and not immediately suffer an ignoble death.

She runs her tongue over his chest and peers up into his face. “It means that this…” she reaches a hand between them to take his cock in hand and hears his sharp intake of breath. “... feels almost as good for me as it does you, until the heat comes.”

“Again,” Astarion says with a slight wheeze. “What the fuck does that mean?”

In response, Lae’zel begins pumping him with long, firm strokes that make his eyes go half-lidded.

“I mean,” he slurs. “I’d had other plans, but I can live… with this…”

She leans in close. “It is temporary.”

“Don’t care what that means anymore,” he murmurs as she works him.

He arches against the wall and breathes oh-oh. Lae’zel can feel the heat, her heat, rising off his skin. The muscles underneath. The way everything twitches as he gets nearer and nearer. Her eyes watch his face, marveling. These terrestrial races, they are so strange, and somehow so beautiful.

Deep in her core, the cinders flicker back to life and Lae’zel’s initial pre-orgasm high falls to flame as her arousal comes back like a roaring bonfire. It’s so overpowering that she nearly misses the telltale signs that Astarion’s almost done for. His brow is pinched and fluttering moans keep escaping past his lips. She feels a swelling beneath her touch.

And she stops and steps back.

“No!” Astarion groans out his disappointment. “Gods damn it, no, I was right there.”

She grips him by the jaw and makes him look at her. His glare could melt metal.

“Has your edge returned to you?” Lae’zel says.

“You might bloody well say that,” he snarls.

She puts her hands on his shoulders. “Then use it.”

With an animalistic growl, Astarion puts his hands on the backs of her thighs and she jumps to wrap her legs around his waist. He whirls them both and slams her against the wall, its cold stone cooling her overheated skin and its rough surface keeping her present. There’s a few seconds more of adjustment before he pushes back inside her, effectively pinning her to the wall with his hips as he grabs her wrists and presses them into the stone above her head.

As soon as he gets the balance right, he begins fucking into her without additional thought, hips grinding together tightly. Lae’zel shuts her eyes and grins as the force of it appeases the desire inside her, feeding the fire until it grows, and grows, and–

She doesn’t even hear the cry that escapes her lips as the light inside her bursts, its luminance igniting every cell. The world around her rings, all other noise coming to her as if underwater.

When she finally comes down enough to hear again, Astarion is saying something to her.

“What?” she manages.

He presses his mouth right up against her ear, continuing to pump into her. “I said…” Thrust. “... is it all right…” Thrust. “... to finish…” Thrust. “... inside?”

Lae’zel’s laugh is high-pitched. Delirious. “Yes, fool, you may come inside.”

“Fucking finally,” Astarion groans.

His thrusts go slow as his body tenses against her. Then he leans his full weight against her and the wall with a stuttering cry as, she assumes, he comes his entire soul out.

Afterward, they’re reclining nude on the nearby blanket catching their breath. Lae’zel glances his way.

“Are you actually required to ask permission to, ah. Complete inside someone?” she asks.

Astarion gives her an incredibly put-upon look. “I asked because it’s polite, you weird arsehole.” He winces as he rolls his shoulder, poking at a new bruise. “One of us could try to bring a little decorum.”

She smirks and looks out the ruined archway. “You were most enthusiastic tonight,” she says.

“Well.” He lays back on one of the folded up blankets. “Not every day you encounter someone open to certain, you know. Proclivities.”

Lae’zel nods. “I may have use for you again in the future.”

Astarion gives a sharp laugh to the night sky.

[iliketangerines]

hii it's the anon whom requested the cat!hybrid reader from last time :p

since it was hybrid reader, maybe hybrid Shang Tsung as well? specifically, he's half snake now after a failed potion (or spell, whichever works) and he just breeds his gf reader? maybe also with a little bit of obsessed shang tsung bc I have some thoughts after reading that obsessed shang tsung fic..

take ur time with this, prolly ain't gonna be my last time requesting (and sorry if I'm requesting Shang Tsung a lot it's just that he's lacking fanfics 😞 I have some very inappropriate thoughts abt him that I need to share)

wrapped around him

a/n: writing this, i feel like my writing style has changed since i've come back

pairing: snake hybrid!shang tsung x afab!reader

warnings: nsfw (MDNI), pussy eating, breeding kink, not proofread

Shang Tsung observed the snake tail slithering behind him, a beautiful shade of yellow mottled with some darker parts, and he tilted his head at his newfound appendage

he had drank a botched potion, thinking that it would work, and he was in agonizing pain as he felt his bones rearrange and his flesh meld and stretch

but then the ache had finally faded away, and Shang Tsung could properly admire his newfound addition

it was beautiful, elegant, almost terrifying, and the sorcerer wondered what other changed to his body that the potion had made

he slithered over to the mirror nearby, which had taken an embarrassingly long time with how he had to retrain his muscles to slither rather than walk

but it was worth it as he looked at his body, looking at how his face had changed

his arms had remained unchanged, but on his face…two new slits were now on his face, one on each side of his face that extended from the edge of his mouth to the edge of his face

his eyes were no longer pupils but slitted, like a snakes, and Shang Tsung opened his mouth, finding his fangs much longer than he remembered

but, Shang Tsung opened his mouth even more, and well, his mouth horrifyingly opened even larger, almost like his jaw had come off its hinge

he could see in the periphery how longer fangs popped out from the top of his mouth and sprayed a clear liquid, and then Shang Tsung closed his mouth to a normal amount to observe his tongue

it was forked, but he found he could smell much more if he stuck his tongue out into the air

an odd change, but not an unwelcome one…yet

Shang Tsung crossed his arms, drumming his fingers against his arm as he thought of the cons and pros of the entire situation

he wouldn’t be able to go out in public like this and gather his materials, but he felt stronger, faster, energetic

he supposed he would have to go back to his old ways of finding his materials in the forest, but then again, working with Sindel meant having to appear in court

he would have to transform back soon: he was due for a meeting with the Empress sometime next month

slithering back to the potions table, he’s struck with the thought of you, somewhere upstairs sleeping on the bed or sitting at the table and reading

how would you take his new transformation?

and suddenly Shang Tsung felt nervous

he valued your opinion, one of the few that he did, and he was devoted to you as you were devoted to him

he supposed you would have to his transformed state at some point, and if you would accept his changed body, he was sure

struggling to slither up the stairs, Shang Tsung found you absent from the living room, and so he figured you were still laying in bed, perhaps reading an ancient scroll

he made his way to the bedroom door and opened it slowly, and there you were, sitting on the bed with a cup of something and a scroll he had found for you to translate

you look up at the door with a glare before you realize it’s Shang Tsung, a smile coming over your face as you ask him if he was done for the day

he blinks and not quite, before swinging the door open to show his predicament

your eyes widen in surprise before you start laughing, full on slamming your fist in the sheets and nearly spilling your drink in your other hand

Shang Tsung scowls at your amusement, but it was a bit amusing considering how he was supposed to be a talented sorcerer and still managed to muck up a potion

eventually, your laughs die down into giggle, and you finally step out of the bed, revealing the soft expanse of your legs

you walk over to him, peeking over his shoulder to observe the rest of his tail, and you touch his torso where the skin and the scales blend together, sending a shiver up Shang Tsung’s spine

your observations are slow and deliberate as you walk up and down the length of his tail to observe the length and the pattern and the color

after a while, you stand in front of Shang Tsung, and you tell him the look suits him

the sorcerer chuckles and says for you not to get used to it because he would have to change back soon enough to meet with the court

you pout at him playfully before shrugging your shoulders and crawling back into bed and beckoning him to lay underneath the warm sheets and sun with you

he obliges and curls up around you, his tail wrapping around the two of you as you translated the ancient scroll in your hand and sipped on your morning drink

he would be rid of his tail soon enough, so he might as well enjoy it

well, that’s what Shang Tsung thought except no matter how many times he brewed the potion, it bubbled and fell flat or bubbled over and caused a mess in the labs

even worse, he couldn’t focus on his work, the scent in the air pervading his sense and something raging building up inside of his body

it was hot and heady and something he had ignored for the better part of two weeks, but he really couldn’t manage this building feeling in his body

he slithered out of the lab and up the stairs, hissing in anger, something else that he couldn’t control about his body

he hated this feeling of the loss of control, where he couldn’t even control his damn body

Shang Tsung perks up as his tongue flicks out, tasting you in the air, and he moves as silently as he can toward the door and cracks it open

you’re not doing anything in particular, just catching up on some light reading for you, some books on translations and ancient languages

and yet, you look so enticing, the sun glinting off your hair and shining on all the right parts of your skin and god you smell so tasty right now on his tongue-

you look up from your book, seemingly able to sense his staring, and you close it, placing a bookmark in gently and placing it on the bedside table

he opens the door fully and makes his way over to you, tongue flicking out over and over again because he can’t get enough of your smell

you question if everything was okay, but he can’t seem to hear you over the buzzing in his head and how beautiful you look right now and how you would taste on his heightened senses

Shang Tsung leans down, breathing in your scent from your neck, and his tongue darts out to lick the soft skin

he moans, licking at the slight sheen of sweat you have on your skin, and you tangle your hand in his hair as you laugh and ask if he’s just feeling a little needy

the sorcerer pulls back, and you realize something’s a little off, his pupils are so wide right now and staring right at you and his grip on your shoulders are tightening

he collides his body into yours before you can even think, and he’s tearing off your clothes and ripping off his and his mouth is on yours, nearly devouring you whole

it consumes him, this sudden lust for you, and he needs you, needs to taste you, to fuck you and secure a future

never had he ever thought of something like this, perhaps he had wondered about having a family when young, but almost never again as an adult

right now, his entire body was obsessed with breeding you, seeing you round with his children and to secure his heirs and his future

he presses hurried kisses into your neck, panting like a wild animal, and he can’t stop moaning into your skin as he trails further and further down

it’s an addicting taste, but he wants a slice of your sweetest part

his tail has somehow found time to wrap around your waist, squeezing you tight, and his hands spread your thighs for him, showing off just how soaked you were for him

he can see your slick dripping onto the sheets and dives down, not wanting to waste another drop, tongue lapping furiously at your pussy

it buries in deep, prodding at the deepest parts of you, and you can’t help but let out a cry as he fucks you on his tongue, especially as it bumps against that one spot

Shang Tsung can hear your cries, your whimpers of pleasure, and by the gods, he wants more, needs to hear you crying out his name, that you belong to him

somehow, his hands spread your legs even further, and he shoves his face into your pussy, nose firmly grinding against your sensitive clit

it makes pleasure move up your spine and coil in your head, filling it with a haze, and you whine out his name, moving your hips on his face as you chase your release

you can feel it coming, with the way the pleasure builds higher and higher, and SHang Tsung knows too with the way your hips buck and legs twitch

he wants it too, and his fingers dig bruises into your soft skin as he doubles his efforts, barely breathing as he thrusts his tongue ever further into you

humming against your clit, Shang Tsung is looking for your release, and you let out a cry, pussy clenching down on his tongue and head thrown back as you cum on his face

Shang Tsung’s closes his eyes and moans at the taste of you flooding his tongue, and he laps at you, trying to get every single drop, determined to not let it go to waste

your hips are still grinding on his nose, and you hands are gripping onto the sheets desperately as you ride out the last vestiges of your orgasm

finally, you open your eyes and find Shang Tsung’s face hovering over you, staring at you with those slitted eyes of his and grinding his cock into your wet cunt

his cock, cocks?

Shang Tsung all but purrs as he leans in close to your ear and whispers in his smug voice that his body can now accommodate for two

and with that, he pushes in slowly, and you whine loudly, hands flying up from the sheets to grab onto his shoulders and dig your nails into his muscle

but he doesn’t seem to mind, watching how your chest rises and falls rapidly and how your face scrunches up in both pleasure and pain

his mouth presses against yours, catching every little sound you make for him, and one of his hands go down to rub at your clit

it helps you relax, and Shang Tsung pushes a little further, letting out a breathy groan into your mouth as he finally bottoms out

you’ve never felt so full, so fucked-out and stretched, but it’s pleasureable, the way the sting burns around the edges and mixes with the pleasure

you beg him, please, please move, you need him to fuck you

Shang Tsung gladly does so, moving his hips slowly at first and then quickening his pace until it’s the wet squelch of your pussy in the air

he has to breed you, needs it carnally, has to fuck his cum into you, and it’s all Shang Tsung can think about as his instincts kick in

it’s almost feral how he fucks into you, hand rubbing fast little circles onto your clit as he fucks you on his cocks, and you let out a cry as you cum, still sensitive from your previous one

but he doesn’t slow down, or mock you, or tease you, rather he just continues with his animalistic grunts, teeth gleaming in the sun’s beams and eyes so black you’re not sure if there’s even an iris

all too quickly, another orgasm rises up in you, and Shang Tsung pushes you over the edge over and over again, filling your senses with him and only him

the pleasure and pain stings together, and you start to cry, tears falling down your cheeks

Shang Tsung licks them up, smiling at how you’re crying, and it only spurs him on for his tail to raise up your waist so his cocks hits a different angle inside of you

it makes you see stars and moan out his name as you clench down on him and squirt, the liquid coating his torso and his skin and dripping down onto the sheets

but it’s what Shang Tsung needs as he finally groans deep and cums inside of you, thrusts sloppy and slowing as he fucks his seed into you

his hips never stop, only moving much slow than before as he watches for any singular spilled drop from your pussy

and then finally, he buries himself deep to keep you plugged with his seed, and he loosens his grip on your waist to wrap his entire tail around the two of you as he drifts off to sleep

he has a protective grip on you, head buried into your hair, and you can’t find yourself holding onto consciousness much longer either as you fall asleep as well

Shang Tsung finds the cure a few days later, and then a few months later in the forsaken island as he accrues his powers, he finds that you’re pregnant

he almost hopes that they’re half-snake

[muscle-red]

* ꒰ HIS HIGHNESS ꒱ •

* Warnings: amab body, Draconia reader, Reader’s Point of View, Reader kinda an OC, unprotected sex, chest play, overstimulation, blowjobs, edging, cum swallowing, Lilia’s a bottom, General Lilia mentioned.

*Word Count: 931

┆ Lilia Vanrouge x Male Draconia Reader ┆

+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Pale as a porcelain doll, Hair as dark as night, Eyes that shine brighter than any ruby. That was the beauty of Lilia Vanrouge.

Here was the fearless General of Briar Valley. Lying down, tied up, ready to take his king’s order.

His Cock was hard and pulsing. It clashed between the two male’s stomach’s. He could’ve easily broken the Ties that Are around his Wrists and eyes already but the thought of This turned him on tremendously as shown between his obvious arousal. The second he felt the tip in, he couldn’t help but Break out in a moan. His whole body twitched in pleasure as his Hole tighten around the length of the cock opening up his insides.

“I- H-Hold on a second! Ngh~ ahh Too fast!”

His eyes rolled back and he couldn’t help but close his eyes within his bind in bliss.

He was always stuck onto one (or two) person and too busy with the war to pleasure himself much less engage in sexual activities so all of this was new to him and his body.

You bit his shoulder every time he made a sound as you thrusted into him. It left a pretty mark on his pale complexion. Your fangs seemed to have broke his skin which caused blood but he didn’t seem to mind and even moaned in encouragement especially combined with the pleasure of your dick hitting a different spot in him that caused him to arch his back in total bliss.

“A-ah Your highness-“ his face got hotter and his voice staggered. The words seemingly got caught in his throat. You leaned in to plant a kiss on his soft lips but you pulled away before he had a chance to react.

“You’re absolutely breathtaking. More beautiful than any creature I’ve ever laid my eyes upon.” You cooed and eventually laid your mouth on his once again hungrily. He tasted better than any divine nectar, any 5 star meal Your personal chefs could cook up with. You begged for entrance and he quickly allowed. Your tongue quickly traced his fangs and your newfound territory, quickly claiming What is now yours. You pulled away for breath after a while . You took out your still harden dick and let it lay between your heated bodies. He whined from the lack of pleasure but was quickly replaced with a moan once again as Your mouth went down before reaching his chest and biting down on his nipples. Your tongue worked one nipple as your other hand played with the other. You rolled one nipple between your two fingers making his mouth You never knew how sensitive he was but here he was Moaning as if he wanted to be breeded with another Draconia heir. You let go of his nipples and quickly went down until u reach his still tighten hole. You quickly licked his hole as if you haven’t eaten in days. His voice came out hoarse and let out a long broken moan at the pleasure between his legs.

“S-Shit. F-FUCK.” His thighs quickly wrapped around your head.

“Gonna Cum! Ngh~ Gonnacumgonnacumgonnacum!”

The white clear liquid Quickly layed spread on his stomach as you Licked it up tasting the salty but sweet taste.

You wrapped your mouth around the tip in order to get more of the taste and easily eased your way down the head. You then took one of your hands and grabbed the base of his shaft, slowly stroking up and down while your mouth continued to work on his head. You ran small licks against the slit, tasting and lapping all of the precum that was forming. Whether it was his mouth or cock, he tasted wonderful and you couldn’t get enough of him.

“I-I think I’ma c-c-cum again!!” You took your mouth out of his shaft before he could Cum. He whined at the loss of pleasure. You quickly lined up ur dick in his hole once again and entered his less tighten hole by inch. After a few seconds he quickly Gave you the green light.

“A-Ah Move-“

You quickly began to rock ur hips into him making a bunch of noises that squelched every time you thrusted. You could feel every inch of him. You buried your cock deep within him as both ur moans filled the entirety of the room.

“I’m close! please! I-“

You fasten the pace and sucked on his neck once again. He wrapped his legs around your waist off the bed and pulsed around your cock. He cried out before once again cumming between your stomach’s. Not much later Your quickly filled him up with your seed.

You two came down from your high and with a wave of his wrist, The ties quickly unraveled.

He laid down next to you with a flushed face.

“You alright?” You were able to stammer out.

“Mm.. I-Im good. Just tired I suppose. I feel quite young again though fufu~”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his Statement and once again, Lilia was the teasing bat that you came to know and love. You wrapped your arms around his naked Body and brought the covers to shield both of your bodies. He Laid his head between your neck and kissed it.

“So.. another round?”

“LILIA!!”

[maxislvt]

Maritime Masochism

pairing(s): pirate!natasha romanoff x siren!reader

summary: Natasha was a woman born to explore the seven seas and all they had to offer. You were but a simple siren. Though none of her crew trust you, Natasha found it impossible to let you go.

warnings: afab!Reader, Dom!Natasha, Sub!Reader, boot humping,

a/n: I have sooo many thoughts about them but not enough time so this kinda sucks 😞 @wifeofnatasharomanoff

Event Masterlist

Natasha's heart only had one true love. The ocean had always called to her.

Her father was dishonorably discharged from the navy and her mother was the rebellious daughter of a fisherman. Natasha was practically born to be a pirate.

Natasha was made for the sea. Her lungs were meant to only inhale the bitter saltiness of the air and her eyes were cameras determined to capture every beautiful creature within the ocean. Only her nose could truly appreciate the stench of the ocean. She was blessed with hair long enough to catch the winds of the sea like a sail and ears sharp enough to hear all the beautiful songs the mermaids sang. Yet her hands had nothing.

When she was younger Natasha would occupy them by playing around in the sand and collecting sea shells. Now she was thirty years old and couldn't find much more than a fleeting join. Occasionally she'd pick up something interesting for Steve to draw but nothing that truly interested her. Natasha wasn't even foolish enough to consider wasting precious sea life for the sake of entertainment. She later found she didn't have the heart or the stomach to dissect it even if it died of natural causes.

Poseidon must have been particularly endeared by her respect for his creations because the ocean had given her something much more willing to deal with her unoccupied hands.

Natasha remembered the day she met you very clearly. Her men had decided to dock on a seemingly uncharted island to rest and gather some resources. Her father had always warned her about landing in places that seemingly did not exist, but Natasha had a crew much more competent than the others.

Amid her exploration, she heard a song. You sang a song of hubris and overconfidence to a woman much too strong and far too determined. Unlike all the sailors you had eaten before, Natasha was not driven by lust. Curiosity and raw strength were all she needed to overpower you.

Natasha had you pinned down and subjected to some rather intense questioning. You had many of your own. The two of you talked for hours. Everything you knew about humans was only from eating them. Natasha only knew about sea life from the perspective of a human. The hours flew by until Natasha's crew came looking for her. It was at that moment that you made a split-second decision. You grabbed Natasha's hand and joined her crew without a second thought.

It was love at first sight for both of you, but Natasha had something else in it for her. When she slit the palm of your hand, you bled a shimmery blue substance. It was then that Natasha's lack of knowledge of your anatomy became apparent. She was curious and that curiosity would be the death of you. Natasha wanted to experiment. She wasn't a scientist like Tony or Bruce, but she figured conducting research couldn't be that hard. Especially since you were a mostly willing subject.

"Your teeth are so clean," Natasha noted as she examined your teeth. They were smooth and white as pearls. It was shocking, especially considering how sharp they were. She curiously poked her thumb against one of the fangs. "They're so sharp too," She whispered in awe. Her fingers grazed your bottom lip and pushed down until your tongue came out.

It was quite long and had a strange purple color. The tip of it was pointed and strangely flexible. Teasingly, you slipped the wet muscle between Natasha's fingers. Unfortunately, it didn't have the reaction you wanted. Natasha pulled her hand away and began writing in a little red notebook. "What, did you not like that?" You asked nervously.

"It was interesting." She mumbled absentmindedly. Natasha focused entirely on writing for an awkward amount of time. "Can you pull your tongue out again?" An appreciative smile spread across her lips. It was deceptively cute. Her thumb pressed down on the center of your tongue and rubbed it until you started to drool. She took note of the thickness and color. "Is this just saliva or can it do other things?"

"It can be an aphrodisiac in large amounts," You mumbled while wiping your chin. You were confused. Was Natasha teasing you or was this her weird way of learning more? It didn't feel right but it wasn't wrong. As long as she didn't start cutting you open, there wasn't much to worry about. That's what you hoped at least.

𓆞༄･ﾟ𓆝࿐ ࿔*: 𓆟 𓆞༄･ﾟ𓆝࿐ ࿔*: 𓆟

Natasha had yet to pull out the surgical tools, but her exploration of you had gotten a lot more sensual.

"Nat, you have to be gentle or— ah."

You would've never thought coming back from a swim would warrant another impromptu examination. Well, you should've seen it coming. Natasha had never seen you in deep sea form before. If she didn't pester you about what you ate, she'd probably try and get a scale off of you.

"Does it hurt?" Natasha's voice came out with a husky accent. Her finger massaged your gills as gently as possible. "It feels good in my hand." The fins on your ears weren't as soft and sensitive as the ones on your neck. Their purpose was obvious and Natasha had already documented it in her notebook. Now she was just toying with you. "What about that?" It doesn't, but she liked to tease a bit.

You could barely keep yourself upright. "No, it just-" your hands clamped down over your mouth to suppress any noises that may have slipped out. The rest of the crew had made some not-so-subtle complaints about all the moaning that leaked through the cracks of Natasha's quarters. "You're having too much fun with this," You whimpered. It was pathetic. Sirens were one of the most dangerous creatures in the ocean and here you were being a plaything for some pirate.

Even when your knees buckled Natasha continued to tease. She placed her boot between your legs and smirked. "This is all the help you're gonna get from me." The laugh that came out of her was nothing short of evil. "Come on, don't be shy. It'll make you feel good." The tip of her boot nudged against your clit.

Your hips stuttered but eventually, you settled your cunt against the cold leather. The fabric of your panties was a frustrating barrier between you and proper stimulation. Your hips rolled forward at an unsteady pace. "Can't you just touch me?" You whined. It was hard to keep your voice low.

Natasha pressed harder. "I am touching you, you're just being greedy." Her thumb caressed the underside of your gills. She watched as your body frantically jerked and squirmed. The wet squelch from your cunt made her ears perk up. "Did you cum?"

You wanted to cave in on yourself and disappear into the depths of the ocean. "Don't tease me like this. You know the answer to that." You grumbled. The sticky fabric clinging to your mound was unbearable. Humiliation made your skin burn and your scales turned a sickly green color.

Natasha gasped and titled your head to the side. “I didn’t know your scales could change color.” Her hands rubbed the scales. She was a lot more gentle this time to avoid overstimulating you. Suddenly aware of the fact she may have gone a bit too far, she knelt in front of you. Maybe you would find her less intimidating now that she wasn’t towering over you. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to embarrass you.” Her arms wrapped around your shoulders to give you some proper affection.

You clear your throat in an attempt to keep the tears of embarrassment from flowing. As odd as it was, you couldn't find it in yourself to be upset with Natasha. You should've expected such strange affection from a woman somehow able to withstand the temptation of your song. "It's okay…" You're not entirely sure what else to say. Your relationship with her was just starting to develop and it was already so overwhelming. "I knew you were a weirdo, I just didn't think you'd be a freak too."

Natasha giggled and placed a kiss on one of your gills. "Whelp, you're in it for the long wrong now."

[vi-visected]

The Demon’s Head had no need for such trivial things as vanity. His clothes were fine because they lent well to the weather and his own movement. His hair was shorn only by his own hand and kept to uphold sacred traditions. He wore no makeup, had no need for it. Thus, Damian grew up in a palace utterly devoid of mirrors.

The only time he ever saw his reflection was grossly distorted in the shimmering surface of the Lazarus Pit.

“This is your room,” Father had said to him, and while he was unused to the four poster canopy bed and the closet of pressed clothes, he would make do. He would not fail Father simply because he was unused to a situation. A good son would adapt. So adapt Damian would.

When he first saw the creature out of the corner of his eye, his instinct was to draw his sword and assume his standard fighting position. The creature copied him as if exactly in sync with him, even drew the same sword in the same way. Damian halted, waiting for an advance.

It did not come.

He waited for some moments, and then inched forward. The creature inched forward at an exact even pace, matching every one of his moves down to the minute twitch. This, Damian realized, must be a reflective surface. But something about the image in the surface seemed… odd. Damian lowered his sword and crept closer, quietly relieved when the creature did the same.

His reflection, this mirrored image of himself, it wasn’t… correct. All his life his mother had told him that he looked exactly like his Father, but his Father did not look like this. The creature in the reflection had slitted pupils, deep glowing green eyes, and markings all over its face. It had fangs, long and pointed, and sharp ears that stuck out from the sides of its head. It was… grotesque. Awful. Damian had the distinct urge to smash the mirror to pieces, all at once convinced that this had been the reason for both the lack of mirrors at Grandfather’s palace as well as why they had sent him away. It was to hide his shame, this abomination that he was.

But Damian couldn’t bring himself to do it. Couldn’t destroy something valuable in Father’s home on the very first night he’d been invited to stay. Regardless of what Father had said, nothing in this room belonged to Damian. It could not be tampered with. But the reflection… it could not remain where someone else might see his shame.

In a fit of inspiration, Damian grabbed a fresh linen out of the bottom of the wardrobe and hastily draped it over the grotesque image. It covered the mirror well, exposing no part of it, and he nodded contently at his work.

There, now no one had to know. He simply needed to… avoid all other mirrors in the Manor. That shouldn’t be too difficult.

Adapt, Damian reminded himself. He would adapt.

[dragon-curse-au]

Been thinking about different cookie species within the AU and their differences/similarities a bunch lately, so I figured I'd share some cool facts!

While humanoid is the most common appearance a cookie can take, there are several subspecies across Earthbread that take on more animalistic traits, some ranging from minor details such as pointed ears and fangs to being a full-on centaur. It's how modern day dragons blend in amongst cookies in their smaller forms, given that reptilian cookies like Carameleon exist.

Coffee cookies will be the most prominent ones you'll see in this AU and they share many traits with other cookie species, such as flower cookies and moon imps. They're relatively humanoid with cat-like features, such as large pointed ears, fur patches, paws, thin tails, and slitted pupils, though not many of them remain from the original tribe in the Dark Cacao Kingdom. In fact, the only coffee cookies that remain to this day happen to be hybrids. Espresso and Affogato are siblings and are part cream wolf, though they present more coffee cookie than cream wolf - Affogato having thicker fur than Espresso an easier tell. Prune Juice is also half coffee cookie, though his other half is Parfaedian, which gives him less animal traits than others.

Coffee cookies are well known for their expertise and prowess with their own unique form of magic, but Prune Juice was born with that trait dormant, marking him as a disappointment in his family's eyes. Prune Juice often tries to hide his coffee cookie traits so that others don't view him as a freak.

Every larger region of Earthbread has their own coffee-adjacent cookies. The most well-known are flower cookies, sphinx cookies, and moon imps. Flower cookies are more elf-like in appearance, lacking the fur that coffee cookies have save for the tufts along their jawlines and their tails. Sphinx cookies are the most feline of all, though the only surviving members are Golden Cheese and her daughter, Rich Cheese. Moon imps are also unfortunately nearly completely extinct save for Shadow/Blueberry Milk and Eclipse Wizard. Moon imps used to occupy the City of Wizards and southern Beast Yeast, though evolution either snuffed them out of existence or caused them to evolve into something else.

Moon imps are relatively unique with their digitgrade hooved feet, barbed tails, and pointed ears. Most have horns as well, but there are a few who do not. Their primary flavor is blueberries, though the ones that occupy southern Beast Yeast have more milk in their dough than others.

I want to bring up Clotted Cream and Camellia since they're half flower cookie as well; Light Cream is vanillian while their father was a full-on flower cookie. Clotted Cream passes as purebred vanillian save for hair tufts on the jawline and tail, which he was raised to keep hidden under Elder Custard's orders and was told that they were mere genetic defects. No one can mistake his faint floral scent, however. Camellia is on the opposite end of the spectrum, presenting as a pure flower cookie.

Honorable creature-like cookies would be from the Licorice Tribe (aquatic traits), Spice Swarm (centaurs or almost entirely animal more than cookie), and whatever Mystic Flour is (insectoid).

If you have any questions feel free to ask! I like yapping about this stuff :]c

[somepsychopomp]

More Hybrid AU thoughts ft. puppy Ody

Okay so let's just say that Odysseus, having been born from a long line of cunning tricksters from his mother's side, was quite the surprise when he was born w/ his wolf ears, legs, & tail. Laertes looks at Anticlea & her lack of wolf features and asks if this is normal. Well, the child's great-grandfather is Hermes...

Meanwhile Hermes himself catches wind that one his of family lines is up to mischief again and goes to check it out. He finds puppy Ody in his cradle and is ecstatic that one of his distant relatives is such a cute little freak. Come morning, Odysseus' nurse will find him cuddling with a toy tortoise that she's never seen before.

For context: hybrids aren't common in the world of this AU, but Odysseus isn't the only one around

(Ex. As a result of Leda & swan Zeus getting freaky, Helen is also a hybrid with flawless dark skin, piercing eyes, and pure white hair to match her splendid white wings. It's no wonder that she's regarded the most beautiful woman in the world. She doesn't often fly, but uses her wings to captivate audiences as she dances)

Laertes & Anticlea are also aware of the rumors that a king of Crete had his own hybrid son, a cross between a man and a bull. King Minos apparently devised a terrible underground maze to trap the poor hybrid in for the rest of its life.

Personally, they both think that's a terrible idea. How in the world could they condemn their own son, who's never wronged them in any way, to a lifetime of darkness? Or an otherwise equally cruel fate?

So they just... raise Odysseus. As if nothing's unusual or wrong about him. They have to admit though, he's such a cute baby. He's got the softest fur and the cutest little toe beans, and he whines in his sleep as if he's already dreaming of chasing prey.

Interestingly, hybrid Odysseus never had a phase where he leaned to crawl. His parents supposed that made sense. His legs are those of a wolf, and their shape isn't conducive to crawling. That means, to their chagrin, that toddler Odysseus was either wobbling on his two wolf legs or full-on sprinting through the house on all fours.

When his younger sister comes around, the king & queen think they're well prepared for another pup. They have a nice low-set cradle made with a heavy woolen canopy to mimic a wolf den, and had Odysseus roll around and play in the nursery so that it would smell of the new pup's kin. But when Ctimene pops out, Laertes and Anticlea gawk at her in befuddlement because she's completely normal. Where is her tail? Her ears? Her paws and fur? Why does she look like that?

At least Ody gets along well with his new sister. More than once, a nurse or Anticlea went to check on young Ctimene in the middle of the night, only to see a set of amber eyes in the moonlight holding vigil over her cradle.

As time goes on, it's quite difficult to organize safe play time between the siblings. Odysseus' instincts are to roughhouse with fangs and claws (which he's slowly starting to develop) & he indirectly teaches Ctimene to act like a wolf pup. She bites him back and yips like a dog when he treads on her toes. That does make their parents worry that Odysseus might end up as more wolf than man, but they'll have to wait and see. There's still hope for Odysseus, seeing that he's acquiring language at a rate comparable to most other children.

The two parents end up quite relieved as the years go by and Odysseus seems to growing up like any other boy. He speaks fluently without issue, had no difficulties learning to read, and in fact, is quite intelligent and curious. Since Ithaca is on the smaller side in terms of city-states, it'd be nigh impossible to keep his condition a secret from the public. So Ody is dressed in regular clothes and fitted with specially-made sandals to accommodate his wolf feet. The only adjustment needed in his clothing is a slit for his tail, otherwise when it wags or raises, Ody basically pulls up his entire chiton.

There are few wolves on Ithaca or the surrounding islands so Odysseus grows up as quite the novelty (I mean, more so than he already is). Most of his people have never seen a wolf and often mistake him for a dog, thinking he resembles the earth-colored farm dogs that are more common on the island, or perhaps the smaller swift-footed dogs that assist the fishermen. Laertes, having hunted big game before, including wolves from the mainland, is adamant that his child is a wolf. Odysseus' pointed triangular ears, stunning amber eyes, and his tawny-brown hair/coat are more similar to that of a wolf than a dog (I'm taking my inspo from the irl Eurasian Wolf btw)

As I mentioned in my first post here, hybrid Ody does have a ton of energy as a child. He loves to swim, run, and hunt with his father.

Laertes certainly takes Odysseus out hunting with him earlier than most would consider safe for a child. It turns out, not only does Odysseus love it, but he's also an exceptionally gifted tracker. His sharp nose and hearing mean that his father has no need for a hunting dog. And when they catch fresh meat, even though Anticlea insists that Odysseus must learn to eat and behave like a proper person, Laertes can't help but carve out a few strips of meat from the flank and let his son eat them raw. It's their little secret, he says with a wink.

One day, when Odysseus is perhaps seven or eight years old and on a hunting trip with his father + a few other men, he's hot on the trail of a herd of deer when he suddenly stops dead. Laertes is confused and asks Odysseus if there's something wrong. All of a sudden, Odysseus is trembling from head to toe and crying softly about wanting to go home.

"It must be a bear," a friend of Laertes says. It's about the only animal that could possibly spook Odysseus. The only issue is that, while wolves are rare on Ithaca, bears are even more elusive.

Laertes tries to coax his son to keep moving, but Odysseus can only cower with his tail between his legs and his ears flat against his skull. He starts to cry and insist that he wants to go home, even clinging to Laertes' thigh out of fear.

Having no idea what's wrong and never having seen his son like this before, the king decides to call off the hunting party and return home. As soon as they escape the mountainous forest, a sudden storm rolls in from the sea and pounds Ithaca with fierce winds and heavy rain. Laertes thinks that, had they stayed, they surely would've lost a man or two in their attempts to escape the storm.

A year later, Laertes is attempting to teach Odysseus how to tend to the land. A good king doesn't just lead his people, but feeds them as well. As the prince and heir, Odysseus should know useful skills such as farming, animal husbandry, and how to raise olive trees. Odysseus follows along with only a mild interest, finding it not nearly as exciting as hunting, when he sneezes and covers his nose with his hands.

"Papa!" he says, "The ground here smells bad."

Not having forgotten Odysseus' instincts on the mountain, Laertes tries to find out exactly what his son means, but Ody is still too young to fully explain himself. So Laertes conducts a test. He organizes for all the usual farmlands to be tended to as usual, but only puts half as much man power into the patch of land that Odysseus insists "smells bad".

Come harvest time, and that particular patch of ground failed to produce anything useful due to a blight hidden deep underground. It's an unfortunate loss, but it was only a few acre's worth of land. Laertes is glad that he spared the poisoned land his people's efforts.

By the time Odysseus is like 10-11, he's out hunting and exploring the woods on his own. He hears tale of a massive boar terrorizing the mainland, some beast so huge that spears and clubs have no effect on it. He thinks little of the stories, assuming such a huge creature wouldn't be able to swim. That is, until stories from the costal villages reach the palace of an unkillable boar ravaging their farmlands.

The boar might have a great deal of stamina, but so does Odysseus. Without his father or anyone else, he tracks the boar all over the island for days at a time, never losing his way home since he paws at the trees and leaves a scent trail to follow. Odysseus hunts small game like birds and rabbits to keep him sated and sleeps in tree boughs so as to not be caught by surprise.

It's a game of attrition, to see who can outlast who. At last, muddy and disheveled but no less excited by his greatest hunt yet, Odysseus finds the boar. It's been driven mad by the scent of wolves wherever it goes and is looking for a fight. Odysseus had been carrying a bow and quiver with him, but had been saving all his arrows for the boar. He spots a gash in the creature's hide, a few inches deep, from where a spearhead might've pierced it but failed to deliver a lethal blow.

Odysseus narrowly dodges the boar's first few charges until he can get a safe distance away. With the proper footing and stance that his father showed him, he raises his bow and fires just as the boar turns to face him. The arrow hits true and fresh blood spurts from the old wound.

An empty quiver later, and Odysseus is attempting to gnaw off one of the fallen boar's legs with just his teeth. He's so hungry and surely, his mother and father wouldn't reprimand him for enjoying the fruit of his labor even in such a messy fashion. If only he had a long knife to carve out the truly valuable meat like the organs...

Odysseus freezes as he catches a new scent on the wind. It's like nothing he's ever smelled before. It's like an oncoming storm, but hotter? It's electric, kind of like the tang of metal, and makes all his hairs stand on end. What is that?

"Show yourself!" he says, leaping to his feet with blood in his teeth, "I know you're watching me!"

Despite not hearing or seeing anything, he knows that someone else is with him.

"I can smell you!"

And a woman, taller and more grand than any being Odysseus has ever seen before, appears out of thin air. Somehow, Odysseus doesn't yelp in surprise when she appears.

She doesn't necessarily smell hostile, despite her towering presence.

She smells... like a friend.

[toothpaste-for-the-skin]

Alr I said I’d go more into some of the odder traits with (my version of) Trixie in this post and then I was busy for the next couple days and didn’t get to it lol- so I wanna talk about it rn:

Ok for starters, I decided to make Trixie half batpony. Her mother is a batpony named Dandelion Dusk (based on her appearance ((as a unicorn)) in an mlp comic but I altered her pretty heavily). Jackpot is still her father and he remains a unicorn (his design is also unfinished lol)

Despite being half batpony, Trixie is still considered a unicorn. I think that even though a pony could be a descendant of and show traits of multiple pony races, whichever of the races’ key traits they exhibit (I.e. wings/flight, a horn/magic, or lack thereof) would be what type of pony they’re largely classified as. Trixie has some traits that make it clear she’s half batpony though. Those traits mainly being fangs, extra fluff, tapered ears, and visually distinct hooves (which is a Pegasi/batpony trait). She also has a generally shorter and more upturned snout, which does hint towards her being a batpony but is not in and of itself a binding trait that all batponies must have. It’s just something that’s more common with them.

However, she has some fairly anomalous traits that are basically unique to her. Some of them might be because she is a unicorn/batpony hybrid, but others just can’t really be explained. The first one I’m gonna talk about is her eyes.

Trixie’s pupils basically always remain as pinpricks, which does kind of give her a bit of a more “unstable” look compared to her actual canon counterpart. Besides being a bit of an indicator of her personality, there’s actually another reason for this. Batponies are well adapted to darkness, and their eyes are naturally used to lightless conditions. Thusly they tend to be adverse to bright lights and are usually nocturnal. Trixie inherited this night vision of the batponies but remains diurnal like most unicorns. Her eyes were meant to be taking in way less light so even light levels that are considered normal for most ponies causes her pupils to constrict almost completely, basically all the time. I imagine this isn’t particularly comfortable for her but it is probably something she’s just grown to live with. Maybe someone should get her some sunglasses..

When she’s in the dark, her pupils will dilate to a normal size. Her eyes will also dilate for the same reasons as other eyes will, like when seeing someone you’re close to. Basically her eyes more or less function as normal, it’s just the levels of light her eyes can comfortably take is a lot lower than with other ponies.

Also when her pupils construct they remain round unlike most batponies whose pupils constrict into slits. This is probably due to unicorn heritage.

The main “inexplicable” trait of Trixie’s is the fact that her mouth is bluish purple. There really isn’t a reason for this and the trait is unique to her. It’s just generally anomalous lol (but kinda fits the idea that’s she’s supposed to be a bit of an oddity as a whole).

Her mouth is also in more of a “:3” shape which I don’t consider super noteworthy ig but it is something she has that most other ponies don’t. I do not think this is unique to her however.

Additional info ig:

When Trixie became a pseudo-alicorn due to the alicorn amulet, she actually gained batpony-like wings. This wasn’t necessarily bc the bat wings were more “evil”, but it was actually because of the fact she was half batpony.