#dorian sensation

[ariadne-mouse]

Dorian choosing to go without breath for the first time in his whole existence to talk to the Matron is so metal. Like not being able to breath is panic-worthy enough already, but when you are of the air have the ability specifically to never lose your breath and still give in, like damn. Not only would the sensation be utterly foreign and therefore all the more terrifying, choosing to let it happen anyway when instinct to inhale can't take over for you would take just pure guts and bravery. He didn't say a thing to anyone and just quietly had such a Moment

[drawsmaddy]

[ID: A digital illustration of Dorian Storm from Critical Role. He is wearing modern clothing and the illustration is styled like a magazine cover with text at the top reading "Illustrated Exandria". There are two images of Dorian, in the largest he is wearing a blue crop top with straps at the bottom that aren't connected to anything, dark blue jeans, and black leather fingerless gloves that stop halfway up his biceps. The gloves also have a simple wing design on them and Dorian is holding an orange and yellow sparkly microphone that he is holding up to his mouth. The second, smaller image of Dorian is a close up on the left side of his face. He has his eyes closed and pink and yellow flowers decorate his cheek. A small third image in the bottom right shows a sunset coloured sky with two fluffy white clouds. End description.]

Dorian Storm, pop sensation!

[fataldrum]

Dorian Gray is queer art, period.

Apparently Netflix has decided to make an adaption of The Picture of Dorian Gray with Dorian and Basil as siblings. Unless they're planning to go the gothic horror incest route, they've completely missed the point of the relationship between these characters.

If you haven't read the book, Basil is a painter who becomes infatuated with a beautiful young man, pouring his feelings into a painting. Dorian becomes jealous of the painting's beauty, realizing that he will never be as young and unspoiled as the version of himself on the canvas. He finds himself wishing that the painting could age instead of him. His wish is granted, allowing him to stay young and beautiful until the end, with his moral and spiritual decline reflected only in the painting.

I cannot overstate how queer this book is. Dorian is so beautiful that their first meeting inspires a wave of existential terror in Basil. Dorian changes Basil's entire understanding of art and beauty. This book is so queer it was used as evidence at Wilde's sodomy trial.

The existence of the portrait itself is tantamount to a confession of queer desire. Basil tells his friend, Lord Henry, that he can't exhibit the painting because "I have put too much of myself into it.”

Lord Henry (who will later lead Dorian into a life of vice) laughs, but Basil explains:

“[E]very portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. [...] It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”

This is how he describes meeting Dorian:

When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. [...] I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then—but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.”

Notice that turn of phrase--it was not conscience but cowardice that made him attempt to flee. Why would conscience factor into his decision? Because he felt shame at his reaction to Dorian's perfect, beautiful face.

Lord Henry is shocked to discover Basil cares for something besides his art.

“He is all my art to me now,” said the painter gravely. “I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the world’s history. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinous was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will some day be to me.

Basil goes on to confess, "I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there."

Lord Henry still doesn't understand why there is too much of Basil in the painting, so Basil explains:

“Because, without intending it, I have put into it some expression of all this curious artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have never cared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it. He shall never know anything about it. But the world might guess it, and I will not bare my soul to their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry—too much of myself!”

Lord Henry asks how Dorian feels about Basil, and his response is absolutely tragic.

The painter considered for a few moments. “He likes me,” he answered after a pause; “I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule, he is charming to me, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things. Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.”

Any adaptation that ignores the way Dorian's existence and beauty utterly destroyed Basil is doomed to be shallow and insipid. This is not just a book about a magic painting. It's a monument to queer longing.

[dark-romantics]

"Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing."

~ Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

Next Part

Chapter 1. 𝓥𝓮𝓷𝓲, 𝓿𝓲𝓭𝓲, 𝓪𝓿𝓪𝓭𝓲.

Dorian de Beauvoir was an old soul. Something people would often never notice. After all, with his youthful features, no one would think he was past his thirties. He was attractive and he knew it. Blonde with blue eyes, the duke was often approached by ladies and gentlemen. Most encounters didn't end well for these people. If only they knew. If only they knew what he really was. Because behind all this pleasant — and perfect, dare he say — exterior, hid a monster. Dorian was a vampire, a creature of the night lurking in the shadows, ever watchful for unsuspecting victims to sate his unholy hunger.

This, in fact, was exactly what he was doing this afternoon. While he had a chevalier ring, shielding him from the effects of the sun, his preference was to hunt under the veil of night or during overcast days, when more humans ventured into these forests under a less harsh daylight.

Among these sunlit wanderers was a young maiden. Dorian could hear her footsteps and the faint hum of a tune as she ventured into a woodland clearing. Her attire, a simple woolen dress with an apron, bore the marks of labor and grime. It didn't take long for him to discern her as a peasant girl, no older than fifteen. With a determined expression, she foraged for mushrooms, collecting them diligently in her wicker basket.

She didn't notice him, too focused on her task to pay mind to anyone else. She was young. He typically avoided feeding on children, and yet, he found himself unable to look away. Still, Dorian observed from a distance. He himself wasn't sure why. Perhaps it had been because of the gaping hole he felt in his chest. Loneliness. A curse many vampires were accustomed to.

Once she was done with her task, she sat on the grass. Closing her eyes and sighing, she seemed to be exhausted by the work. The sun had set not long ago and Dorian questioned whether she intended to return home at all.

His decision was made, he left his vantage point and approached her quietly. "The sun has set," he spoke, causing the young lady to jump with a start. "Do you not have a place to be?"

She appeared surprised. Vampires had this ability to creep up on mortals without them noticing. The girl stood up abruptly.

"I— Yes," the peasant confirmed before beginning to walk away quickly.

"Let me accompany you." He followed her and soon caught up to her. "A young girl such as yourself shouldn't walk alone at this hour of the day," he commented, justifying himself as he added a pleasant smile. 

"That won't be necessary," assured the girl, "my Lord," she added, noticing his expensive attire.

"I insist."

And that was that. He had spoken with conviction, showcasing how he wouldn't change his mind. She looked tense, but didn't dare to refuse.

"Do you live nearby ?" He asked after a long moment of silence. She nodded mutely.

His attempts at small tasks proved to be fruitless, but he didn't mind too much. Nevertheless, the journey proved brief, as they reached a small cottage at the forest's edge within a quarter of an hour. Dorian's reaction was immediate—a derisive sneer contorted his features as he regarded the humble dwelling with disdain.

This... thing wasn't even the size of his wardrobe. It was a humble structure, its thatched roof weathered by time and rough-hewn wooden walls bearing the scars of years. The simplicity of the cottage's design and construction was an eyesore to the noble, who was accustomed to the grandeur of opulent manors and palaces. The dichotomy was painfully apparent.

A light chuckle escaped Dorian's lips as he surveyed the unimpressive abode. "This place?" He inquired almost rhetorically, his tone unimpressed by the humble dwelling.

The girl's demeanor stiffened visibly, and her response came with a touch of defensiveness. "Yes, it's my home," she almost snapped, a trace of pride in her voice.

His smile wavered, an odd sensation settling in his chest. It seemed as though she didn't quite belong here, amidst such simplicity. He looked down at the little mortal. He felt as if she shouldn't be here.

The door cracked open, a woman that looked quite similar to the little girl came out. Her mother. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw.

"(Y/N)," called the woman with a relieved smile. She put a hand on her hips and pointed at the young girl. "You were supposed to come back before the sunset, young lady," she scolded her with maternal authority.

(Y/n) appeared sheepish. "Sorry, mom," she said, a bit embarrassed. "I ventured a bit farther than I usually do. On the bright side, I found more mushrooms."

The mother sighed good naturedly before turning to Dorian. She now looked uncomfortable. "I apologize for my daughter, my Lord," she hastily said, her hand moving protectively to grasp her daughter's arm. "I hope she didn't cause any trouble."

The man's indifferent face shifted into a charming smile. "I can assure you she didn't," he answered. "I simply found this young lady alone in the woods and suggested bringing her back home."

The peasant woman expressed her gratitude with a touch of hesitation before they exchanged pleasantries and bade each other farewell. Dorian continued on his path, returning to his hunt, but his thoughts lingered on the girl. He couldn't help but wonder if this chance encounter had left as indelible a mark on her as it had on him. 

[shadowdaddies]

Phantom Touch

Dorian x Reader smut

A/N: just thinking about waking up with Dorian. that's it

warnings: smut below the cut, pwp, use of phantom hands, light bondage, fingering, p in v sex, slight praise/deg

A warm hand slid down the curve of your waist, the pleasant feeling stirring you from your sleep. Soft morning light already shone through the sheer curtains of your bedroom window, the covers warm beneath you from Dorian’s body so close to yours.

“Good morning,” you hummed, a feline grin on your lips as his hand moved lower, kneading your ass. A familiar coolness tilted your head back, phantom hand angling you just how Dorian wanted. Tongue flicked out against your neck, lips sucking on the sensitive skin below your ear, trailing lower in slow, teasing movements. 

Dorian’s hand slid under your nightgown, gripping your backside firmly before fingers slipped between your legs. A whimper escaped you, breathy moans of your husband’s name as he slid along your folds. 

A wild groan escaped him at the feeling of your slick dripping down your thighs. “Already so wet for me, angel?” he teased, nipping at your ear as his hand slid forward, fingers lightly brushing your clit. You jerked in his hold, back arching as a pathetic mewl escaped you.

“Please, please more,” you begged, hips grinding against his fingers, desperate for more friction. A dark chuckle sounded in your ear as his digits curled inside of you, hitting your walls at a perfect angle. You could barely give warning before your orgasm hit, juices soaking Dorian’s fingers as he groaned from behind.

“Good, good girl,” he murmured, hand drawing back as he sucked your slick from his fingers, lewd noises filling the air. 

“Please, more,” you begged, ass arching against Dorian’s hard cock. “I need you, now,” breathless pleas escaped your lips as you grew increasingly desperate.

Dorian refused to be drawn into your pathetic show, his hands drawing out of you as leisurely as ever, wet slick coating your sides as he toyed with your stomach, nipples, throat.

“How do you need me?” he murmured, unable to fight the wicked grin as he pulled your back to his chest. Struggling for an answer, your brain fought the lustful haze to answer him.

“I- um, I need your cock, please,” you whimpered, flipping to your back. Sapphire eyes shone blue as your legs spread wide for him, granting easy access.

“Such a good little slut for me,” he murmured, eyes glazed as he focused on your pussy, dragging his cock along your folds. You mewled at the teasing sensation, his tip rubbing your sensitive bud, spreading your slick. 

Writhing against his hold, you moaned out, “Dorian, please I-“ 

The cool caress of another phantom hand cut you off, fingers massaging your tongue, your muffled pleas growing as his length pushed inside of you. Head leaned back against Dorian’s shoulder, you sucked on the phantom fingers as his hips lazily rolled against yours.

“Good girl,” he murmured, lips spreading in a smirk against your neck. The way he nipped and licked at your exposed skin was nothing short of predatory, making your heart pound as his cock finally found your entrance, tip barely pushing inside of you.

Eyes rolled back as a pathetic mewl left your lips, drool slipping out around phantom fingers. With a dark chuckle, Dorian thrust into you in one smooth movement, his length stretching your walls in a delicious combination of pain and pleasure. 

Slowly sliding out of you, Dorian moved his invisible touch from your lips, freeing your moans to echo through the room. An arm gripped your waist, holding you firm as Dorian snapped his hips back into you at the same time a slick finger flicked your clit.

Jaw fell open in a silent moan as you vaguely registered the phantom hand that had moved from your mouth to your clit, rubbing tight circles as Dorian grabbed your leg, spreading you open as he pounded into you from behind.

Cool breezes and teasing hands were everywhere - rubbing your clit, twisting your nipples, tugging your hair - as Dorian whispered filthy praises in your ear. Your high crashed over you quickly, body shaking from the intense pleasure.

Dorian didn’t let up, instead flipping you on your back as he continued fucking you into the mattress. The familiar feel of those cool hands brushed your wrists, guiding them above your head. Throwing your legs over his shoulders, Dorian filled you impossibly deep, hitting the perfect spot with thrust after thrust.

Gasping for air, you found Dorian’s sapphire gaze through blurred vision, brow furrowing as you attempted to whimper out the warning that you were close to your orgasm once again. 

“I know, I’m close,” Dorian grunted, black waves of hair sticking to his forehead as his abs worked with each stroke. “Let go for me, love,” he gritted out, thumb finding your clit once more as the coil snapped.

Vision flashed white with the force of your orgasm, toes curling as you felt Dorian’s warm release fill you. Panting, he looked up at you with a satisfied smirk. “Feel alright, love?”

A raw giggle escaped you at his smugness, your husband knowing full-well just how alright you felt. Stretching your limbs, you yawned as you appraised the gorgeous male in front of you. 

“I think the only thing that could make this morning better is a bath with my love, and some breakfast,” you hummed, legs lifting to wrap around Dorian’s waist as you smirked up at him.

Dorian’s eyes darkened slightly at the appearance of you, flushed and exposed in the morning light beneath him. “I think that can be arranged,” he whispered, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your lips before he rose to prepare the bath.

[throneofsmut]

KINKTOBER 2023 MASTERLIST

Day One: Overstimulation with Rhys

Day Two: Breeding with Fenrys Moonbeam

Day Three: Choking with Rowan Whitethorn

Day Four: Bondage with Lucien Vanserra

Day Five: Thigh Riding with Azriel

Day Six: Sensation Play with Hunt Athalar

Day Seven: Degradation with Eris Vanserra

Day Eight: Face Sitting with Cassian

Day Nine: Face Fucking with Azriel

Day Ten: Spanking with Cassian

Day Eleven: Invisible Hands with Dorian Havillard

Day Twelve: Caught Masturbating with Eris Vanserra

Day Thirteen: Praise with Fenrys Moonbeam

Day Fourteen: Shower Sex with Hunt Athalar

Day Fifteen: Outdoor Sex with Lucien Vanserra

Day Sixteen: Cockwarming with Rhys

Day Seventeen: Temperature Play with Rowan Whitethorn

Day Eighteen: Squirting with Ruhn Danaan

Day Nineteen: Threesome / DP with Bat Boys (poly)

Day Twenty: Size Difference with Azriel

Day Twenty-one: Tit Fucking with Cassian

Day Twenty-two: Against a Wall with Rhys

Day Twenty-three: Hate Fuck with Eris Vanserra

Day Twenty- four: Hunter / Prey with Azriel

Day Twenty-five: Glory Hole with Cassian

Day Twenty-six: Daddy Kink with Rhys

Day Twenty-seven: Sleep Sex with Lucien Vanserra

Day Twenty-eight: Knife Play with Azriel

Day Twenty-nine: Corruption with Cassian

Day Thirty: Period sex with Rhys

Day Thirty-one: Wing Play with Azriel

[mlm-writer]

Atish'an (Dorian x M!Reader)

Pairing:  Dorian Pavus x Male Elf Inquisitor (trans-friendly) Rating: General Audiences Words: 1306 POV: Second Summary: The inquisitor is having feeling for the Tevinter, but the tragedy of a past lost make it hard to act on those feelings. Tags: hurt & comfort, love confession (?), flirting, Dorian's fabulous moustache, getting together (?), Elven language & dash of angst

A tingling sensation danced  like a warm fire over your lips. It had been a while since you had speed-walked towards your chambers, but you still felt it. It was lingering like a ghost, a remnant. You touched your lips lightly, replaying the abrupt kiss Dorian gave you after Mother Giselle accused him of being some sort of bad influence. Maybe he was. You didn’t care though. 

Your hand reflexively reached up to the pendant hanging from your neck. The simple jewellery wasn’t worth a single piece of gold, but you had made sure it survived the conclave, the journey through time and the attack on Haven. The thin chain was starting to get some wear and tear from your nervous fiddling and the pendant itself was losing its outer coating. “Zevwen,” you whispered the name into the cold air, like a soft prayer for your long gone lover. It had been a good decade ago, but you could recall the last day you heard his voice crystal clear.

He was pale as the snow in the mountains. The only colour on his visage was the redness around his eyes. Fingers, thin and trembling, lightly held onto yours. His voice had been a mere fragment of what it used to be. “Ma vhenan, you were meant for great things; I have always seen legends in your soul.” Such a convoluted way to tell you to live on, venture away from the clan and carve your own path. You did just that a few months ago; look where that got you. 

A deep sigh left your lips, before you rose from where you were seated on the edge of the bed. You tucked the pendant back under your clothes and went on to be the Inquisitor, the Herald of Andraste, the random guy who is going to defeat Corypheus. No big deal. 

—

The Winter Palace was as grand as the Game was despicable. In the grand mess of schemes and murder, Dorian seemed to have enjoyed himself in some way. You suspected he would mingle well with the nobility. A few times when you passed him by, a young Orlesian woman was trying to woo him. The forbiddeness of a Tevinter man was very popular among the younger ladies. It was somewhat amusing to see Dorian suffer through tactfully rejecting them one by one, without causing a political debacle that would torture Josephine for months to come. 

“There was an ancient dowager looking for you. Said she had twelve daughters. I told her you left already.” Dorian made his grand entrance on the balcony. There was really no hiding from him. “You can thank me later or now, but… you look distracted. Something on your mind?” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. It had been a wild night, but even as an entire empire was on the verge of crumbling, you had often found your mind drift to the way he was filling out that ridiculous red tunic. 

“Did you need me for something?” You finally turn your head to really look at him; that was a mistake. Steel grey eyes bore into your soul, searching for answers to inquiries he had not even made yet. You tried to keep your expression neutral, hiding your emotions beneath a blanket of professionalism. 

Dorian turned towards you, one arm handsomely leaning on the edge of the balcony. “Oh, I always need you for something.” He gave you another one of those insincere charming smiles; you were both inept at expressing honest emotions. “I would say the question remains whether you need me, but I know you do. Afterall, you would not have extended the invitation of the scheming marquis if you didn’t.” His arm waved around in a grand motion. You hummed and nodded in reply, knowing he would continue talking no matter what your reaction was. “In any case, I know what you need now too. A distraction.” He pushed himself off the stone and offered you a hand. “Dance with me, Inquisitor.” 

A smile creeped onto your face. You tried to hide it by looking down, but you knew Dorian had already seen it. Without a word, you took his hand. He pulled you into the empty space on the balcony. The music drifted through the slit between the doors, guiding your intimate dance under the night sky. Josephine had appointed you a dance teacher for tonight, so you would fit in, but Orlesian nobility apparently danced differently from the Tevinter nobility. It was hard to anticipate Dorian’s movements. Maybe it was just Dorian, ever the storm, the chaos, the novelty. Maybe Dorian actually didn’t know how to dance. 

Nonetheless, he held your eyes hostage with his. The warmth of his body seeped through your fancy clothes. The sweet scent of his perfume filled your nose. He was everywhere around you, making your heart race and heat rise to your face. You dipped him; matching smiles adorned both your faces. “This is the moment you kiss the evil magister, Inquisitor.” His soft-spoken, alluring words broke the spell. Anxiety creeped up your spine. You pulled him up and let him go. “Or not,” Dorian added without hiding the disappointment in his tone. 

You took a steadying breath and rubbed your face. “Sorry… We… We need to talk.” When you looked at Dorian again, he had his arms crossed. He seemed to be waiting for you to continue speaking. It seemed like he had his mind sorted already and it was just you who needed to talk. You leaned over the edge of the balcony, avoiding eye contact. “Please do not misunderstand. I do like you. I just…” The emotions clogged your throat. Dorian slid into the space beside you. He put one of his strong arms across your shoulders, pulling you against him. You leaned against him, finding peace in his presence. Another calming breath helped you find your words again. “I have lost someone dear to me before… We did not even live a perilous life back then and we…” A rough chuckle escaped your tight throat. Dorian waited patiently for your every word. “I thought I would spend my life with him, but illness got a hold of him before our future could. I do not know if my heart is strong enough for another loss like that.” 

You allowed yourself to lay your eyes upon Dorian again. For once, the Tevinter seemed to be serious. He pulled you close against him, resting his head against yours. “I cannot promise you will never lose me, but I can promise you that I will make every second of joy worth any possible moment of mourning.” His voice vibrated through your body, lulling you into comfort. “It is not good for the skin to be mourning me while I am still alive.” 

You couldn’t suppress the chuckle bubbling up. You turned towards Dorian. He faced you, a confident smirk on his lips, but fear of rejection hidden in his eyes. “You’re right. I should not mourn you while you’re still breathing.” You caressed his face, playing briefly with that wonderful moustache. “I’d like to pick this up without the Orlesian court lurking around the corner, if you’d let me.” 

Dorian took your hand and placed a gallant kiss on your knuckles. “I am quite looking forward to what exactly you will be picking up, Inquisitor.” His grin churned your insides in a way that was both frightening and delightful. “Until then.” His fingers lingered on yours as he slowly let go of your hand with a flirtatious wink. Dorian turned to walk away, hips swaying a little with every step he took to leave the balcony. He left you more fearful than ever, but also -  for the first time in a long while - hopeful. 

—————

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[wildelypoetic]

“Live! Live the wonderful life that is in you! Let nothing be lost upon you. Be always searching for new sensations. Be afraid of nothing. . .” ~ The Picture of Dorian Gray

[michaun]

Documentaries

13th (2016) - Filmmaker Ava DuVernay explores the history of racial inequality in the United States, focusing on the fact that the nation's prisons are disproportionately filled with African-Americans.

Jenin, Jenin (2002) - Documentary about the 2002 deadly confrontations between armed Israeli soldiers and Palestinians in the occupied West Bank city of Jenin.

Three Identical Strangers (2018) - Identical triplets become separated at birth and adopted by three different families. Years later, their amazing reunion becomes a global sensation, but it also unearths an unimaginable secret that has radical repercussions.

Titicut Follies (1967) - Filmmaker Frederick Wiseman exposes conditions at a Massachusetts hospital for the criminally insane.

Unrest (2017) - When Harvard Ph.D. student Jennifer Brea is struck down by a fever that leaves her bedridden, she sets out on a virtual journey to document her story as she fights a disease that medicine forgot.

Dear Zachary (2008) - In 2001, 28-year-old Dr. Andrew Bagby is found dead in a park in Pennsylvania. He had been shot by his ex-girlfriend, who then fled to Canada, where she was able to walk free on bail, pregnant with Andrew's child. Andrew's enraged parents campaign to gain custody of the child and convict their son's killer. Filmmaker Kurt Kuenne pairs this story with home movies and interviews with those who knew Andrew, hoping to give his best friend's son an opportunity to discover who his dad was.

The Act of Killing (2012) - Filmmakers expose the horrifying mass executions of accused communists in Indonesia and those who are celebrated in their country for perpetrating the crime.

Tell Me Who I Am (2019) - When Alex loses his memory after a serious motorcycle accident, he trusts his twin Marcus to tell him about his past, but he later discovers that Marcus is hiding a dark family secret.

Paris Is Burning (1990) - This documentary focuses on drag queens living in New York City and their "house" culture, which provides a sense of community and support for the flamboyant and often socially shunned performers. Groups from each house compete in elaborate balls that take cues from the world of fashion. Also touching on issues of racism and poverty, the film features interviews with a number of renowned drag queens, including Willi Ninja, Pepper LaBeija and Dorian Corey.

[kiatheinsomniac]

ooo how about.. how would the assassins (your usual bunch) react to an s/o who loves and is really good giving the sloppy toppy? 👁️👅👁️

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: it's been a while since I wrote some ac content hehe 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: altaïr, ezio, connor, arno, jacob 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: MDNI, NSFW content, smut, oral (m. receiving)

｡･:*˚:✧｡altaïr ibn-la'ahad

♡ oh altaïr just loves that about you. He'll kindly ask for you to give him head after a long or frustrating day as he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and kisses the back of your neck, breath fanning over the shell of your ear to seduce you (not that it takes a lot seeing as this is something you love to do).

♡ altaïr is the type to have you on your knees beneath his desk - it's one of his favourite places for the two of you to do this when the door is locked. He often has to pour over paperwork and letters and it's the least favourite part of his job.

♡ so, he'll just sit back, spread his legs to make room for you and set a hand upon your head as you get to work. He'll pet your hair and just feel the way you bob your head up and down as he loses himself in the sensation of you swallowing him down your throat and he'll be sure to remember this the next time he's stressing over work

｡･:*˚:✧｡ezio auditore

♡ oh Ezio is just thrilled that you enjoy giving him blowjobs so much. To begin with, he was very insistent on returning the favour but you've made it clear to him that's it's not necessary because you're not only doing it for him, you're doing it because you enjoy it. He never really asks for you to do this for him because he knows you'll do it of your own volition anyway.

♡ Ezio never seems to live alone throughout the franchise so I imagine that he prefers to do this in hidden places instead: maybe some secret spot of his down by the river arno, in some ruins in roma or perhaps in the tunnels beneath it, upon some rooftop with a view of costantinopoli's unique skyline. Either place is public, sure, but no one really goes there at the times he brings you there and so there's only the slightest risk of being caught.

♡ he tries to keep any groans and moans to a minimum so that the two of you won't be caught but he just loves to murmur words of praise to you all while you're down on your knees. He likes making you look up at him with your pretty eyes while you're down there. He lets you take the lead physically but he'll enjoy commanding you to go faster or slower or to take it deeper or use your tongue.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ratonhnhaké:ton | connor kenway

♡ he's quite shy about it but he'll never refuse you. He feels a little bad that you give him oral much more than he returns it but you've reassured him time and time again that this is something you're doing for the both of you and not just him so it's ok! He never, ever has any complaints though.

♡ seeing as Achilles' injury means he rarely leaves Davenport Manor, you and Connor often do this out in the woods around the homestead in a specific area that the two of you frequent just to be intimate together without having to worry about keeping things down so that the old man downstairs won't overhear you (you'd both be beyond mortified).

♡ Ratonhnhaké:ton knows he's big so he'll let you have complete control over what's going on. He'll have his hands on your head but it's mostly to just comb his fingers through your hair while he thanks you and tells you how good you make him feel through muffled whimpers as he bites his lips. He might tug your hair when he gets close to coming but he'll apologise the moment he realises he's doing it too much.

｡･:*˚:✧｡arno dorian

♡ as much as Arno respects that this is something you really love doing and he does like getting head from you, he's the type that genuinely prefers to give oral than to receive it. But at the same time he wants what will make you happy so he lets you have your fun.

♡ Arno tends to only do these things in private with you so this will mostly only happen in his home at the café-theatre or maybe in the club hall beneath it when he knows no one will walk in on the two of you.

♡ as said above, Arno prefers to give oral than to receive it and so his compromise is that when you want to give him oral, the two of you will often sixty-nine. He just loves having you sit on his face while your lips wrap around his cock and he can taste you on his tongue while he can feel the vibrations of your moans.

｡･:*˚:✧｡jacob frye

♡ Jacob thinks your mouth is absolutely incredible. He loves that you're always so eager to give him head and just how good you are at it. He's not too shy to spread his legs apart to make room for you while he pats his lap to beckon you over.

♡ If you're in a train carriage alone, Jacob will lock the doors, draw the curtains that look into the other carriages, and will set a pillow on the floor for your knees so that you don't get uncomfortable. He's not against a quickie here or there in some semi-public place where you could get caught so long as it's not somewhere dirty - you're a lady and you deserve better than that in his eyes.

♡ one of his favourite ways of doing this is to have you kneeling or sitting on the floor with your back to the wall, the back of your head touching it. He'll have you look up at him while he lets you take the lead or he starts off slow until he builds up to fucking your face. He just loves the noises you make and he's quick to bring you to your feet and messily kiss you the moment he's done or he wants to move on to something else.

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[secret-smut-sideblog]

The Rabbit

Lavellan x Blackwall

18+ drug use (weed), dom/sub, thigh riding, breast worship (f!), rough oral (f!), multiple orgasms, rough sex, p-in-v, doggy style, dirty talk, squirting, choking, spitting, unprotected sex, violence, blood and gore, tearful goodbyes

The battle for all of Thedas nearly drawn to their door, Vella and her bear share an urgent night of passion before it all falls around them...

Masterlist, Prev Chapter

-

"Really? You never learned how to play Wicked Grace?" Varric gave her a dubious stare.

"Is that so unbelievable?" Vella countered, sidling up to the table. "How easily you've forgotten I'm a wild woman from the forest." She sighed with mock weariness, smiling at Blackwall as his hand came to her hip.

Cullen flitted his gaze as she plopped into Blackwall's lap.

"You never taught her?" Varric directed at Blackwall, that amused sparkle in his eye.

"Are you kidding?" Blackwall laughed, his wide hand squeezed her thigh under the table. "You thought Solas could play you out of the clothes on your back? Nah, I know a card shark in the making when I see one."

Vella scoffed in mock affront and stuck her tongue out at him. Cullen caught on his own spit at the reveal of her tongue ring. Suddenly, he was very focused on his cards after a few solid coughs.

"Oh, he's got you pegged." Dorian agreed.

"Actually, I'm the one-"

"Could we start, please?" Cullen cut her off, his face scarlet. "I have a thousand things to do."

Bull laughed behind his hand, giving her an appreciative wink as he pushed coin onto the table. Vella smiled and tossed her leg over her thigh, lighting a pipe of elfroot.

"You're going to give the poor man a complex." Blackwall laughed low, speaking Elvhen to her under his breath. Spreading his cards in his hand.

"If that's all it takes..." She hummed mischievously.

"Hey! No elf whispering." Varric chided. "I'm barely convinced you don't know how to play as it is."

"Varric!" Vella gasped, leaning on a palm. Giving the slightest wiggle in Blackwall's lap. "Have I not proven myself trustworthy yet?"

"Oh no, Sunshine." He warned in a tease. "You may be sweet, but women as beautiful as you are always cunning."

Vella smiled wide.

He was right, of course. She had never played this game, but their companions tells were easy told to her. Even more so as the drink started flowing. Her own imbibing herbs left her warm and fizzled, leaning back into Blackwall's wide chest as content as a cat in a sunbeam.

Vella smiled at Cullen as he spun a tale from his templar days. It was rather tame to her standards, but he told it with the boisterous joy of retelling something rather sordid.

"What did he do?" Josephine urged through a giggle.

"Saluted. Turned on his heel. And marched out like he was in full armor."

The table lit with laughter, appreciative remarks thrown from all sides. The air warm with drunken comradery.

Blackwall's hand had come to rest on the curve of her hipbone, giving his own rough chuckle. A slow but insistent drag of his thumb on her waist had started, a near unconscious sign of his hidden desire.

She couldn't help but agree. This strain of elfroot left her snuggly and needful, barely restrained from kissing at his throat at the table.

It was criminal how attracted she was to this man. At all times, in danger of rubbing into him like a beast in heat. Gods when they finally get to live together...

The thought intruded, as it was bound to.

If. Not when.

They were facing down Corypheus within the next few days, she was sure of it. Though she was without foresight, there was something tight pulled in her gut. A certainty that he was somewhere within her horizon.

But she didn't want to think about that now. Only focused on the warmth surrounded behind her and the sensation of being slow and soft. Blinking up at him in adoration.

His stare caught hers, smiling under his mustache.

"No need to stare at me like that, dove. I'm already in love with you, don't need more persuading."

"You two are so..." Cassandra sighed dreamily, face propped on both hands. Eyes aglow with the unabashed reverie only brought out with a few tankards of beer.

"Careful Seeker," Varric chuckled. "You might come off as a romantic. And I just won." He planted the Angel of Death card on the table nonchalantly.

"No!" Cassandra cried. Slamming her hand of cards down in a huff.

But all of their companions became peripheral to Vella as her body saught for more touch. Both the elfroot and the heat of his body had left her heavy and sighing. Nuzzling into his throat like a hungry kitten.

"Do you need my attention, little bird?" He teased under his breath. But she could feel the drum of his heart against her. He needed it just as bad as she did.

"Are you going to win?" She whispered in his ear.

"Absolutely not." He chuckled.

"Then throw the game and fuck me." The whisper pushed directly into the well.

His breath caught in his throat, and she smiled against it. Rising off his lap to give a demure goodnight to their friends. Many voices rung out to wish her off, and she sauntered away. Headed towards her chambers.

Vella made her way upstairs, humming happily. Shedding her clothes in a line as she made her way to the bed. Snatching one of Blackwall's tunics that she had 'borrowed' from the back of a chair. Letting the linen fall over her as she pulled her hair through the neck to cascade down her back again.

She climbed into the bed with the satisfaction of a rabbit in a burrow. Curling up in the blankets as it pulls the earth around it. Humming out in contentment.

She had just fallen into a near sleep tranquility when the bed shifted behind her. Strong arms taken up around her under blankets.

"Mmm..." She turned, pressing into him. "You're made for cuddling."

"Am I?" He chuckled low, pulling her to him by her waist. Weaving his limbs into hers.

"Very. So big and warm and sweet." She praised, wiggling happily into his hold.

"And furry." She added, tugging in a soft tease on his beard. "I just want to kiss you all the time. You're wonderful."

"Maker, you're going to puddle me." He accused, his pupils wide with love as he stared down at her. "That elfroot made you too sweet."

"And yet, I'm not being eaten." She sighed mournfully. "I thought bears liked honey."

The blood rushing through her body was utterly intoxicated by the feeling of him against her. Tangling her limbs into his and kissing at his throat.

"Do you want to be tasted, honey?" He hushed, voice husky with desire.

She nodded up at him, her eyes seeking plaintively.

She had always leaned towards dominance in intimacy, but he pulled something from her. Something soft and submissive. Fallen under him a tame little thing, asking to be touched with wide eyes and softly parted lips.

"You're so beautiful." He marveled quietly, running his thumb over her bottom lip. Scanning her face in reverent glances. "Maker, how are you so perfect?"

He leaned down and kissed into the side of her neck. A wide hand pushed up her ribcage to cup her breast, thumbing her nipple over his tunic.

She whined softly, pulling his leg with hers to press his thigh against her sex. Grinding slow into the taut muscle.

"Fuck, yes." He encouraged, pressing his thigh harder into the ridge of her. Grabbing her ass in a handful to rock her against him.

"Could you cum on my thigh?" His deep voice sweet in its request.

She nodded again, pulling the tunic up to her clavicle. Arching her chest up in unabashed request.

He agreed immediately, breathing hard through nose as his mouth descended onto her peak. Licking the sensitive nub into his lips.

She bit into her lip as her head craned back. Another whine caught in her throat. The growl of his moan against her tingled through her whole body. Her cunt fully flooded with arousal. Climbing closer and closer to her tipping point with each grind of her hips. Her soft cries getting needy and choppy.

His tongue slurped and popped around her nipple, tongue flicking and laving flat lines through panted breaths. Watching her under his brow with dark blown eyes. Twisting her other nipple between his fingers.

How he already knew how to fast pull her thread was entirely unfair. The points of her body and how they needed to be touched to unravel her completely.

"Oh gods..." She moaned, gripping his forearm. Orgasm tight pulled in the drive of her hips.

"Yes, cum on me pretty girl." He praised around her breast. Grasping the outside of her thigh, pulling her deeper. "I want to lick your cunt while it's clenching."

The vulgar of it sent her over. Shuddering through waves of pleasure striking out through her body. Clawing into his back.

He smiled, rising off her tender breast to descend between her legs. Cupping the apex of her thighs in both hands.

"So sweet." He sighed out in contentment as he nestled between. Licking her cum from her thighs. The bristle of his beard teased against the soft skin as his tongue pushed deep into her. Slurping obscenely as he lapped cum into his mouth.

"I love you." She sighed around her moans, pressing her hand against the headboard as he took her apart with a suckling tongue. "Fuck, I love you Thom."

She froze, the intoxicating herbs and touch had left her mind hazy. But her calling of his true name only drove him harder against her. His calloused hands dug into the fat of her thighs, moaning into her core. Yanking her flush to his face. Eating voraciously, tongue and lips crushing into her with animal fervor.

She whimpered cries, and he growled into her. His steel eyes watched her writhe under his brow. His fingernails dug painfully into her thighs, but the pain only danced deliciously with her delirious pleasure. A flood about to burst the dam.

He lapped flat at her tender clit under the suction of his lips. Just the sound was enough to send her over, but the ferocity was overkill. She came in a strangled, shuddered cry. Her body trembled and curled up with a terrible pleasure. Fisting in to the sheets as her head craned back. Pelvis the nexus of an earthquake that rocked her whole body.

"Ohhh fuck yes." Thom growled, leaning back to thrust his fingers into her still clenching cunt. Eliciting a cry from her as he fast slammed his fingers inside. "Give it to me, baby."

A shuddering she had rarely experienced tightened around his fingers. Her thighs wet with release. She clamped her hand over her mouth to muffle a shriek. Her eyes utterly lost in her skull.

Thoms deep groans of appreciation watching her soak him were only heightened by him pulling his fingers free slowly to lick them clean. He kept her gaze as he licked his wrist up into his palm, her cum slick veiled along his skin.

She urged him up to her with pulls of her legs. Undressing him with rapid fingers as he met her above.

She opened her mouth wide, tongue stuck out flat in request. He understood implicitly and spat in her mouth. Her cunt clenched hard and she led his hand to her throat as she kicked off his trousers.

His reverent love making was wonderful, but this is what she always craved. Fucking nasty and mean. The kind of fucking done by animals in rut.

His eyes flashed dangerously, understanding her again. Flipping her onto her belly easily, hiking her hips high with rough grunting yanks.

She moaned into the pillows, arching her back. Giving him the full display of her submissive body curled for him.

"Maker's breath." He huffed, taking a full handful of her ass. Spreading his hand down her lower back. "Such a beautiful whore."

Vella moaned loudly, and Thom grabbed a fistful of her hair. Pulling her up to him as he lined up behind her. Growling into her ear as his hand tightened around her throat.

"You're my whore, aren't you?" His thick cock breached her as he threatened, pulling a strangled moan from her. "My pretty little whore, soaking the bed."

She nodded dumbly, already fluttering around the mass of him. A third orgasm refining to a spear inside her, nearing to striking distance.

"That's right." He huffed, thrusting hard into her. The slide against that mind-numbing place inside her entrance was near unbearable. Her body tried to collapse against the sheets, but his hand spread flat across her sternum. Demanding her to stay.

"You're not going anywhere." He promised in a huff. His thrusts picked up speed. "Not until I'm done with you."

"Yes, ser." She moaned. The squelching of her cunt so salacious it made her dizzy.

"Keep talking." He demanded. Gripping her hip as an anchor. Her body jolting with the force of his thrusts. Fingers digging into her neck.

"I can't, I'm about to cum!" She pleaded in Elvhen around mewls, mind unable to speak Common anymore. "Fuck, you're going to make me-"

Her words cut off in a whip of cries as she came again. Fingernails scrambled into his sides behind her. Choking on her own raw pleasure.

He cursed under his breath and released her in a heap under him. His hands took up both sides of her hips to solely thrust.

"Say my name."

"Thom." She pleaded.

"Again. Louder."

"Thom, please! Please!"

She looked over her shoulder at the wild bear rutting into her.

"Please cum Thom! I need you to cum!"

He finally buckled, a hand bracing on her lower back as his face crumpled in release. Driving sloppy into her as he bellowed behind clenched teeth. Her cunt flooded with warmth, pulling a wide smile from her. No matter how he insisted and promised he couldn't help but to cum inside her. It wasn't a problem anymore, so she could revel fully in it.

He fell back into an open kneel, huffing and sweating. Eyes glazed and rolling marble in his head.

Vella turned and pulled him onto his belly. His body limp and pliant to her leading, following easily. Fallen under her in a slump.

She sat on him and drug her nails lightly up and down his back. His deep moan exactly what she was looking for.

After a moment of gentle scratching, his breath returned in slow pulls of his chest. Body completely loose under hers, arms curled around his head, face slack against the pillow.

"You still with me?" She teased in a quiet voice.

"Uh-huh..." He sighed, his eyes struggling to focus.

"I'm not convinced. Quick, what's the capital of Orlais?"

He smacked her thigh with a limp palm. Pulling a giggle from her.

"Asshole..." He laughed, reaching back to pull her down to him. Wrapping around her, cocooned within the safety of his limbs.

"Language!" She chided in a whisper.

"Shit. Fuck." He pinched her side. "Motherfucker."

"You forgot Shitfucker."

"I love you." He smiled loosely at her, eyes soft in adoration. "Do you want to get married?"

"What?" She laughed.

"Wait, are you serious?" She hushed, rising onto elbows over his head.

"Yeah. I am." He smiled, her hair fallen curtain around him. His hands rested on her ribcage, rubbing thumbs in slow waves. "Would you marry me?"

"Dalish don't get married." She smiled with a shaken head. "We call it Bonding. And we're already engaged to be bonded, silly."

"Wait, what?" He stood on elbows now. Staring shock into her.

"Yeah, I gave you my hair..." She led in amused confusion. Planting a palm over the small pouch that he always wore pendant around his neck. "You gave me the boots you made me..."

"That was a proposal?!"

She burst into bright laughter at the absurdity of it all. She was sure he understood the meaning of the gesture after all of their lessons. He certainly acted with the appropriate solemn in taking her proposal gift.

"Yes, it was. We've been engaged to be bonded since the Grand Ball." She offered through fits of giggling.

"I-" His eyes darted down in thought, then started flooding with tears.

"Oh, dove." He warbled.

"Hey, shhh." She wrapped around him. Soothing his body into hers. "It's okay..."

"It's not okay." He countered around the tight of his throat. "I did all of that to you and didn't even know we were..."

"I forgive you." She kissed his ear, tightly holding him. "I forgive you, Thom."

He hitched a sob into her shoulder. Trembling within her woven embrace.

-

"Come on, baby." Vella huffed under her breath. Firing arrow after arrow into Corypheus. Watching her love slam into him with the last of his strength. Shield braced under the hail of red beamed death. "Come on, come on."

She threw a barrage of daggers to get him off of Thom, Dorian flanking behind her to unleash his own hellfire. Bull rushing past to cleave into Corypheus' calf.

The monstrosity cried out in rage as he fell to a kneel. Vella ran forward, seeing her target through a tunnel of spectral vision. Dagger poised along her forearm.

Thom raised his shield for her and she leapt off of it into a drive of her dagger. Screaming from deep in her gut as the blade speared through his throat.

Corypheus' breath cut as he stared shock into her. The orb pulsed with power as he still tried to wrestle it into his command.

Rage untethered flowed through her, this death a culmination of everything she had suffered. Screaming in holy rage again, she bore over him. Pulling her dagger from his throat and ripping her teeth into the putrid flesh. Blood smeared in the cavern of her mouth. Teeth rending flesh.

The orb flew to her hand, raised high above her head. A deafening beam of power flew to the heavens from it. Shaking the earth below her as she tore away his throat.

As he fell limp, she released him to the Fade as she spat blood. The orb shattered above her in the same breath. Sky shuddered closed. Earth pulverized around her.

Thom's shield came over her body as the castle crumbled around them. Dragging her to a run as it all fell away.

She blinked the dust out of her eyes, coughing through debris in the air. Taking fearful count of her companions. Letting out a deep breath of relief when she found them all whole.

Far into the battlefield, Solas stepped forward. Reaching out a tentative hand as he fell to a kneel.

Vella stared in confusion as she rushed toward him.

"Solas, what are you doing he-"

His gentle cupping of the remnants of the orb paused her. His body leaned in a bow of mourning.

"The orb..." He hushed, shaking his head.

"Solas..." She reached for his shoulder, but he stood. Leaving the pieces to the earth. "I'm so sorry."

She understood the loss of elvhen artifacts. The gouge they left in the already ragged tapestry of their people. But, somehow, this felt beyond that.

He tried to pull from her hand, but she ducked around his front and pulled him into a tight hug.

His breath stilled in his chest, arms held out uncertainly. But they wove around her after a moment. His head tucked into her shoulder.

They stayed entwined there. His hands grasped her back as he pulled away. Eyes swimming in sorrow.

"No matter what comes," He looked down at her. Stepping away with eyes locked on her face. "I want you to know you will always have me."

"Solas, wait-"

"Vella!"

She turned at Thom's frightened call at her absence.

"Here!" She called in return. "I'm here!"

When she turned Solas was gone.

-

Vella stared up at his unfinished fresco, wiping a tear with agitated fingers.

"Hey." Thom's kiss on her shoulder greeted ahead of him.

"Hey." She smiled sadly. Leaning back into his chest as his arms snaked around her waist.

"Men I care about really have a bad habit, huh?" She looked back up at the gouge he had left. "Dissappearing."

"I'm sorry, dove. On both of our accounts."

"I hope he's okay." She sighed. "I just want him happy and safe, no matter what."

Something shuddered inside her chest, drawing her eyes down in shock. Jolting her breath to a still.

"Vella?" Thom came around her front. Searching her with frantic eyes.

"I'm okay, I think." She pressed a hand to her sternum. "It's the ancestors. They just spoke... sorrow? They've never given me only a feeling before."

No, this felt beyond them. Something larger. Full under her heart.

"Solas...?" She whispered, but the feeling fell away again.

"Fucking well..." Thom sighed, shaking his head ruefully at her. "Come on, love. We're almost packed."

"Oh shit, I've still got to say goodbye to everyone!" She paused their stride to take a paintbrush from Solas' desk. Slipping it into her pocket.

"I hate that you're leaving." Josephine sighed. "I mean, I'm happy for you! Happy for you both. But I still hate it."

"I'm going to miss you too." Vella smiled. "And I won't be gone. We'll be in, I'm sure, constant communication as I 'rule' from the sidelines." She curled her fingers at the word. The gold bracelet with an enchanted stone caught the light. "Dorian made us these special afterall."

Josephine slid her matching ring around her finger. "I know. Leliana and Cullen have theirs, too. But it won't be the same. You're such a calming presence. I don't know how many spats you can settle from the Free Marches."

"You'll do great." Vella cupped her cheeks and kissed her forehead. "You'll all do great."

"Where are you going first?" Josephine urged. "I'll have Leliana send scouts to assure your arrival."

"Honestly, I have no idea." Vella smiled brilliantly. "Isn't that great? I'm not leading for once!"

"We're tracking down one of my men on the road towards Ostwick." Thom offered over her shoulder as he came up behind.

"Oooh, I'm good at tracking." She smiled.

"The best." Thom agreed, sliding his hand around her waist. "That's why I hired you."

"I hope I can earn my pay." Vella purred.

"Ugh, enough." Josephine laughed. "Get out, both of you."

Vella pulled her into a hug, and Josephine sighed into her shoulder.

"Call on me if you need me." Vella assured as they separated. Both her and Thom turned. "I'll find my way back, no matter what."

"Wait!"

Sera ran out of the castle door. Leaping into a hug on Thom's chest.

"You're staying! We've talked about this!" He laughed heartily. Hugging her tightly to him.

As Sera blubbered goodbyes into him, Dorian's hand came to Vella's shoulder. Nodding his own tearful goodbye on the road towards Tevinter.

She kissed both of his cheeks and wiped his tears.

"Don't be a stranger." He sighed.

"Never." She chastised. "You can't, either." She held up the bracelet again.

"Right. We're connected now." He sighed in mock weariness.

"Ha-ha! You have to be my friend!" She teased.

"Be safe." He pulled her into a deep hug. "Don't die, okay?"

"Love you." She murmured into his shoulder.

"Love you, too." He warbled. Wiping his eyes again as he pulled away. "Ugh! Go on. Get."

"That's the goodbye I was looking for." She smiled. Hopping up onto Ghilana behind Thom. "Good riddance, all of you."

"Hope your trip is terrible." Josephine laughed.

"Hope Skyhold falls into the canyon!" Vella agreed in a call. Smiling wide at her retreating friends.

She wrapped tight around Thom's waist and leaned her head into his wide back. Letting out a long-held sigh. Finally, moving forward in the quiet of two bodies. The earth awakening with the damp of spring around them.

Despite everything, daffodils had bloomed.

~

~

~

okay this is the end! unless ya'll want some Trespasser chapters 👀 (but I just started it irl, no spoilers!) genuinely thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone following this story with me! mwah! mwah I say!!! ❤️

[cuffmeinblack]

Unabridged

Andrew Larson x f!reader

Tags: explicit | masturbation | slight voyeurism

1.6k words

Summary: Andrew's bedtime reading and his roommate's distracting activities lead to something shamefully inevitable.

A/n: I told myself I wouldn't write anymore smut until I finished a chapter of Veil yet here I am. Just one little drabble. I suppose this could be taken as the smut I never wrote for Between the Lines.

⤍ Andrew Larson masterlist ⤎

Whilst he more often than not became somewhat flustered whilst reading novels such as the one currently balanced precariously on his hardened length, he didn't usually feel quite so unravelled as in that moment. The story was thoroughly filthy, detailing from a witch's point of view being seduced and defiled by a handsome vampire in her own marriage bed. Somewhere around the part where various bodily fluids were exchanged, Andrew had truly noticed his predicament. He lay his head back against the headboard to stare up at the wooden slats above his head, but the gentle, rhythmic bowing did nothing to alleviate his lustful thoughts. He abandoned the text altogether and watched the subtle shift of the mattress and the flap of the curtains for a while, ignoring the throbbing in his trousers. It wouldn't go away. His skin burned and his clothes felt so suffocating he wanted to rip them to shreds. Blood raged as his pulse quickened, breaths came short and ragged as if his lungs had forgotten how to process the air. 

Some distractions were harder to ignore than others. External stimuli could be blocked out with a well placed dampening charm or a simple pair of earmuffs. The creaking of the bed above him, for example, was all part and parcel of being a Ravenclaw. Bunk beds. Awful invention, completely unnecessary given the ample proportions of the room. Clearly whoever had furnished them had been well aware of their ability to rob the occupants of any modicum of privacy, but teenagers being what they were, that didn't necessarily stop his roommates from sneaking their sexual conquests back into the dormitory for a little fun. Right above his head. But this he could cope with, if he ignored the way the bed jolted slightly every now and then. Then there was the fact that his mattress lay beside a window and the curtain didn't quite wrap all the way around, leaving his body silhouetted amongst the glow of his Lumos charm, completely exposed to the night sky. Another inconvenience, but unless there was someone flying outside the tower past curfew, it seemed inconsequential and not worth his time to worry about. No, the most distracting thing he currently had to deal with whilst trying to read his book wasn't a sound, a sight or even a smell; it was the uncomfortable pinching sensation currently residing below his waistband as his cock strained against his leather belt. 

Perhaps it would be a surprise to learn that Andrew Larson of all people—prim and proper and thoroughly virginal—enjoyed reading literature of a more risqué variety. Not all the time, mind you. He was quite happy with the classics, ancient and beyond, and more modern works such as Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray which had left him bewildered and quite speechless. It was after these that he enjoyed what might be termed a palate cleanser—something altogether easier to digest, devoid of the kind of emotional turmoil that might upset one's stomach. A pleasurable romp. He might not shout about such things at his book club meetings but if asked, Andrew would simply explain his reasoning and point out that every work of literature has its merits and to deprive oneself of the broad spectrum of genres is only to one's own detriment. In other words, don't be such a snob.

Andrew shuffled down a little into a slouch, gripping the sheets with one hand and hesitantly gripping his wand in the other. A flick of his wrist lifted the dampening charm he'd encased himself in, sound finally trickling back into his canopy. Apparently his roommate hadn't bothered with a silencing charm, or it had since worn off, because Andrew could hear everything. His cheeks flushed even brighter with shame but he didn't recast his charm, instead stashing his wand with the book next to him on the mattress. The couple above him were really going for it; breathless and moaning softly into the still night. Andrew's breath shuddered slightly as he closed his eyes and let the wet slap of skin and delicately musky scent envelop his senses. His chest heaved beneath the cotton of his shirt, fingers idly picking at the buttons to free himself of the fabric constraints. He thought of the book he'd read, the forbidden nature of it all; he thought of the unknown girl above him and her gentle whimpers; and most of all he thought of replicating that carnal passion with the object of his desires. She would moan most prettily of all, all soft skin and delicate curves beneath his roaming hands. He wanted every part of her in every conceivable way, yet so far he'd succeeded only in being a coward. Instead of telling her how he felt (or a rather more savoury, abridged version), Andrew had taken to living out fanciful daydreams in his head. He should be thoroughly ashamed of himself, and he was, yet that gnawing guilt paled in comparison to the raging hunger growing in his chest, for the woman who'd lent him that damned book, no less.

He could barely hear the cacophony of lewd sounds over the pounding in his ears, yet the slap, slap, slap was still audible and driving him slightly mad. He was vaguely away of his bare torso as he felt a prickle of moisture cooling on skin and he looked down past the wire rims of his glasses to nearly groan in despair. His impossibly hard erection had forced its way past his belt, twitching angrily against the pale smattering of ashen hair that trailed to his navel. His cockhead glistened, the source of that wetness now apparent in the dim light from the landscape beyond his window. He couldn't very well ignore it now, as painful and angry looking as it was. With a sigh of annoyance that masked his relief, he unbuckled himself with increasingly shaky fingers. Whatever hormones were at work had sent him into a frenzy, desperately craving release no matter what the consequences—and there would be consequences, whether it be the inability to look his roommate or the woman he longed for in the eye again, or the very real possibility that he might just lose his mind along the way and finally admit his feelings, for the sliver of hope that it might one day be her hand wrapped around his cock and not his own. 

Andrew rolled his hips, clenching his muscles to drive upwards into his waiting hand. Fingers wrapped tightly around himself, slick with desire. He followed the rhythm already present in the stifling air, the slap, slap, slap that seemed to stutter with a shift of weight and resume with a more furious pace amid breathy moans. They weren't her moans, though, and they served only to irritate Andrew more than entice him. He picked up his wand to cocoon himself in quiet once again, letting his own imagination lead the way. That was all he needed, really; the thought of her. This time she rode him, exquisitely soft thighs clamped around his hips, jiggling with every bounce on his cock. He squeezed his fingers. You're so tight, he imagined himself sighing as her dazzling smile filled his vision and she moaned in response. Faster he stroked himself, copious amounts of precum filling his palm and easing his way. She would feel infinitely better, softer and wetter, and it could all be for him. Andrew whimpered into the dark before he could control the impulse and his eyes flared wide, but the bed still shifted with the weight above him and had no intention of stopping. 

He was getting close to his inevitable release, half torn-off clothes shoved roughly around his body which glistened with sweat. Gasping and groaning through every pump of his fist, he thought of her tossing her head back in ecstasy as she met her own tremendous climax. All for him. She was beautiful in his mind's eye, even if her naked body was comprised entirely of glimpses he'd had of the soft curves beneath her uniform. Andrew let his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose and hair fall over his eyes as he writhed in pleasure, bucking wildly into his hand until finally he came. His palm flew to his mouth to muffle the groan that clawed its way up his throat; his final cry was lost to the clammy crevices as he pushed down hard on his lips. He felt his release coat his other hand, every knuckle stained in shame and primal want. Even his shoulder wasn't spared. By the time the pulsing subsided and the ringing in his ears had stopped, all was quiet but for the deep breaths both from his own chest and above him in the bunk beds.

He cracked his eyes open and stared up at the slats again, further away this time now he'd somehow ended up horizontal on the bed in a great dishevelled mess, limbs contorted and wrapped in various tangled garments. His hand wrapped around him released, sticky and warm, and eyes followed the trail of his release to the book that lay next to his arm. The black book cloth was ruined, stained. It seemed rather fitting, in a grotesque sort of way. Suffice it to say, he would not be taking that particular edition back to the hidden shelves of the book club’s library. He'd make some excuse and tuck it away somewhere safe, perhaps rip the binding from its case and burn it. No matter what he did, though, he would still remember this; the unexpectedly desperate need; the complete and utter lack of control when it came to her. Whilst he lay half-naked and dizzy in his bed, Andrew vowed to finally summon the courage to tell her how he felt, though the unabridged version of this truth could wait until later.

[septembermonologues]

i need my irls to look away but i wrote something for the first time in like two years should any of my non irls be interested

Relationships: Orym/Dorian Storm

Word Count: 1,449

Summary: The first sensations that came to Orym as he woke up were the unnatural quiet and darkness of the room around him, sending a spark of panic down his spine before his brain caught up and reminded him that the Hells had crashed in a pocket dimension. The next things he processed were the solid, cold weight pressed along his back and hair in his mouth. That got him to open his eyes, and the sight of blue arms wrapped around his chest left him about as breathless as maybe you're just the first beautiful, kind face that I have ever seen had left him the night before.

[littlelostmabari]

Day 10: Orlais

This is explicitly for @cullenssweatyballsakk based on our discussion of food.

WC: 800. No CW unless you're squeamish about gross food and reactions to it. Referenced Cullenmance but no details.

Maker he hated Orlesian cooking.

Antiva had some of the best food he'd ever eaten, with richly flavored meats and heavily spiced vegetables. The platter of soft cheeses and softer bread that Josephine usually had resting in her office tempted him often before and after strategy meetings in the War Room.

Nevarran cuisine was hearty. Smoked meats and fried bread, heavy with pepper and heavy on the stomach. Cassandra tended away from the food of her homeland but honestly, he'd take it over whatever was on his plate today.

Even Tevinter food, or what Dorian had shared with him, was quite palatable. Cream sauces and spiced tomatoes, dishes drunker than those that consumed them.

None of it held a candle to Ferelden food of course. The Skyhold kitchen had been under strict orders from his beloved to make sure he ate regularly; their plan of attack was to deliver him plates that would could have been plucked from his mother's dining table. Potatoes with herbs, mashed over a bubbling pile of venison stewed for an age with carrots and other root vegetables. He'd asked for no ale with dinner, but the chef sent it along anyway. And a cookie, plain and sweet, that he always nibbled on even when the lyrium withdrawals had his stomach wound so tight that nothing else would stay down.

But this? The thing that was on his plate now, between too many forks and which glass is for water and Maker this is the seventeenth course could not have been mistaken for food in any part of Thedas.

A green ribbon dashed with small brown spots peeled from the rind of some kind of fruit, then wrapped around something what appeared at first glance to be a cracker, but was instead something far more jelly like. The actual cracker came in a cone that pierced the jelly and was filled with a… meatball? with green speckles and chunks of something whiter than he thought was physically possible. The chef had then dusted the whole thing with flakes of grey, which apparently were actual charcoal meant to evoke the sacred ashes for which the dish was named.

Cullen prodded it with the fork Leliana had quietly pointed out to him, and sunk the tines into the jelly of the base in an effort to bring the hors d'oeuvre-size bite toward his mouth, but the smell of something rank hit his nostrils first and he gagged slightly before slipping the morsel between his lips. Oh did his tongue rebel. The meatball was made of sweetmeats, the rind from a bitter apple.

The jelly was deep mushroom.

The Commander of the Inquisition's forces was known for his self-control. Most at this table did not know the depths to which he relied on it to stave off the withdrawals, but they were aware of his talents in organization and staunch loyalty to the Inquisition and it's values. Those that thought to bribe Commander Rutherford were always rudely surprised (except when it came to his lover, but even thoughts of them fled at the sensation of deep mushroom jelly lingering near his molars).

That self-control waned just enough that his reach for the red wine caught several eyes that lingered on the Inquisition's advisors and caused Josephine to huff to herself.

"It's awful," Liliana tittered from his right side. He covered the swishing of wine around his mouth with a soft brush of napkin over his lips. "I'm surprised it took you as long as you did." He turned just enough to see blue eyes glinting under sharply cut red hair. His side-eye only caused her to titter more. He opened his mouth to speak but the intake of air brought a new round of the flavor across his tongue. Both of his hands balled into fists, one around the napkin and one pressed deeply into the meat of his thigh. Another breath, and one more, and the flavor finally abated into something tolerable after another swish of wine.

"Who serves their guests charcoal," he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. The speckles of grey and black around the remaining lines of jelly on the plate stared back at him. "And they say Ferelden is backwards. At least Ferelden food doesn't make you beg the Maker for an end to your misery. Ugh, I'm going to be sick."

Leliana snorted into her wine, although when the master bard snorted into her wine it was covered with the gentle clink of glass and other conversation. A skill he had yet to — and probably would never — master.

She sat the wine down and turned to him until her whole body was facing his. She placed a gentle hand on his arm and smirked with one eyebrow raised.

"Cullen, you eat pickled eggs."

[princessanonymous]

When Night Comes

Platonic Yandere Vampire

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23. 𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 𝓦𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓻

The night had been long and exhausting, but this mattered little to him. Now that he had brought his child back and turned her, everything was well. Shortly after her first feeding, (Y/n) had fallen unconscious, the exhaustion brought by her transformation finally taking over her.

As a coffin had yet to be made for her, the child had nowhere to rest.  She wasn't human anymore, a bed certainly wouldn't do. These things were too uncomfortable for greater beings like them. Dorian brought her to his own coffin and let her rest next to him for the time being.

Killian remained silent since (Y/n)'s transformation. He hadn’t uttered a single word since. His eyes lingered frequently on the youngling, but he presented a vacant expression, his mind adrift. Dorian didn't mind; he understood that, despite Killian's stoic exterior, the blonde vampire felt a sense of responsibility for the newly turned child. Now, he would have to think of (Y/n) before trying to leave. (Y/n) would now factor into both their lives, a reminder that Dorian intended to keep at the forefront of Killian's thoughts.

A heavy silence hung in the air, pregnant with tension as Killian's accusatory words sliced through the room like a dagger. His dark gaze bore into Dorian, carrying with it a weight of both anger and disappointment. 

"You should have left her. You never should have turned her," Killian stated firmly, his voice dripping with a foreboding darkness that resonated through the chamber.

Dorian couldn't suppress a growl of frustration that rumbled deep within his chest. He loved his companion, a bond that had been forged over countless years of shared experiences and challenges. Yet, their differing philosophies had always sparked discord. With a sarcastic hiss, he retorted, "Of course, Killian, you are absolutely right. I should have left her to wither away and crumble into the abyss of old age." The irony in his words was palpable, a thinly veiled mockery of Killian's unyielding principles.

The girl in question, still adjusting to her new existence, remained cradled in Dorian's arms, her eyes closed. Dorian hugged her tightly, his hands tenderly covering her ears in a protective gesture. He wished fervently that the newborn vampire didn't hear the words that had escaped Killian's lips, for in her eyes, he was the embodiment of virtue and goodness.

"I do not care how much you dislike this situation," Dorian sneered, the bitterness evident. "Rant and rave about it as much as you want, but don't you ever — and I mean it — say it in her presence again." The warning hung heavy in the air. “I was able to get my hands on a stake once and I will not hesitate to do it again, but this time– and I swear to all that is holy and unholy– I will make sure to complete the job.”

She didn't need to know the depth of the internal conflicts that had arisen within the very beings she would have to look up to for guidance. They were her guides, and Dorian intended to shield her from the shadows that lurked within their immortal souls.

⊱ ────── {⋆𖤐⋆} ────── ⊰

The night unfurled around (Y/n) as she awoke, grappling with the disorienting transition from a human world to the reality of her new existence. She emerged from the coffin, the memories of the nunnery, the massacres, and her transformation flooding back. She distantly realized she couldn’t feel any more pain in her leg.

The once mundane aspects of her surroundings now pulsed with life—the scents, sounds, tastes, and sensations overwhelmed her heightened senses. The onslaught of sensations became too much to bear. Blood pounded in her ears, her hands trembled, and her feet tingled. It was a whirlwind of clarity and chaos, leaving her desperate for reprieve.

She needed it to—

She gulped as her stomach churned. She felt as though a hand of ice had reached inside her chest, gripping her heart with a vice-like hold. She covered her ears, shutting out the cacophony threatening to engulf her. She just wanted it to stop.

Stop, stop, stopstop—

"(Y/n)," a voice, loud and grounding, called out to her. She winced in pain.

"Child, can you listen to me?" The voice, a lifeline amidst the turmoil, asked gently. Hesitant, she nodded, still overwhelmed and scared. "I want you to take three breaths with me. Can you do that?"

Hesitant but compliant, she followed his lead. Breathe in, breathe out—a rhythmic attempt to regain control. The creaking door and the aroma of food wafting from downstairs threatened to disrupt her focus.

"Breathe in... breathe out," he instructed, accentuating the motions. Slowly, through repetition, (Y/n) began to regain a semblance of calm. Trembling persisting, she clung to Killian, a strange calm intertwining with an unfamiliar sense of resentment.

As she followed his instructions, focusing on the simple act of breathing, the chaos within her began to subside, if only momentarily. The scent of food from downstairs, once a distraction, now mingled with the comforting presence. With each inhale and exhale, she felt herself slowly coming back to herself, the trembling lessening as a sense of control returned. Yet, beneath the calm facade, a knot of resentment twisted within her.

"I'm a monster," she confessed in a whisper, scorn lacing her words as tears traced down her face. "He made me into this."

Killian rolled circles in her back, a silent pillar of support. Dorian wasn't in the room, there was only her and the other vampire.

"I never wanted this," her voice cracked.

He enveloped her in a comforting embrace. "I know, child," he assured, his tone echoing the different emotions that enveloped them both.

The sound of approaching footsteps reached (Y/n)'s enhanced hearing moments before the door swung open. Her gaze, a defiant glare, met the vampire who entered. Despite Killian's protective arm around her shoulders, Dorian paid it no mind, smiling while cupping her face in his hand.

"How is my little fledgling tonight?" he asked in a singsong voice. "Show me your fangs, dear."

(Y/n) clenched her jaw and turned her head away in defiance. Dorian, undeterred, tightened his grip, forcing her to meet his gaze again. "Now, don't be—"

Instinctively, she bared her teeth and attempted to bite him, a surprising action even to herself. Dorian retracted his hand just in time to avoid it. Rather than anger, (Y/n) sensed amusement radiating from her sire, who rewarded her with a sharp grin, practically cackling in delight.

"Quite a feisty one, aren't you?" he commented gleefully. "Father is so proud." She glowered. "Freshen up; it is time to eat."

She left their room to go to her own quarters without a word. Anything to not be in direct contact with him. A maid had already prepared a bath for her and left, a fortunate occurrence. She was bloodied, her clothes stained by blood that had dried. The origin was unknown to her. Was it from Dorian, herself or even the nuns? She clenched her jaw, preferring not to think of that. 

She just wanted it all gone. With meticulous care, she lathered her hands with soap. She thought of Sister Gloria and of the pain she must have felt as her sire sank his fangs in her neck, draining her life force. Or maybe, as he sliced her open– or as he ripped her apart ruthlessly. Her mind buzzed, each possibility running through her head. She could still hear the screams, could still see the red. The same red covering her. As the soap bubbled between her fingers, she scrubbed furiously. It had to leave. Did he play with them before slaughtering them? Did he make them partake in his twisted version of hide and seek? Hiding until he found them and spilled all their life fluids across their haven? Was it the same fluid she had on herself now? She scrubbed, her nails digging into her skin with a desperate intensity. She needed it gone. Was that what she was forced to become now? Would her existence revolve around spilling all that blood? Would it be consumed by the red? She scrubbed, she could have missed–

Someone knocked. “Miss,” a soft, almost inaudible voice called, “the duke is requesting you.”

She looked down at the blood tainted water and stood up. She paused for an instant. With a sigh, she reached for the hand towel, her movements slow and hesitant. Once she finally dried and dressed herself, she was ready to go.