#i want underwear/smallclothes

[spadefish]

going to finally make a glenn ref on the off chance that i ever have commission money again LMFAO... the problem is i want "canon"/medieval AND modern refs so i'm going to have to draw like. six outfits

[wisteria-lodge]

"Smallclothes"

I just reblogged a very interesting thread about historical inaccuracy in A Song of Ice and Fire, but it was doing a whole big picture thing and I didn't want to clog it up with one very small detail that just really specifically bothers me.

It's his use of the term "smallclothes." Basically, in ASOIAF smallclothes = panties/knickers.

Daario found his breeches and pulled them on. He did not trouble himself with smallclothes.

Jon’s anger flared. “No, my lord, I mean to set them to sewing lacy smallclothes."

“... before Lord Snow wets his smallclothes.”

"he looked like he was going to shit his smallclothes"

So okay. 'smallclothes' or 'small-clothes' is a historical term (from the 1700s) that means... underlayer. Here's it being used by Charles Dickens:

“Will you run over, once again, what the boy said?” asks Mr. Tulkinghorn, putting his hands into the pockets of his rusty smallclothes and leaning quietly back in his chair."

The idea being that he's casual/doesn't care and isn't bothering to dress up for his guest. not that he's in his undies. Here is a illustration from Nicholas Nickleby of a suitor who has inappropriately "displayed his small-clothes"

I've heard "smallclothes" refer to things like pocket-handkerchiefs, and anecdotally it's sometimes used to refer to knickers in linguistically stubborn places like Yorkshire, but that just is not how the word was used historically.

so okay. fine. It's a fantasy story, he's just made up his own word that means "panties."

Except NO. They straight up did not wear panties in the middle ages and renaissance. Sometimes you got loose under-breeches with a split crotch BUT - in general that long white shirt/chemise just WAS your undergarment. Think of how much easier it is to manufacture! And clean! Boxer brief type things weren't a thing until the 1900s, and modern-ish woman's panties ("step-ins") weren't a thing until the 20s, because the hemlines stopped working with pantalettes and bloomers. There are no "lacy smallclothes" like there is lacy lingerie. That only makes sense if you have industrialized clothing manufacturing!

Honestly I would have thought GRRM would be all over this, like it's kinda sexy that it's just thigh-high stocking or leggings underneath those big dresses, right? But he hasn't done that. Instead he's just ported in a modern article of clothing and gave it an old-timey name. Just a little hint that he hasn't actually properly got his head around how these clothes were made and used, and that devalues them.

And it's escaped containment! It's canon in Dragon Age, and in fanfiction I'm seeing "smallclothes" or "smalls" used to describe the underwear in in Our Flag Means Death, the Lord of the Rings, the Witcher. Just have nothing! None of these people should be wearing panties!!!!

[marzipanandminutiae]

I think I agree with you giving GRRM half points in the Question of Small clothes. While medieval women didn't wear pants, a lot of textual evidence points to them using rags during their period. This lady has done some experiments and has found that wearing rags tied to a belt to be the comfiest:

https://wh1350.at/en/equipment/menstruation-in-medieval-times-a-practical-experiment/

That scene between Jamie and Cerci would work if you visualised rags tied to a belt ("laced" underwear), but the GRRM would probably have mentioned period blood as an edgy moment. I think he would have also made a big deal of free bleeding too though

Honestly, given some of the quotes people brought up, I want to lock GRRM in a room with some paper and a pencil and say "okay, draw smallclothes."

Because at times they're described like briefs, boxers, or panties- IE "shit his smallclothes" or "he ripped her smallclothes away" -but other times like a shift/smock or a pair of 19th-century combinations? like saying that people of any gender who were cold wore "two layers of smallclothes?" I don't know about boxers, but two layers of panties wouldn't do anything to keep you warm

Honestly it sounds like he gave this no cohesive thought and SmallclothesTM are just whatever form of underwear he needs them to be in the moment. Which, as multiple people have said, is mostly annoying because he makes such a HUUUUUGE deal about figuring out societal minutiae

"what are Aragorn's tax policies?" I don't know, George; how do his undergarments function? who makes them? what are they made OF? what properties of that material make it useful for undergarments? if it's not the real-life "using linen to wick sweat and body oils away from the body and protect unwashable outerwear from it," what are over-garments made of that they CAN be washed frequently without damage or weakening the fibers? if men and women are both wearing a brief-like lower garment called "a pair of smallclothes," why is it sometimes described as being layered for warmth?

for that matter, why are women in conventional clothing wearing them in a setting where Skirts For Women is the norm, when historically that made more sense for people wearing trousers (to prevent chafing and/or Crotch Sweat Damage to said trousers)? at least, outside of their menstrual cycle?

in conclusion, clothing history and general broader understanding of how garments/garment production and care systems work is radically undervalued in fiction. probably because of misogynistic negative associations with women and therefore "triviality" because Nothing Women Care About REALLY Matters (even though Men Wear Clothing Too). but that's another conversation

[sinfulauthorwrites]

Kinktober 2024 Day 9: Aphrodisiacs

🩵 Many thanks to @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction for the prompts list! 🩵

Ship: Astarion x Trans Man!Tav/Reader

Word count: 105

Applicable Tags: Act Two (Baldur’s Gate 3), Aphrodisiacs, Illness, Fever, Astarion Being Astarion, Moaning, Unnamed Tav, POV Second Person

“Well, I’m certainly no cleric… but I suppose I could help you with this predicament you’ve gotten yourself into.” Astarion rolls his eyes, feigned annoyance covering his care for you.

You lie on the floor of Astarion’s tent, stripped down to your smallclothes, as your body heats up from sickness and arousal. While licking a dead spider wasn’t the brightest idea, curiosity got the best of you, and you were now paying the price. Sweat beads down your body as Astarion approaches you, palming the growing, damp spot in your underwear. You flinch and moan loudly, causing Astarion to clamp his hand over your mouth.

Liked this and want more? Check the full Kinktober fic on my AO3 here!

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

I really Ewan doesn't know what tumblr is and never finds out, but let's do something fuuun. What kind of underwear would each character like their (female) partner to wear? What would turn them on the most?

I want him to have it, purely because I know he'd love How to Bang Your Dragon! lol I'm joking.

This is quite difficult, as I am restricted by team period appropriateness for a lot of these characters, but I will try my best!

Abraham - satin knickers with a lace trim

Aemond - prefers the idea of his partner without any smallclothes at all - lifting their skirts and finding nothing beneath is a huge turn on for him

Billy Taylor - the sight of any ladies' underwear has the tips of his ears turning pink - he's not fussy

Billy Washington - lacy booty shorts, he likes a peak of arsecheek

Ettore - nothing, makes for easier access

Genyen - likes a g-string, because they're fun to pull at with his teeth

Michael - secretly enjoys the sight of thong riding up over the waistband of a low rise pair of jeans

Osferth - gets incredibly flustered, but loves the idea of his lady going without her smallclothes

Tom Bennett - classic silk French knickers with a garter belt

[drdtnsfw]

Jus thinking about verturo

I like to think veronika would subvert expectations just to mess with arturo, being unusually gentle and slow with him. Maybe painfully slow but more so gentle and intimate rather than something intimidating/unsettling like how I imagine Arturo would think of an intimate session with Veronika would be like .If I'm making sense?

wrote a little something for you, hope it's good!

In all honesty, Arturo had expected Veronika to bring a blade into the bedroom.

He’s glad that she didn’t, of course— but she brings a different kind of weapon with her everywhere. Her mind.

“Arturo.” Veronika’s hot breath ghosts against his neck. He shivers as she rocks her hips against his growing bulge; her lips are wet and her panties even moreso. “What are you waiting for?”

After a moment’s silence, Arturo collects himself. “You.”

“Me?” Veronika’s eyes always maintain that sharp quality, even through the haze of her lust. “Whatever do you mean?”

Arturo’s deft fingers slide under the band of her panties and pulls the underwear off. “I know you. There is nothing normal about you. You do not want love.”

Veronika’s nails scratch against his hips as his own smallclothes fall. “The last part is where you’re wrong, darling. I want to see love— the kind that can only come from someone as particular as you.”

Arturo sighs. “So you wish for me to take the lead to see how I want to ruin you?”

Veronika giggles, finally sounding a little bit like herself. She lines herself up with his cock, but doesn’t sink down just yet. “Sure, darling. Whatever answer you like.” She squeezes his shoulder. “Make your move.”

[dujour13]

For Siavash and Woljif - N, S, F, W ... because I am so clever. 😏

Hehe not bad 😁 Thanks Spyri 💕 NSFW headcanon asks

N - Nature - Have they ever thought about having sex outside, or doing other inappropriate things there?

That's a very azata thing to do and Siavash is up for it! There’s this little hidden alcove on the floating island… Siavash is no exhibitionist, but he’s an inveterate skinny dipper and not at all embarrassed to be seen naked. So he definitely would not want to be spied on, but in the risk lies the thrill. Woljif totally needs privacy. He’s not even comfortable naked around Siavash for a long time even after they get together. He would need a lot more reassurance there’s no chance he’ll be caught in a compromising position. Also grass gets stuck places and it’s just better in a princely bed with silk sheets and stuff.

S - Strip - What goes underneath their clothes?

Haha someone had to ask this one. The truth is, Siavash doesn’t always wear underwear. Depends if something clean is at hand and he feels like bothering. And then there’s the question of wardrobe. Practical, comfortable style, nothing fancy, but definitely quite the color palette. Woljif’s never had anything but the most practical interest in such attire… until he starts having money. He asks for Daeran’s sartorial advice, and while he would be far too embarrassed to ask about smallclothes Daeran does with zero filter give him plenty of unsolicited (and excellent) advice. There needs to be a button over the tail so they can be put on and taken off easily; they need to be only the finest quality fabrics in tones that set off the color of his skin… although Woljif draws the line at bows and lace. A shame.

F - Film - Have they ever documented their bedroom activities?

Hm, re-purposing Areelu’s lab projector? They would both be mortified if any sort of detailed account or recording of their real activities were to surface. However if someone like @prolifeisnochoice’s Ophenia Thwait were to write an ill-disguised smutty romantic novel about them Siavash would get a huge kick out of it. Woljif would not.

W - Wish - What’s one of their wildest fantasies?

For both - the orgies they start going to post-ascension. Angels, azata, fey… They have a good time at first, but they have to strike the right balance or risk losing each other (and themselves).

[headcanonrepository]

A Breton Primer (circa 2E)

A collection of lore and headcanon I use for my ESO fanfiction.

Bretons as a race come from the interbreeding of the Direnni and the Nedic people they conquered. This gives them more innate magicka than other races of men, but obviously that distant past is a cultural source of shame/anger. (Lorebook for further reading)

(Headcanon) Verandis, as a noble Altmer who has ancestral lands in Rivenspire and is old enough to have seen this personally, was very likely part of the Direnni Clan in his mortal years. In any case, his current position as an Altmer noble in Breton lands is probably a sore point to many Breton nobles (possibly moreso than the vampirism, but I doubt anyone would openly admit that).

Culturally and technologically, Bretons are a mixture of a few different periods of IRL British/French history. (Disclaimer: I'm not a historian, I just live here) There's elements of Tudor architecture (C15th/16th) in towns, early medieval (C11th) ideas of chivalry and knighthood, platemail from (about C16th), some 'castles' which are more like French chateaus (C16th), some castles which are more like English fortifications (C12th), the political landscape and court structure of late Tudor/Elizabethan era Britain (late C16th). (Then of course, you have more modern attitudes towards sexuality and gender and the working classes - it's a fantasy world, you don't have to be entirely period accurate!) Generally, shooting for something that wouldn't seem out of place in the Tudor era seems safe, but there's a lot of flexibilty.

High Rock is really well positioned for exotic imports/trade routes. There are definitely shipping routes from Sentinel to Evermore - it's practically a purpose built channel. More adventurous sailing merchants would probably brave the route from Summerset (and even further afield like Falinesti) to Daggerfall if the money is right. Northpoint is probably less prosperous as a shipping point, as it mostly only serves shipping to Solitude and neither has particularly high-value goods to be worth the danger. Overland, Evermore to Chorral (via Craglorn) would be a good route to trade Cyrodilic goods...until the Three Banners War broke out, that is.

Underwear! I really couldn't find a good source for medieval underclothing (mostly because it's not the kind of thing you write down - people of the time would not have thought twice about their undergarments and wouldn't have thought it interesting enough to make a note of). Physical evidence of ordinary clothing is hard to come by, since it's worn to destruction (fabric was expensive) and even finer clothing that was cared for more doesn't stand up to hundreds of years of damp, decay and moths easily. I mostly cheat by using 'smallclothes' or 'underclothes' and refusing to elaborate further, but if you want to play it safe, there would probably be a thin cotton or linen shift underneath clothes (partly to save skin from scratchy woolen layers, partly for warmth). There is possibly a surviving medieval bra but historians are still debating that.

Indoor plumbing. Not likely. For most people, water would be drawn from a well or other sources. There's evidence that piped water exists (fountains and such) so particularly rich Bretons might have access to plumbed water inside their own home? But they also have servants to fetch water so probably not. I'll leave toilets to your imagination, since ESO seems to not have evidence of outhouses or nightsoil men and it's fiction - no one poops in fiction, anyway.

[tears-and-smiles-ao3]

One Special Night

Jaskier x Elihal, rated E, trans character, oral sex, hand jobs

Elihal wanders casually out of her room, her hips swaying to a silent melody as Dandelion's fingers slip from his lute.

She doesn't seem to mind Dandelion's mouth hanging open as he stares openly. She knows she looks good.

Her slim green dress clings in all the right places against her thin frame. The plunging neckline leaves a tantalising gap between her nipples.

Leaning forward, and giving a show of her beautiful figure, Elihal whispers into Dandelion's ear.

"Like what you see?"

Pulling back, Dandelion looks up into her eyes, mesmerised, almost like a lost little boy.

It didn't help that her earrings dangle in front of his face. Beautiful teardrops made of glass that catch the light, sending prisms of rainbows around the room.

"They look beautiful on you, dear heart," Dandelion praises, clearly in awe.

The smile that spreads across Elihal's face is more precious than all the jewels Dandelion had seen at court.

"Thank you, my love," Elihal beams.

"It's almost a shame to undress you after all the effort you've put in."

"Ah, well, that'll come later. First, you'll take me out somewhere nice. I bet you know a place."

"I do," Dandelion licks his lips, hoping to get his brain back into action.

The crinkled smile Elihal wears is magnetic, and Dandelion feels himself rising to his feet and following her as she heads for the front door.

"Where are we going, then?"

"To the Rosemary and Thyme, of course. I've got to show you off to my friends."

-

Dandelion realises he'd never imagined he'd be sitting here, at a table with Eilhal by his side, as they listen to numerous bards sing their hearts out.

Normally, he'd be paying attention to how well they'd sung, gathering critiques to tell them later, but all he could focus on was Elihal.

She was simply the most gorgeous being in this room.

Especially when she turns to him and smiles.

-

Afterwards, Dandelion walks her home.

-

Elihal asks him to come in for another drink, with that glint in her eye.

-

Dandelion pushes Elihal back to fall softly on her back. He crawls over her, kissing up her neck to reach her ears.

"They still look amazing on you," Dandelion murmurs as he suckles on her earlobe.

"Is it because they're yours?" Elihal asks, letting out a soft moan as Dandelion tugs gently on an earring.

Her hands are gripping tight onto Dandelion's arms as he nibbles.

"Yes," he mumbles, his breath ghosting across her neck.

"Then I'm glad you gave them to me."

He pushes himself up by his arms, taking in her smile for mere seconds before he's kissing her hard.

She gasps once more and Dandelion's tongue flicks inside briefly, urging her to deepen the kiss.

He can feel her hands all over him, exploring and touching, like they've never done before.

It's maddeningly good.

He wants to stay here, like this, yet he also wants more.

It takes all his willpower to break the kiss and pull back.

When he does, he sees how much Elihal is glowing, like a star in the night sky.

"I want to ravish you," he tells her.

"What's stopping you?" she teases back.

Nothing, he realises and sits up, settling between her legs.

He pushes up her dress, revealing her lacy smallclothes.

She made them herself. Not even the Countess de Stael had underwear this gorgeous and Dandelion feels a thrill run through him as he finally gets to undress Elihal.

Elihal, lying so pliant on the bed with her hair spread like black ink on the pillow. Her eyes are dark with arousal, shining out of the black shadow swept across her eyelids.

Best of all, her rose-coloured lips lie open, parting as she pants softly.

He was going to devour her.

"You're beautiful."

She chuckles lowly. "I know, dear. Now, ravish me."

Dandelion beams at her words.

He reaches up and pulls down her underwear, then leans down and adds his teeth, biting tenderly into the material, as it slips down her legs.

Elihal gasps, and it's delightful.

Dandelion throws the material off the bed, the once precious item now discarded as he considers the feast before him.

Parting her legs, he takes in the view. Her clit is plump and beautifully pink. Dandelion licks his lips in anticipation.

"Such a pretty clit."

He breathes his words across her sex, making Elihal shudder.

Leaning down, he gently laps his tongue up and around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Elihal groans, her hands coming down to hold his head right where she wanted him.

Dandelion lets his tongue lap across her clit, delighting in every single moan, every time Elihal arches her back and pushes his head down, deeper into her.

She's positively ethereal. He loves it all.

"Do you want my fingers in you?" he asks briefly before diving back in.

"Fuck, yes."

Dandelion smiles, his tongue circling her clit and his hands push her hips down hard while Elihal reaches over to the bedside table and opens a drawer.

She throws a bottle of clear liquid at him. It lands beside his hip.

"Thank you, love," Dandelion beams as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

Taking the stopper off, he coats his fingers in oil, then bends back down and begins sucking sweetly on her clit

His oiled fingers reach down, sliding across her tight hole.

First, he circles them, ghostly touches to tease and excite.

Then, as he sucks hard on her clit, he slips the tip of one finger in.

"Oh, Melitele," Elihal gasps. Her hands clutch tighter in his hair, and her legs try to close around him, wanting him closer still.

It's difficult to breathe for a second but he's wanted to be here for so long, he won't let his breathlessness stop him.

Slowly, he pushes his finger in a little, then just as slowly pulls out. He works it in deeper each time, achingly slow, as gentle as he can with how much Elihal wants it

She makes garbled sounds, pants and gasps, moans and shrieks of pleasure.

Then, he finally bottoms out, gets as much of his finger inside as he can, and he begins thrusting.

He's panting against her clit now, his tongue licking her faster, in quick stripes, up and up and up.

She clings to him, clearly at the brink of pleasure, and Dandelion hums.

His breath adds yet more pleasure to her sensitised clit, and his finger feels her muscles tighten as she comes hard, squirting up her stomach.

She's panting, gasping for air, and Dandelion peeks up at her from between her thighs, taking in her flushed face, the sweat of exertion on her brow.

"Just beautiful," he says reverentially. He grabs a cloth, wiping the juices from his face first, then gently wiping away the mess of saliva and sweat, juices and oil from her body. Before he throws the cloth away, he wipes his fingers.

She props herself up on her elbows and points down at his crotch.

"Do you, um," she starts to ask.

"I don't want to ruin a lovely evening," he says dismissively, opting to ignore his own needs. "This was all about you."

She smiles. "Thank you. Most people aren't as considerate of my, well," she gestures to her genitals.

"My dear, you are a beautiful woman and one worthy of being worshipped."

His hands caress her thighs tenderly. She's looking at him, deciding something.

"Still, would you like a hand?" she smiles, sitting up.

Her hair is a mess, having been ruffled by the pillow, but she still looks otherworldly.

She reaches down, unlacing his breeches and pulling them and his smallclothes down enough for his cock to spring free.

Their eyes lock as she strokes him, firmly, evenly, in a maddeningly sure rhythm.

He can feel himself falling apart at an incredibly fast pace. Reaching over, he cups her cheek and watches her expression as he nears his peak.

Barely seconds later, he's coming, his cum splashing across her dress, and, oh, isn't that both a beautiful and alarming sight.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry," he blurts out, rushing to find that goddamn cloth again.

She laughs, a divine sound if every Dandelion had heard one, and shakes her head.

"It's fine. It needs a wash anyway. Here, help me out of it and let's get settled under the covers."

"You want me to stay after that?"

Elihal gives him a look, one that Dandelion knows well. It's time for him to shut up and do as she said.

He gets up, removing his trousers completely, then helps remove Elihal's jewellery. He places her diamond earrings lovingly into a wooden box, which she then closes and stows under the bed.

Elihal's outfit is held together with many little ties, and it takes a lot more work to undo. Yet, in his post orgasm bliss, it feels like an act of service to untangle each knot like it was the only one.

By the time they are both naked, Dandelion feels like he could fall asleep quickly, but he makes sure to settle Elihal in bed, wrapping his arms around her.

"I had a lovely night, thank you," Elihal whispers into the night air.

"I'm already thinking of your next gift," Dandelion murmurs into her shoulder.

"That's not why I invited you into my bed."

"I know," is the last words he says before he falls deep into sleep.

Witcher fic masterlist

[shutupaboutandraste]

hi and welcome to DWC :). how about 'Sweltering' from the summer prompt list, for Iron Bull/Cullen or Bull/Cullen/Lavellan? thank you!

Thank you! I was super excited to do the second because I haven’t gotten to write my Lavellan yet so thank you again!

Words: 970

Pairing: Bull/Cullen/Lavellan

For @dadrunkwriting 

Fuck. Ferelden. Summers. 

Growing up in the wilds of the Free Marches, Icarus Lavellan was used to warmth, but this humidity was absolute misery. Stripped of his shirt and trousers, down to just his smallclothes, Icarus was still sweating buckets, unable to escape the sweltering heat. When he had chosen Elgar’nan’s vallaslin when he came of age, he had told the Keeper that it was because he wanted the sun to always shine on him. Now, he’d just kill for rain. 

Sweat beat down his neck as he untied his pinned back hair, taking the small bit of leather to tie it up in a loose bun to keep his locks off of his neck. A fan sat on the chess board next to him, but he didn’t have the will to pick it up and fan himself off. Instead he just groaned, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the chair. To be honest, he was hiding. His nature was prone to shyness and for anyone to see him like this, he would be greatly embarrassed. 

“Boss, you feelin’ okay?” Except for that voice. 

Icarus groaned, looking up to see Bull and Cullen-- who was still in his full commander regalia because he was insane apparently-- appear, most likely to play a game of chess. Not most likely. Obviously. Since Icaurs was taking up a chair at the chess table, taking up a chair. 

“Do you think if I cast Winter’s Grasp on myself I’ll get cooler?” he asked. 

“You’ll get ice burn,” said Cullen, “I saw it happen to a mage at Kinloch once.” 

Instead of replying, Icarus just sunk lower into the seat. Bull snort, finding the other’s discomfort funny apparently. Icarus thought of himself as rarely irritable, but he certainly preferred the colder months. This was a nightmare. Much to his chagrin, Bull scooped him up. The Qunari was sticky with sweat. Upon closer inspection, Cullen was also dripping from the heat. 

His dear commander was always so firm on staying prim and proper. And Bull was always so warm, fenedhis. A lithe hand shoved at Bull’s chest trying to pull away, but he felt weak in the heat. Eventually, he simply gave up, slumping into overly warm arms. Sweat wafted into his nose, which curled up instinctively. Everyone reeked of sweat today, he was sure he was just as bad. 

“It’s too hot to play out here,” announced Bull, “And, Commander, you’re gonna get heat stroke if you stay in that any longer. And as much as I love gettin’ you out of those clothes--” 

Cullen’s face flushed a bright red, “Bull!” It had already been fairly pink from the heat, but now he was cherry colored from his forehead down to his neck. 

“--we should probably find a place that’s cool.” 

Icarus shifted uncomfortably, “The...The cells right? It’s cooler underground.” 

Bull smiled, “Hey, now that’s thinking.” And it was probably just what Bull was thinking.

The three men headed across the fields of Skyhold, watching everyone deal with the heat in their own way. Many of the soldiers had stripped down to their smalls, armor sitting nearby in case of an emergency. Cassandra had seemingly disappeared from her usual post, but that was most likely in her own search for a place to stay cool. Dorian was sitting the the shade with a book, sitting in a loose fitting undershirt and light trousers. He gave them a wave as they passed before going back to his reading. 

Once they were finally down beneath Skyhold, Bull wandered until he found a room where they stored food. While still on the warmer side, it was certainly degrees cooler than it was outside. Sitting down, Bull carefully laid Icarus down on the ground. Which, much to his delight, was blissfully cool. A low, please moan came from the back of his throat as he curled up happily. A low, rumbled laugh escaped Bull, “Easy there, kadan, I’ve got a chess game to play. Can’t get distracted now.” Icarus groaned, covering his face shyly. He knew exactly what Bull was implying and it was still far too hot. 

Cullen had pulled off his wrap and chestplate until he was down to a sleeved undershirt and trousers. Bull snorted as they began to set up the board, but Cullen didn’t heed him any mind. It hardly mattered that he had sweat through the layers-- he didn’t need to get anymore naked. They were playing chess. He was in no mood to repeat losing all his clothes again. 

“Commander,” said Bull, “For every knight or rook I take, you’re taking off your clothes.” 

Cullen scoffed, “I will not.” 

Icarus laughed softly, “You should. It adds to the stakes, doesn’t it?” 

“Inquisitor!” he scolded softly. Usually more shy, Cullen realized that the heat must have finally gotten to his head. Or, perhaps, and far more likely, Icarus didn’t want him to get over heated and suffer. Instead of replying, Icarus gave Cullen a very kind weak smile. Beneath its weight, Cullen buckled, “Alright.. But only if you do the same.” 

“Ha! Now, we’re talking,” Bull all but cheered, “Hey, whoever gets a checkmate should be able to take off Boss’ underwear.” 

A small hand smacked the side of Bull’s knee, soft and weary with exhaustion, “No.” 

Bull broke down into laughter, pressing a kiss to the top of Icarus’ head. As if in protest, Icarus scooted his way to Cullen’s side of the board. A gentle hand came down to gently stroke at the side of his hand. Though it was a bit prideful, Cullen allowed himself a smirk of victory as he let his fingers soothe the Inquisitor. Bull, despite everything, smiled fondly at the two of them. 

Cullen set his last pawn down gently, “Shall we begin?”

[dholwrites]

Work Out the Knots

Notes: Commission piece for @fuu9266. This has the ending to Shadowbringers! Relationship: Thancred Waters x WoL OC [Fuujin Lorelei] Rating: E Summary: After the battle against Hades, Fuujin and the Scions return back to the Crystarium where a party is being thrown to celebrate the return of the night. Thancred slips into her room for a massage and more.

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Thancred takes a long sip of the cold water in his cup as he eyes the other party-goers. A round of cheers erupt from nearby patrons, clinking their mugs before emptying them all in one go. Whoops quickly follow as they watch a dwarf drink another blond-haired hume under the table. It’s the first celebration to mark the beginning of a new era, and the leader of the Crystarium is quick to suggest a party to welcome the night and the heroes’ safe return. Drinks and food are served around the clock as everyone takes advantage of the Exarch’s generosity to eat and drink as if they’ve been given a new life.

As much as he wishes to join them, Urianger’s constant presence has become more than a thorn in his side. The elezen had threatened to share every detail of his past endeavors if he so much as eyed a goblet of ale for a moment too long. How Urianger managed to get his hands on certain details will have to remain a mystery; one he doesn’t want to unravel, at least not tonight. Especially when he is keen on making sure that Fuujin and Ryne don't hear any of his past escapades. While Fuujin knows of some of the things he’s done in the past, now that he’s in a committed relationship with her, he wants to avoid the topic as much as possible.

The hyur searches the area for his favorite miqo’te, only to realize that he can’t even catch a strand of her black hair. He lets out a small huff when he can't spot her at all and settles deeper into his seat. Both Urianger and Y’shtola are quick to pick up his change of demeanor. Any of the Scions could tell how smitten he is with his mood bouncing up and down depending on how long their Warrior has been away. Thancred would become snappy and anxious when Fuujin doesn’t check in right away.

“She is taking the younglings back into their room, Thancred.” ‘Master Matoya’ peeks at him over the brim of her teacup. There is an amused twinkle in her eyes before she glances in the direction of the city’s personal suites. It isn’t hard for him to figure out what she is implying.

He could feel his face grow warmer and warmer as Y’shtola snickered under her breath at his suffering. Deciding he’s too tired to deal with any more teasing, he downs the rest of his cup and turns to leave before the other two could utter a word. “I’ll see myself off.”

Urianger only lets out a sigh as he watches their friend march towards the suits before turning to Y’shtola. “Privy, thus thou provth he?’”

She only flashes him a mischievous look before pouring herself another cup. “It’s no longer our problem.”

-

Instead of making his way to his own room, his feet brought him to her front door. Thancred raised his hand to knock, hesitating just a moment when he could hear some shuffling inside. He barely managed to get three knocks in before the door swung open to reveal Fuujin, still dressed in her Thavarnian outfit with the bells, gold chains, and arm wrappings removed. It’s an outfit that reminds him of the performers that he’d seen in Limsa.

“Finally had enough for today?” She teased with a smile before stepping aside for him to enter, the miqo’te returning to put away her gear for the day.

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

Thancred lets out an annoyed huff as he nudged the door shut behind him, his eyes never once leaving her form. He’s seen her well over a dozen times in her white dress, not to mention without it, but the effect it has is still prominent. He wishes to reach out, to trace his hand across her back and along her waist, to feel her warmth under his palm; to feel her tan skin pressed against his, her black hair between his fingers, and see her sky-blue eyes grow hazy with pleasure. His own eyes could never stray far from her before they’re naturally pulled back to her form, like a moth drawn to a flame. She entranced him.

He starts to toss off his own gear, setting his cherished gunblade on the table and shrugging off his long coat to hang off the back of a chair. A groan slips out as the heaviness slips off his shoulders. He rolls them in an attempt to relieve himself of some of the pain, not to mention her burning gaze boring into his back.

“Liking what you see, Fuu?” He flexes his arms for good measure despite his muscles protesting, yet the laugh and smile he spots from the corner of his eye is more than enough to make up for it.

“You seem a little tense.” Her fingers press against his shoulders, feeling the knots that have formed there.

“My back is killing me, but nothing a hot shower and a good night’s rest can’t solve.” He spins on his heel and takes her hand, planting a kiss on the back of it. His mischievous grin is met with her own shy smile.

Fuujin taps his chin with her free hand, her head tilting over towards the bed. “Strip and lay down.”

“My dear, Fuujin, I thought you’d never ask.” He received a light slap on his side for his comment. Still, he easily tugs his shirt over his head, giving her a clear view of the muscle he’s built since taking up the gunblade. Thancred falls on his stomach and onto the bed without another word. Fuujin forces herself to look away from his figure to pull out a vial of massage oil, its lavender scent starting to fill the air as she pours the contents onto her hands, spreading the coat around to fully warm it up. She turns back towards him, taking a moment to pause at the sight before her.

The gentle light of the moon shone over every dip and curve of his muscle, highlighting the worn battle scars that he has accumulated over the years as a gunbreaker. His arms are tucked underneath the pillow holding up his chin as Fuujin slowly crawls on top of him, gently balancing herself on his lower back.

Everything slowly melts away as she slathers the excess lotion on him. Her thumbs dig into the tense muscle between his shoulder blades before she flattens her hands and begins rubbing the bones of Thancred’s spine. Underneath her, his hand claws into the bed sheets.

“Twelve, that feels good .” She could feel the deep groan under her palm as she continued to work on his back. Thancred’s shoulders rise and fall with each heavy breath, steady moans slipping out in between. The soothing smell of lavender does little to cool the warmth pooling at the pit of her stomach, like dipping heated metal into water .

Her blue eyes linger at the skin covered by the ends of his hair, and she couldn’t resist her temptation any longer. Leaning forward, with hands pressed firmly against his sides, she placed a hot kiss against the back of his neck. Her ears pick up on the hum of appreciation reverberating in the air, and it sends a shiver down her spine.

Does he know what he’s doing to her?

The air in the room grows warmer with every press of her thumb. Fuujin could not help but lean forward to press her lips against his shoulder blades. She briefly felt him stiffen up before all his tension melted away like ice on a summer’s day. Not hearing any protest, she kisses him again. Over and over, the miqo’te showers him with soft, light kisses as her hands work down into his lower back.

The moan that he let out when she touched a weak spot went straight through her, her own smallclothes growing wet with excitement. She stops just short of the waist of his shorts, instead gripping his sides and kissing up his neck and cheek until she reaches his lips. Her fingers slip past the band and draw circles on his skin as he pushes himself onto his elbows to return the kiss in full force. His tongue dipped between the seam of her lips, touching her own and stealing her breath in a single motion. He took her hand, not caring about the oil that sticks to her skin, his digits gliding across her palm and coating his own with the floral scent.

Thancred nudged her up to her knees before rolling over and laying his back flat against the bed. His tent brushes against her underwear, dragging tentatively across her smalls and sends shivers from her spine to her tail. With his oil slicked finger, he pulls aside her panties and lightly strokes her folds; the sensation making her entire body shudder.

The oil mixes with her juices as the hyur toys with her clit, his index finger purposely tracing around it and ghosting over the nerves with practiced ease that leaves her tingling and wanting. Thancred stares at her face as he continues to tease, taking in the sight of her red cheeks, her gasps, and her fluttering ears. It’s adorable how her body twitches at each motion. He wants to pull her down for a kiss but decides to refrain. It's been a while since he got to see the pleasure written across her face.

He traced painstakingly lower, circling around her entrance one final time before dipping his fingers inside. Thancred’s other hand trailed down to run along the planes of her back before rubbing the fur at the base of her tail. He watched as Fuujin’s face twisted and her mouth fell open to let out a short moan. He has every intention of getting her to sing longer and pull himself up; his lips pressing against her neck as he fondles her tail. His other hand traveled along her side and cupped her breast. A sudden gasp escapes the miqo’te as he rubs her nipple, and her nails dig into his skin.

“T-Thancred,” Fuujin mutters breathlessly.

The hyur could feel his cock twitch at the sound of his name on her lips, and his smallclothes were quickly becoming far, far too tight. He has barely been touched and already she is getting his blood pumping. She is too sultry for her own good.

He pulls away from her neck, their gazes locking with each other as she reopens her sky colored eyes. Fuujin wraps her arms around his shoulders, pressing herself against him and leaving no room to breathe without feeling the other. Their lips crash together in a kiss even hotter than before, with her wasting little time to brush her tongue between his lips and into his mouth. Thancred wraps both of his arms around her waist to stabilize her, and she took the chance to grind her hips against his hardening cock.

“Fuu,” Thancred says between a series of tiny kisses, “I’ll buy you a new pair later.”

A sharp tear echoes through the room as Thancred ripped through the band of her smallclothes like it’s nothing more than paper. The remains are tossed off to the side with little care by the time she realizes what is happening. She knows she should be angry at him for pulling something like that, but it only turned her on even more knowing that he’s as desperate as she is to fuck.

Fuujin glares and smacks his arm. Her cheeks had felt warm already, but now they burn from embarrassment. He added to her shame by chuckling as he tugs down his shorts and pulls his aching member free, his hand spreading the mix of her juices and oil onto his length as he strokes himself from base to tip.

“Don’t pretend as if you didn’t enjoy that,” he teases her while dragging the head against her lower lips. She could feel him perfectly position it at her entrance, her body already quivering with anticipation.

Deciding that he’s taking too long, she pushes to make the first move. Fuujin slowly lowers herself onto his cock, digging her nails into his shoulder to prevent him from moving; the hitch in his breath setting off a small rush of excitement. Ilm by thick ilm, she feels herself stretch to take him in one go. No matter how many times they’ve fucked, she could never get over how full he made her. Thancred’s hand settles on her waist, stroking her smooth skin to soothe her.

Fuuhjin took a moment to calm her nerves, then slowly rolled her hips against his. She drank up every drop of pleasure like water, using it as fuel to push her body to keep going. Her fingers moved from his shoulder to his chest, feeling every flex of his muscles as he restrained himself and the pounding of his heartbeat. Thancred, in turn, didn’t leave any patch of skin uncarressed; holding onto her hips, stroking her thigh, or squeezing her breast. His hands never leaving her as she rode him towards sweet release.

“Keep going, Fuu, you look amazing from down here.” She could feel the rumbling of his voice under her palms. One of his own reached up to play with her chest while the other one urged her to pick up the pace. Impatient, he grabs a hold of her hip and thrusts upward as she comes down, pulling out as she rises up only to bury himself to the hilt again.

Thancred pulls her down and plants a kiss at the top of her head as his pace picks up. Fuujin wraps her arms around his neck to brace herself, with one hand digging into his luscious white locks. Her ears and tail flicker and wiggle in the air at the onslaught of pleasure, her long silky strands tickling his neck and skin like feathers. She tips back her head and chants his name to the ceiling, her legs trembling, fingers knotting into his hair. Thancred wraps his arms around her waist to prevent her from moving far.

He moans into her sensitive ears, sending signals through her entire body, making her feel like a time bomb. Any moment she would come undone, her tail curling and uncurling in the air behind her.

“T-twelves,” Fuujin muttered, her entire body shivering at his groans, “why are you doing that in my ear?”

“Because,” Thancred whispered into her ear in a deep husky tone, “I want you to hear what you do to me.”

Her breath hitched, eyes widened, and ears stood at attention at his words. It gave him easier access to continue his onslaught, his lip lightly gazing at the length of her ear as he lets out a powerful moan. Her own body betrays her as the vibration sends another rush of pleasure that has her curling her toes.

“Now, no more talking,” Thancred growls into her ear, a sharp roll of his hips knocking the breath out of her. “The only thing I want to hear from you is my name .”

With that command, he gripped her hips and pulled out until it was only the tip inside. His head brushes against a bundle of nerves that sends waves of pleasure through her entire body, Fuujin’s back arching and she nearly chokes on her own breath. Her vision goes hazy with desire but she attempts to look at his face. With a swift thrust, he hits the spot again and his own veins fill with liquid fire as he watches the dancer’s body squirm to the overwhelming pleasure.

“Than- Than -” she barely gets her words out before another thrust throws off her train of thought. Every blissful moan encouraged his craving to see her come undone on his cock.

“Sing a little louder, my dear Fuu.” Thancred licks his lips, his eyes dark with lust as the command slips out as easily as he breathes. He removes his hand from her waist to pinch her clit, her back arching further as he stroked the bundle of nerves with practiced ease. He knows her body almost as well as she does; what motions make her gasp, what angle would bring her mind to a halt, and how to make her body tense under his manipulation. All she needs is him - his scent and warmth and the release .

Pleasure ripples through him as he feels her body tighten around him, and he lets out a low moan as he realizes that he is near his breaking point. He tugs her back down towards him, her face pressed into the crook of his neck as he buries his own in her hair. Her body trembles as the vibration of his low, silvery voice fills her ears and sets off every single sensitive nerve she has.

With a final thrust, Thancred fully buried himself inside her, his cock throbbed as he came inside her tight heat. The warmth sent a shiver up her spine. Her chest presses against the hyur as she cums as well; crying out a slurred version of his name.

A quiet moment passes as the two catch their breath and come down from their high. Thancred recovers first and moves to get them settled into the bed, slowly pulling out and laying her down beside him and wrapping a protective arm around her waist. The scent of sex and lavender have taken over the room; anyone would immediately know what they had been up to, but who would attempt to disrupt the hero from her rest after all that she had done?

The muffled cheering and fireworks sound in the distance outside the window. Wordlessly, their eyes grew heavy with sleep. Thancred buries his head in the space on her shoulder, inhaling her sweet scent before planting a kiss on her skin. Her tail unconsciously curling around his waist did not go unnoticed by him.

“Sleep well, my dear. You deserve it. ”

[wisteria-lodge]

I know it’s very silly to talk about historical inaccuracy in ‘Our Flag Means Death’ (and related fanworks.) But I have been reading some fic, and here’s my little PSA anyway - 

1.  Izzy Hands almost always joins his first crew at 12, which is treated as shocking/tragic/far too young. But that’s just a normal age to start as a cabin boy. Like, on the younger side sure, but not in a unusual/remarkable way. If you want to make him start work tragically young, push that back to like 8.

2. Stede Bonnet likes to wear wrapping gowns, not dressing gowns (which are heavier and more quilted) or banyan gowns (which are more structured and tailored.) 

3. “Smallclothes” is a historical term that shows up in like, Dickens, but it means more “bottom layer” and less “panties.” Dickens will do things like have the lawyer Mr. Tulkingorn receive visitors in in his smallclothes as kind of a powermove, almost a ‘hi, yeah, I didn’t bother to get dressed up to answer the door,’ kind of way. 

Because they just... didn’t wear modern undergarments in the 1700s. That long poofy white shirt was your undergarment, it covered everything, and it was the only clothing item designed to to be washed all the time. So, yeah. The characters just aren’t wearing underwear. 

As far as I know, using the word “smallclothes” to refer to underwear is a George R.R. Martin invention. And I’ve got beef with that man about his lack of research re. pseudo medieval underwear. These descriptions of “he pushed aside her smallclothes.” Like come on man. She’s not wearing anything under those huge skirts. 

4. Izzy hands doesn’t wear fall-front buttoned pants like Ed and Stede. He has laces, because he’s just like that I guess. 

[selfshipwritingandstuff]

When Past and Present meet Chapter 4

Chapter under the cut for spicy reasons

Divine.

That's the only word she could think of to describe the feeling of being with Jack again.

„Come on", he murmured into her shoulder. „You've had a long day, and this bed is big enough for two."

She chuckled. „You'll have to let go of me first, so I can get out of my uniform."

With a small grumble, he let go. „Fine, but don't be too long."

She shed the dress so quickly, she almost ripped it in the process. Then she crawled under the covers next to him, back into his eagerly waiting arms. Jack let out a pleased hum. „That's much better. Your skin is as soft as I remember, my dear." As if to emphasize his words, he let his fingers glide across her body, from her shoulders over her breasts, waist and finally to the hem of her smallclothes.

„What about you?", she asked softly. „You're way too dressed for my taste." Then she ripped open his nightshirt, sending its tacky golden buttons flying through the room.  She had never paid much attention to how Reaver was built, even when sleeping with him. But now that his body housed Jack, she found that he looked absolutely delightful. He was muscular, but still very slim. The graceful physique of someone who valued precision over brute strength. His skin was deathly pale and without any marks; no scars, no bumps, nothing. And now, he was truly perfect. She wrapped her arms around his torso, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of skin on skin, his heartbeat right next to her ear. 

„Sleep, my love", Jack whispered to her, running his fingers through her hair. „You are exhausted."

„...don't want to…", she mumbled. How could she explain to him that she didn‘t want to miss a single second of his presence, no matter how much sleep tugged at her? That she wanted to hold and kiss and feel him right now? 

His dark chuckle sent a rush of heat straight to her nethers. „Oh? Do I have to tire you out first?" He rolled around so she was on top of him. „Is your desire for me so strong? Or did nobody manage to properly satisfy you during my absence?" His fingers found her most sensitive spot through her undergarments. „Tell me, my sweet. How many nights did you spend fantasizing, touching yourself to the thought of me? Your beautiful, slender fingers drenched in your juices, while you imagined that it was me inside of you?"

„Jack.. oh gods", she gasped, grinding against his hand. It was incredible, how he could bring her so close with just his words and a single finger.

„Tell me", he demanded again. „All of the dirty things that went through your pretty little head while you played with yourself. I want to know every little detail."

She scoured her memories for any of her fantasies, but Jack teasing her clit was making thinking quite difficult. „I-I imagined myself tied down, yours to do with as you pleased… t-teasing me until I was b-begging you to take me. A-and I l-loved the idea of being helpless… at your mercy… and imagining all of the things you would do to me…" His breathing quickened and so did the

movement of his hand between her legs. „I-it made me so wet. T-the idea of being your little toy.“

„Tied up and helpless, hm? So lewd…"

„Jack please", she whimpered. „I need you so bad."

„Do you now?" Another stroke against her clit made her yelp. „Ah yes, I can tell. That needy little body of yours is begging to be filled."

He ripped her underwear like paper, and just the sudden brush of air against her sex almost drove her over the edge.

There was no time to lose. She needed him, right now! She tore at the lacings of his pants until finally, his cock jumped out at her, hard and ready. As soon as she positioned his tip against her entrance, he grabbed her hips and slammed her down, hitting that sweet spot deep within her.

Her lustful scream seemed almost inhuman.

„I love this“, he said hoarsely and began to guide her waist. „Your screams are music to my ears.“

She followed his movement, riding him, but the previous stimulation didn‘t leave her with much energy. „Jack, I‘m close...“

„Then come!“

Her movement became more erratic, the tension building in her abdomen, her vision growing hazy. The orgasm tore through her like a tidal wave, she tensed up and then sank down on him. Now he turned her around so he was on top, and continued; shallow, sloppy thrusts igniting her anew.

„Jack“, she groaned, wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his mask. „Deeper!“

„So greedy...“ He lifted her hips and buried himself in her all the way down to the hilt. „But oh you feel so amazing!“

He picked up more speed, and with a few last, deep thrusts, he spilled himself inside of her. There was a smirk in his voice when he said:„You have no idea how much I have missed this, my sweet.“

Sleep was already gripping her, so all she could muster was a quiet „Imissedyoutoo“ before dozing off.

In the morning, she at first almost believed that she had dreamed it all. She was alone in the bed, and after a moment of regaining her orientation, she found Jack standing in front of Reaver‘s huge wardrobe, butt naked, going through his many, many clothes, but rejecting each outfit with a dismissive snarl.

„Is this really what people are wearing nowadays?“, he asked, holding up one of Reaver‘s most expensive coats as if it was something extremely repulsive.

„Since when are you so picky about clothes?“, she asked.

Jack was just about to answer, when he was, once again, interrupted by a knock on the door.

„Master Reaver? I can‘t find Daphne anywhere, I fear she-“ Barry stopped when he saw the scene in front of him. He squinted. „Master Reaver?“

Jack scoffed quietly and turned his attention to his wardrobe again. „Your Master Reaver is dead.“

Barry‘s mismatched eyes wandered over to her. „Daphne? Explain?“

„It‘s kind of a long story“, she began. „How about I get dressed and we go into the kitchen. Get ourselves some breakfast. And then I can explain everything to you.“

„Is it really necessary for you to be fraternizing with a mortal like this, my dear?“, Jack asked, slightly annoyed.

„Hey, be nice to him, yeah? Barry is the closest thing to a friend I‘ve had in centuries, and probably the only thing that kept me sane during the past five years.“

Jack huffed. „If you say so. Then go explain everything to him while I try to find something actually decent in this idiot‘s wardrobe.“

„What the hell just happened“, Barry asked as soon as they were out of earshot. „Who is this? Why does he look like Master Reaver? What HAPPENED to Master Reaver? And most importantly: What does that mean for us?“

„Us...“ she hummed quietly. „You can stay as a servant, if you want. Jack will treat you a lot better than Reaver ever did, I‘ll make sure of that. Or you can leave, and find work elsewhere.“

„That doesn‘t answer my other questions, Daphne.“

She took a deep breath. „Do you know the story of Jack of Blades?“

Barry only gave her a blank look. „Jack of Blades? The guy from that old legend, who tried to destroy Albion but was killed by the King‘s ancestor?“

„Not killed, just… incapacitated“, she corrected him. „Yeah. That one.“

„What about him?“

„You just met him.“

Barry quickly looked towards the bedroom, then back at her. „You‘re kidding.“

„Do I look like I am? The mask I bought held Jack‘s soul. I knew that from the beginning. He is the loved one I talked about in the tavern.“

„That‘s insane. That would mean that you‘re even older than Master Reaver!“

„I am, by a good century“, she replied. „I don‘t know how he did it, but Jack made me immortal back then, when I officially became his lover. So I could be with him forever.“

Barry obviously needed a moment to process that information. „And Master Reaver? What happened to him?“

„Dead, I assume. His body is Jack‘s now.“ She raised an eyebrow. „Does that bother you?“

He stared straight ahead. „I don‘t know. I never thought about what it would be like to live without Master Reaver.“ Then he looked at her again. „And you? Are you going to continue being a maid here?“

„I don‘t think so“, she said. „No idea what the future will hold. If Jack will even stay here. He never cared much about money or luxuries. And if he leaves, I will leave with him.“

„You‘d follow him anywhere, would you?“ Was she hallucinating, or was there a hint of bitterness in his voice?

Still, she answered truthfully. „Anywhere, to the end of the world, to hell and back, even beyond this plane of existence.“

He took a deep breath. „Well, if you two decide to stay, then I go on doing what I‘m always doing; serving the man of the house. And for the first time ever, the lady of the house as well.“

She patted him on the back with a fond smile. „Thank you for understanding me, Barry.“

With a somewhat agreeable mumble, he changed the subject:„So, we… I should probably get breakfast ready for Master R… Master Jack.“

„Oh, Jack doesn‘t eat.“

Barry shot her a surprised look. „Okay. Pity about all of the food in the pantry, though.“

„I mean… Jack not eating just means that you and the other servants can help yourselves to your heart‘s content. I know I will.“

„You can do that because you‘re the lady of the house now.“

„Yes, and as the lady of the house, I give you and the rest of the staff permission to help yourselves to whatever you want.“

They went on bickering all the way down to the kitchen.

[marmeladednd]

kinktober day 6: period sex

contains no graphic descriptions of blood

enjoy day 6: period sex with beauyasha

read here on ao3

asks are still open for requests! 

------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m on my period, babe.”, Beau says apologetically, but Yasha just looks at her in confusion, hand halting at Beau’s hips.

“Are you in pain?”, she asks, and the concern in her voice is endearing in a way that still feels raw and new to Beau.

“No… just… wanted you to know, it’s… the blood-” Will she ever be able to stop herself from becoming flustered when Yasha looks at her like that?

“I don’t mind the blood.”, Yasha says, and Beau can feel her stomach somersault, “But I will of course respect it if you don’t want to-”

“I want to.”, Beau says way too fast, “I just thought you’d mind- I’ve never had a partner who didn’t-”

“It’s just you, isn’t it?”, Yasha asks, and, gods, Beau wants to kiss her so badly right now. So she does. 

Yasha’s hand resumes its way up Beau’s stomach, carefully pulling aside the old shirt she uses for sleeping. Beau’s breath hitches when Yasha runs her fingertips over one nipple, and then lightly pinches it. Somehow, Yasha manages to be gentle and firm at the same time, and it never fails to make Beau dizzy. 

They kiss until the dull ache in Beau’s abdomen mixes with heat; honey-like, heavy heat. Yasha undresses her slowly, and then discards her own clothing a bit faster until both of them are in their smallclothes. 

Beau, like always, admires Yasha’s form: her shapely biceps, her broad shoulders, her amazing breasts. She reaches out and runs her hands up Yasha’s stomach before cupping her breasts, enjoying the softness against her palms. Yasha is on top of her now, and Beau wraps her legs around her hips, pulling her closer. In the mirror above the bed, which Beau can see over Yasha’s shoulder, she can watch as Yasha’s back muscles ripple.

Yasha steadies herself on one elbow, and pushes her other hand in between their bodies until it rests between Beau’s legs, fabric separating skin from skin. 

“May I?”

Beau nods breathlessly. “Let’s get a towel, maybe-”

Bless Caleb and his tower- there’s always clean ones nearby. 

Yasha gently peels Beau’s underwear off, and as Beau’s legs fall open can smell herself- blood, warmth, humanity.

“Are you sure?”, she asks again.

The adoration is back on Yasha’s face as she nods- Beau tries to remember if anyone has ever looked at that part of her like Yasha does. It does wonders to quench that spark of insecurity in her chest. 

“M-maybe nothing… inside?”, Beau says shakily. She’s still getting used to being allowed to call the shots like that, to say no to something without being immediately scared of rejection.

“Okay.”, Yasha says gently, and then she leans forward, kissing Beau again. Beau moans against her lips when two gentle fingers run up and down her folds, spreading hot wetness. Yasha uses two fingers to spread her open, and a third one to tease her clit with slow, butterfly-like strokes. It’s such a gentle touch, and yet, Beau feels like her entire middle is on fire almost immediately. She can’t even kiss Yasha properly anymore, it feels just too good, and all her mouth wants to do is moan. 

Good thing the walls of the tower are so thick. 

Yasha moves her mouth, wrapping her lips around Beau’s nipple, teasing with her tongue and her teeth until there are stars dancing across Beauregard’s field of vision. 

Beau is close already when Yasha pulls back, looking down at her, eyes dark. 

“Can I use my mouth?”

Beau feels herself balk unintentionally. “But the blood-?”

“Can I?”, Yasha repeats, and her voice is dripping with lust, so Beau nods quickly. They rearrange themselves on the bed until Yasha is between Beau’s legs. Beau reaches for her helplessly, and Yasha grabs one of her hands. It’s oddly nice and reassuring. Beau feels open right now, vulnerable… but the way Yasha looks up at her from between her legs tells her she made the right choice.

Yasha gives her a small, wicked smile, and then lowers her head. Beau’s clit is already really sensitive, and when Yasha’s tongue drags across it, it makes her cry out, her hips spasming upward. 

Yasha gives a grunt in reply, and does it again. Beau knows immediately she won’t last long- her body is on fire, and her internal muscles are already spasming. Yasha’s mouth feels raw and hot and so fucking good on her. She’s really going at it now- Yasha eats pussy the way she fights: throwing her whole body into it. Beau knows she’ll never tire of it. 

“Yasha, I’m close-” Her voice is raw, hoarse. Yasha wraps her arms around Beau’s thighs in lieu of a reply, holding them in place, and keeps going until Beau’s hips start to stutter and her breath becomes ragged. 

Beau comes hard, crying out Yasha’s name, her lover’s strong arms not letting her go.

[pikapeppa]

Felassan/f!Lavellan smut: Burn

Chapter 10 of The Love That Grows From Violence is up on AO3! In which Felassan and Tamaris get... intimate. 👀

Featuring a beautiful sketch from the previous chapter by @lethendralis-paints​! I AM HONOURED AND SPOILED BY HER ALWAYS. 😭��😭❤❤❤

~6600 words; read on AO3 instead.

Tamaris knocked on Felassan’s door. 

“Come in,” he called. 

She opened the door and sidled into his room. Like hers, it was lit only by the alchemical lamp on the bedside table, and Felassan was in bed with a book in his hands. The flickering lamp cast half of his lounging body in shadows, but the dim quixotic light was enough for her to see that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

A flush of heat pulsed between her legs. She closed the door behind her and leaned back against it, and Felassan raised an eyebrow. 

“To what do I owe this interruption?” he said, and he tapped the book. “I was in the middle of some extremely important reading.”

He was reading Swords and Shields. Tamaris would have laughed if she wasn’t feeling so nervous. 

She took a deep breath for courage. “I want you to fuck me,” she said.

His eyebrows leapt up, and a smile bloomed across his handsome face. “I beg your pardon?”

“I said, I want you to fuck me,” she said in the steadiest voice she could manage.

If possible, his grin widened even further. “And I thought I’d lost my ability to seduce you with any charm.”

She tsked and tried to ignore her burning cheeks. “Shut up. I mean it. I… look, I want to do this with you, but I’m nervous for some stupid reason so I think if we just do it and get it over with, I won’t be so in my head about it.”

Felassan stared at her incredulously for a second. Then he started laughing. 

She glared at him, even though her lips were twitching to smile in response to his mirth. “You’re seriously laughing at me?” she demanded. “I can always go back to my own room, you know.”

“There’s no need for that,” he chortled. He swung his legs out of the bed and stood up, and Tamaris’s gaze dropped to his bare torso. She shamelessly eyed the lean hardness of his chest and the delicate lines of his abs, and her greedy gaze tracked lower on his body… 

A dizzying surge of excitement filled her chest. His breeches were half-unlaced and he was already hard, and when he started approaching her, she could see glimpses of his shaft as the fabric shifted over his bulging groin.

“Tamaris,” he said drolly.

She dragged her eyes back to his face. “What?” she snapped. 

He laughed – a low, rolling laugh that seemed to fill her blood with fire. “Were you aware that you become especially irritable when you’re aroused?”

She scoffed. “That’s not true.”

He came to a stop right in front of her and rested his palm on the door beside her head. “It’s completely true,” he said. 

She gulped in a breath. He was looming over her again, penning her against the door with nothing more authoritative than one hand beside her head and the wicked look in his eyes, and she felt equally trapped by his imposing bare-chested height and the pulsing strength of her own growing desire.

“It’s not true,” she said distractedly. “You’re wrong.”

He smirked and slowly lowered his face to hers. “Do you wish to argue about this, or do you wish for me to fuck you?” he murmured. “The choice is yours.” 

His blunt words sent a lance of heat straight through her body. She arched her spine and lifted her chin, and Felassan smiled. “A fine choice, avise,” he murmured, and he kissed her. 

This time, he didn’t hold back or tease. He licked her lips to coax them open, and before Tamaris could do more than whimper and grab his hip with her one hand, his tongue was stroking hers as he crowded her against the door, and his knee was edging her legs apart.

He clasped her neck in his palms and pressed his body to hers, and Tamaris gasped into his mouth and dug her nails into his hip. The hardness of his shaft was pressing into her belly, and his thigh was rubbing against her groin with the exact amount of pressure to rile her up without giving her any relief, and all the while, he was kissing her in that devastatingly careful way – like he was really savouring the taste of her mouth and the feel of her tongue as it twined with his own.

He curled his hips toward her and groaned into her mouth, and Tamaris shivered in anticipation. He already sounded so pleasured even though his cock was just riding against her still-clothed belly. If he already sounded this enraptured from just a little bit of friction, what kinds of beautiful sounds would he make when he was actually inside of her?

He gently tugged her lower lip between his own and slid his palms from her neck down to her breasts, and Tamaris arched into his hands with a gasp. “Fuck,” she whined, and she pulled eagerly on his hip. “Felassan, touch me…”

He released her breasts and hastily gathered the hem of her shirt in his hands, and Tamaris raised her arms so he could pull the shirt off. He tossed it aside and molded his palms over her breasts once more, and she gasped blissfully at the treasured feel of skin-on-skin. 

Felassan kissed her again and rocked his groin against her belly, and she whimpered against his lips; his cock had worked its way free of his unlaced breeches to slide against her bare belly, and the feel of him hot and hard against her skin only made her more desperate. 

She grabbed his shoulder and twisted her hips toward him, and he immediately understood her meaning: he broke their kiss and lifted her up, and a second later he was setting her on the writing desk and peeling her leggings and smallclothes down. 

She panted eagerly and stared at his cock as he stripped her. “You were being serious about that no-underwear crack then, huh?”

He dropped her clothes on the floor and grinned. “I am never more serious than when I’m talking about wearing no underwear.”

She laughed. “You’re so stupid–”

He cut her off with another impassioned kiss, and Tamaris happily ceded to the mastery of his mouth. His kisses shifted in quality from delicate to dirty in an ebb and flow of gorgeous sensation: he would delicately trace her lips with the tip of his tongue, then take her lips in a hard kiss with his tongue filling her mouth, and every varied movement of his lips gave her the impression that he was doing everything he could to taste every variety of kiss that two people could possibly share. 

It was almost unbearably erotic. Even if he wasn’t doing anything else but kiss her, even if his thumb wasn’t teasing her nipple while his other hand skimmed along the inside of her thigh toward the pulse point at the apex of her legs, she would still be just as wet and eager as she was right now. 

She pressed her chest toward him and pleadingly petted his neck. Then Felassan pulled away from her lips and stroked her shortened left arm. “Are you all right without your metal arm?” he asked. 

“Why?” she panted. “Do you want me to put it on?”

“No, of course not. I – unless you want to,” he added cautiously. “I just wondered if you might feel strange getting intimate without your other arm.”

“No, it’s fine,” she assured him. “I’m used to sex without my left arm.”

His eyes widened slightly. “You are?”

“Yes,” she said. She gave him a funny look. “I’ve had sex since I lost it, you know.”

“You have?” he said.

She stared at him, then realized why he was so surprised. “Oh,” she said. “Yeah, I was – I had a thing with the Iron Bull for a while after Solas left the Inquisition. It continued on for a month or two after I lost my arm.” She shrugged and dropped her gaze to her stunted left arm. “It was good practice in rebalancing myself before I got the prosthetic.”

Felassan was didn’t reply. When Tamaris looked up at him once more, his face was wreathed in an incredulous smile.

She wrinkled her nose. “What are you looking at me like that for?”

“I don’t quite know where to start,” he said. “Perhaps with you failing to tell me you had an affair with a qunari warrior. That must have been a good way to get Fen’Harel off your mind.”

She huffed and awkwardly scratched her neck. “Something like that,” she said ruefully. The driving force of Bull’s huge body had been a pretty effective distraction. 

Felassan laughed, and Tamaris glared at him. “Are you seriously laughing at me?”

“Not at all,” he said. “If anything, I am laughing at myself. I thought the standard I’d be held to was the Dread Wolf, and now it turns out that there was a qunari lover I was unaware of. Now I truly feel inadequate.”

He was grinning, and his eyes were dancing with heat and humour. Tamaris rolled her eyes. “Shut the fuck up. You’re not inadequate.”

“You can’t yet determine that,” he said. “I’ll have to reconsider my technique now. Maybe I’ll ask Varric to find some props–”

Tamaris lunged forward and nipped his chest with her teeth, and he yelped. “That hurt!” he exclaimed.

“Good,” she said vindictively. “Then maybe you’ll shut up.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” he replied. He stepped closer to the desk and took her chin in a gentle grip. “My question now is, do you?”

His voice was rough, and the growly sound of it instantly restored the impatient pulse between her legs. “Do I like what?” she said breathlessly. 

“This,” he said. He turned her head to the side and nipped her neck. 

She gasped, and Felassan let out a sly little laugh. “Punishment is hardly effective when you enjoy it, you know.”

She burst out a little laugh. “Fuck’s sake, do you ever stop… talking…” She trailed off with a blissful sigh; he was gently rolling her nipple between his fingers, and his other hand was sliding up her thigh again. When his thumb grazed the slickness between her legs, she dropped her head back against the wall with a moan.

Felassan exhaled hard, then leaned over her and pressed his teeth to her exposed throat, and Tamaris gasped and jerked her hips. Felassan was panting already even though she hadn’t touched him. His breath was a torrid breeze against her skin as he left a trail of kisses from her throat down her sternum, and he moaned greedily when he took her nipple in his mouth. 

Tamaris gripped the desk for support and widened her legs. His thumb was still just teasing her folds, slipping slowly along the slick length of her sex while he suckled her breast, and when he pressed his teeth into her nipple, she arched her back in bliss. 

“Fuck,” she moaned, and she slid her fingers into his still-bound hair. Then he suddenly released her breast.

He sat heavily on the writing desk’s chair and pushed her thighs apart, and she stared stupidly at him. His ears and cheeks were flushed and his eyes were wide as they roamed over the wetness between her legs, and when he lifted his gaze to her face, her belly jolted: his eyes were glowing faintly, and he looked just as stupified as she felt.

“I think I was right,” he said. “You will be the sweetest thing I’ll taste since I was cured.”

His words triggered a rush of anticipated pleasure between her legs, and she huffed. “You’re so full of shit.” 

“I mean it,” he said seriously. “I might come from your taste alone. Look.” He gestured at his groin.

Her breath stalled in her lungs. Felassan’s cock was rising proudly from his breeches, and there was a trickle of moisture trailing from the tip. 

Fuck fuck fuck, she thought in desperation. She dragged her eyes back up to his face. “Try not to come,” she said. “I want you in my mouth so I can taste that.”

The light in his eyes flared. Then he grinned at her and shook his head. “Veraisa,” he said accusingly. “One thing at a time.” He lowered his head between her legs, and Tamaris tensed in feverish anticipation.

But he didn’t taste her. He skimmed his nose along the inside of her thigh, then sighed happily. “You smell marvelous,” he said. “Ripe like peaches in the middle of summer, though I suspect even they would be put to shame by the scent of your nectar.” 

She whined and wiggled her hips. She couldn’t decide if she wanted him to stop talking and touch her, or to keep saying provocative things that raised the pulse of longing between her legs. “Felassan,” she mewled. 

He darted her a quick smile, then finally lowered his mouth between her legs, and she exhaled in relief. He licked her slowly and thoroughly, laying open-mouthed kisses and careful little laps of his tongue from the lower margins of her sex up toward her clit, and the careful movement of his mouth between her legs was just as hypnotically pleasurable as the kisses he endowed upon her lips. 

She stared unseeingly at the ceiling, mindlessly mired in the pleasure of his mouth between her legs. He drew his tongue in a long smooth caress along the length of her sex, then lifted his face and exhaled a breathy groan. “Fenedhis,” he cursed, and he reached between his legs to squeeze his shaft. 

Tamaris looked at him. “It’s okay,” she said dreamily. “Come if you have to. I’ll make you come again later.”

He shot her a smile, and she noted vaguely that his eyes were even more lambent than before. “I refuse to finish before you,” he said. “I’m many things, and first and foremost is a chivalrous lover.”

She laughed contentedly. She already felt so good, and she hadn’t even come yet. “Wrong,” she said. “You’re first and foremost a brat.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like a challenge. I promise not to be too smug when I prove you terribly wrong.” He lowered his face between her legs once more, but his mouth was more firm and focused this time, and her sense of languid pleasure was soon replaced by a more urgent building of pressure as Felassan’s tongue moved over her clit in a perfect swirling rhythm.

She gasped and clenched her fingers on the desk. His mouth feIt so unbelievably good. It was almost like he was hearing the beat of the pulse in her pussy and matching it with his tongue, and before she even thought it was possible, her climax was collecting and building at the meeting point of her body and his mouth–

He suddenly lifted his face, and her rising climax crumbled apart. Disoriented and frustrated, she wrenched open her eyes and looked at him. “What’s – what’s wrong…?”

She trailed off. His eyes were still feverish and bright, and his fist was tense around the base of his cock, but his lips were curled in a smug little smirk.

“Are you torturing me on purpose?” she demanded. 

He shrugged and grinned. “Call this payback for biting me earlier.”

She gaped at him indignantly. “I’ll – oh, I’ll fucking bite you,” she threatened. She spread her legs wider in the hopes of luring him close, but he only smiled.

“Is that a promise?” he said.

She wilted in exasperation. “Do you want me to bite you or not?” she complained.

He laughed and leaned back in the chair with his hand still wrapped around his cock. “Perhaps I just want to drive you mad.”

“Well, it’s fucking working,” she spat. Fed up and frustrated, she shifted her weight and pressed her fingers between her legs to try and relieve the pressure, but her own fingers didn’t feel nearly as good as his talented mouth.

She whined in frustration as she stroked her own swollen clit. Then Felassan grabbed her wrist. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “This climax is mine.” 

He sounded rough and feral, and her heart seized with another surge of excitement. “Make me come, then,” she panted. “I dare you.”

He grinned at her – a wicked, lust-filled sort of grin – then sucked her juices from her fingers before releasing her hand and lowering his face between her legs, and she cried out and jerked her hips; his tongue and lips were even more focused than before, and in the space of mere seconds, her foiled orgasm was rising to an even greater height than before. 

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t speak. She was completely fixed on the feeling of his mouth between her legs, the gorgeous buzzing pressure he was fostering with every caress of his lips and every firm stroke of his tongue, the pleasure he was giving her, so much fucking pleasure like she hadn’t felt in far too long–

She suddenly hit her peak. The pulsing pleasure surged viciously from the juncture of her thighs up through her chest and down to her calves, and she arched her spine and cried out in relief. She slid her hand into Felassan’s hair as he continued to lap at her, and when her peak ebbed away, he lifted his head and pulled her fingers from his hair. 

He wiped his mouth roughly on the back of Tamaris’s hand, then stood up. “Get on the bed,” he said, and he pulled her hand.

She slid off of the desk and stumbled slightly; her calves were still trembling from her climax. She grinned at him. “That’s direct of you. What, no crude teasing–?”

He clasped her neck in his hands and interrupted her with a kiss, then started walking her backwards toward the bed, and her belly jolted in surprise; there was something frantic now about the way he was kissing her and the way his hands were moving over her naked body. He was breathing hard between kisses, and his hands were smoothly stroking her back one second then firmly gripping her ass the next. It felt incredible but uncontrolled, and Tamaris tried to gather her wits despite the bliss of his tongue twisting with hers. 

She broke away from his kiss. “Felassan, are you–” 

He moaned and kissed her neck and gently twisted her nipple, and the pleasure abruptly kicked her thoughts aside. He licked her neck and sucked her tender skin until she was gasping, then pushed her back onto the bed, and she stared up at him. 

His eyes were a bright violet glow. His chest was rising and falling erratically, and the head of his cock was still garnished with a glistening drop of moisture. He looked totally dishevelled already, his hair half-free of its tidy ponytail thanks to her eager hand and his breeches half-off of his hips. 

He looked like the embodiment of lust. He looked completely overwhelmed. Tamaris gulped down a breath to try and control her own desire. “Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yes,” Felassan panted. “Give me a minute. I can’t shame myself.” 

“Shame yourself?” she said.

He let out a little laugh and tugged his ear. “I’m fairly certain I’ll come the moment I enter you.”

She tsked at him. “Stop worrying about that. Come here.” She shifted onto her knees and gestured for him to approach the bed. 

He padded closer. When he was standing right at the foot of the bed, she bent over and shoved his breeches down with her right hand.

She lowered her weight onto her shortened arm and grabbed his shaft, then greedily licked the moisture from his cock, and Felassan grabbed her shoulder. “Tamaris,” he gasped.

She looked up at him. “Can I suck your cock?”

He burst out a giddy little laugh and slid his hand into the hair at her nape. “In no world or time would I ever say no to that offer from the likes of you.”

She snorted a laugh. “All you had to say was yes,” she said, and she took his cock in her mouth. 

He groaned and tightened his fingers in her hair, and Tamaris closed her eyes as she took his length deep into her throat. He was already pumping his hips in time with the rhythm of her mouth, moaning and panting with every thrust, and Tamaris revelled in how vocal he was. Even beyond how arousing it was to hear the pleasure in his voice, there was something oddly comforting about the sounds he was making. His every moan was an obvious reminder of how much he was enjoying the pull of her lips and heat of her throat, and there was something almost… reassuring about the degree to which he wanted this – the degree to which he wanted her. 

His other hand slid down her back toward her bottom, and Tamaris gasped around his cock; his fingers were sliding down over the cleft of her ass to dip into the wetness of her folds. He stroked her pussy gently, and she stifled a moan around his cock and suckled him more firmly, and less than a minute later, the fingers of his other hand suddenly tightened in the hair at her nape.

“Ah – Tamaris–!” He shuddered and gasped, and a second later, the hot rush of his climax surged onto the back of her tongue. 

And gods, the fucking sound he made as he came: it was guttural and uninhibited, and it made her deepest muscles clench with the need to be filled and soothed. 

She swallowed hungrily and continued to suckle him until he released the back of her neck. He trailed his fingers along her jaw, then stepped back slightly and clasped her neck in his palms, and Tamaris rose up on her knees, coaxed by his hands on her neck. Then Felassan was kissing her again: slow languid kisses where he lightly nipped her lower lip and lapped at her tongue. He kissed her with the sort of unapologetic hedonism that she was quickly coming to expect from him, and she sank unerringly into the pleasure of his lips. 

Without breaking their kiss, he stepped closer to the bed and then crawled onto it, wrapping his arm around her waist to support her as he laid her back on the bed. He lifted her arms over her head, smoothing his palms up along the length of her arms and back down before taking her nipple into his mouth. He slowly traced his tongue over the peak of her nipple and nipped it with his lips, and she twisted her spine leisurely and hummed with pleasure. His every kiss and touch, every stroke of his hands, every careful caress that he laid on her skin: it all felt so deliberate, like he was really taking the time to enjoy her naked body, and it no longer mattered whether it was the Tranquility cure driving his focused touch or just the way he was; what mattered was that it was his elegant hands and his gorgeous smirking mouth, and… fuck, he just felt so good.

He kissed her nipple, then lifted his face and raised an eyebrow. “You’re not finished with me already, are you?” 

She languidly opened her eyes. “Not if you aren’t,” she murmured.

He gave her a sly half-smile. “Good. I was afraid you were falling asleep on me.” 

“Not yet,” she said with a little half-smile of her own. “I asked you to fuck me, and you haven’t done it yet.”

He chuckled and ran his hand from her knee up toward her hip. “If I recall correctly, you didn’t ask. You commanded.” 

“I didn’t command!” she said.

“You commanded,” he said wryly. “It was endearing.” His hand glided slowly over her body from her hip up toward her breast, and she twisted toward the tempting heat of his palm.

“Endearing?” she retorted. “You said I—” She broke off with a gasp as he pinched her nipple. “Ah! ...that I have no charm,” she panted. “It was kind of mean.”

“Ah, so you do remember commanding me to fuck you, then,” he said slyly.

She felt a little head-rush of pleasure. There was something oddly arousing about hearing the word ‘fuck’ in his anachronistic accent, and his hand roaming slowly and teasingly over her breasts only made her more eager still.

“It wasn’t a command,” she panted. “It was a suggestion.”

“Hm,” he murmured. “Luckily for you, it’s a suggestion I’m inclined to fulfill. But not until you’re ready.”

“Not until you’re ready, you mean,” she said. She was already dripping wet for him. All she needed was for him to recover from the blowjob she’d given him.

“I am ready,” he said.

Huh? she thought. She glanced down, and her eyebrows jumped up in surprise; he was indeed hard again, even though he’d just finished a few minutes ago. 

She stared at the thickness of his cock with rising excitement. “That’s… I’m impressed,” she said vaguely.

He chuckled and stroked the underside of her breast with his thumb. “You flatter me. Now if only you were just as ready.”

She dragged her eyes up to his face. “I am ready,” she said blankly.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Let me find out.” He pulled her legs apart and stroked her sex with two fingers. 

She shuddered and gasped; she was very slick and wet, and his fingers smoothing over her flesh felt so good and so torturous at the same time, like he was giving her a taste of something scrumptious while denying her the entire meal. 

She whimpered and clenched her fingers in the sheets, and Felassan sighed in a mock-sad way. “No, I don’t think you’re ready yet.”

“Yes I – f-fuck…” She gasped again and arched her spine; his fingers were swirling gently over her clit now. He leaned over her body and began teasing her nipple with his mouth, flicking his tongue over the pebbled peak of her nipple and tugging it gently with his lips instead of suckling her deeply like she wanted, and she writhed beneath him with increasing restlessness.

She gritted her teeth, then burst out a needy sob. “Felassan!”

“Yes, Tamaris?” he said. His polite tone was countered by the heat in his faintly glowing eyes, and she twisted her hips in frustration.

“I’m ready,” she whined.

“You aren’t yet,” he said firmly. “I can tell.”

He was petting her clit now, tiny coaxing strokes that sent bolts of pleasure through her body. She shuddered and lifted her hips off the bed. “B-but I–”

Felassan suddenly took her nipple firmly in his mouth while petting the swollen bud of her clit, and she mewled with pleasure and rocked her hips frantically in time with his fingers. Then he released her breast and spoke in a rough voice. “Come one more time, and then you’ll be ready.”

“Yes,” she moaned. She was already almost there thanks to the patient stroke of his fingers.  She rolled her hips up to meet his steady hand, and a few seconds later, the rapture burst through her body, forcing her to spine into a pleasured bow. 

Then Felassan slid two fingers inside of her, and a visceral cry escaped her throat. His fingers sliding into her heat and curling against the sensitive spot inside of her – fuck, fuck, yes, this was what she wanted and needed: she needed Felassan to fill her up and soothe the longing ache that both her pleasure and his had fostered deep inside of her. 

“Now!” she wailed. “Felassan, fuck me now!”

“With great pleasure,” he grunted. He pulled his fingers free from her body and shifted between her legs, then looped her knees over his arms. 

He planted his palms on the mattress on either side of her waist and rubbed his cock against her slick-soaked sex. She mewled and wiggled her hips pleadingly, but with her legs hooked over his arms, she had little control over what he did next. 

“Felassan,” she begged, and she gripped his arm with her hand. “Come on, I need you…”

“I need you, too,” he panted. “I… ah, you feel…” He broke off with a moan, and the sound lit a thrill in her nerves. He rocked himself against her slickness, and Tamaris whimpered and twisted her hips as much as she could to try and coax him inside of her.

She clawed lightly at his arm, and he burst out a breathless laugh. “Easy, avise,” he crooned. Then he entered her in one long hard stroke.

A feral cry left both of their throats, and Tamaris dug her nails into his arm. He hissed in a breath, then let it out in a groan and thrust into her once more, and she cried out again at how good it felt – how fucking good it was to have Felassan filling her up like this. He moaned rapturously and slammed his hips into hers, and Tamaris stared shamelessly at his face while he fucked her; his eyes were squeezed shut and his face was twisted in a perfect uninhibited expression of rapture, and the flawless driving rhythm of his hips was fostering a fresh quake of pleasure deep within her core. 

She gasped for breath and focused on the roiling rise of her rapture as she studied his face. The play of emotions across his handsome features was exquisite, a melding of ecstasy and longing and determination as he fucked her hard, and as he continued to coax the tremble of pleasure from the depths of her body, she slowly began to realize that he was soothing more than just her raging libido. His playfulness, his easygoing manner, his moments of seriousness and his philosophical talks, his flawless kisses and this perfect, focused, delicious driving rhythm of his cock: he was soothing an ache deep inside of her, an ache that had remained untouchable for years and that went far further than sexual frustration — an ache that she’d tried hard to hide away, and which every day in Felassan’s company was peeling open just a little bit more, whether she was ready or not. 

Her heart was pounding in time with the meeting of their bodies. He suddenly opened his eyes, and Tamaris’s breath stopped; his eyes were bright and lit from within with magic. 

“You are coming with me, aren’t you?” he gasped. “I can feel it.”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Yes, I’m close–”

He slammed into her again, and she burst out another pleasured cry. “Yes! Keep going, keep–”

He thrust into her hard, driving his cock at the perfect angle to strike the place deep inside of her that triggered the pleasure of her rising climax, and she clawed mindlessly at his arm. He let out a sharp little cry that only riled her further, and after another breathless minute of Felassan’s perfect driving cock, Tamaris came for the third time that night.

It was a deeper throb of pleasure this time that surged through her limbs and forced a burst of white light behind her closed eyelids. She sobbed and dug her nails into Felassan’s arm, and a moment later, he let out a strained and guttural cry as his climax washed over him as well. 

He pumped into her three more times, then held fast and ground himself hard into her depths, and Tamaris basked ecstatically in the aftershocks of her orgasm as he released himself inside of her.  

“Tamaris,” he moaned. “Ar nuvena shathe nuis’in mar isebre’alas…” 

She shivered as the incomprehensible liquid syllables of his native language filled her ears. She could barely decipher what he’d said aside from ‘I want’, but it sounded like praise, and she vaguely wondered if he would start dirty-talking to her in ancient Elvhen now that they were… involved. 

She took a deep breath, then released it in a contented half-sigh, half-moan. “You’ll have to tell me what that means,” she breathed.

He laughed breathlessly and released her legs to the bed. “It means: ‘I would happily burn in your heated depths.’” 

She raised her eyebrows, then barked out a laugh. “I can’t decide if that’s sweet or suicidal.”

He chuckled and rolled onto his back beside her. “Sweet or suicidal: some might call that a tidy summary of romance in general.” He reached over and smoothed his palm along her thigh.

Tamaris didn’t speak; her tongue was suddenly tied by his touch. His hand was moving in a casual stroke from her knee to her inner thigh and back. The caress wasn’t erotic, but familiar and affectionate, and something about it was making her chest ache. 

“Well?” he said. “Don’t keep me in suspense.”

“What?” she said distractedly.

“How was I compared to your other illustrious lovers?” he asked cheekily.

She scoffed and elbowed him. “You were adequate, I guess.”

He laughed. “I suppose that’s what I deserve.”

She smirked, then looked at him more seriously. “You were great. You made me come three times, for fuck’s sake. That’s…” She trailed off as the memory sent a shiver of heat to the apex of her thighs, which was still tingling with residual pleasure. 

“Yeah,” she said softly. “It was… really good.”

He smiled and tucked his other arm beneath his head. “I told you we would enjoy each other. And allow me to confirm that you’re the finest thing I have tasted in decades.”

She laughed. “You are so fucking full of shit.”

“I’ll allow your insult since you already complimented me,” he said complacently.

She huffed in amusement, then fell quiet once more. He was still caressing her leg in a fond and familiar way, and as their silence stretched on, she stared vacantly up at the ceiling as she tried to decide between her dual urges to snuggle closer to him, or to leave his room entirely.

As was often the case, Felassan broke the silence. “I apologize for the assumption earlier. That you had been celibate since… since Fen’Harel.”

Her gut jolted. She licked her lips nervously and shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. My… thing with Bull wasn’t a secret or anything. I guess I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think it was important to mention.”

Felassan nodded, and they were silent for a moment more before he spoke again. “Was your separation from the Iron Bull amicable?”

“Why?” she said warily. 

“I’m curious if it was your reason for leaving his mercenary company,” Felassan said.

She frowned curiously. Why would he think that? “No, it’s… it had nothing to do with that. We stopped having sex when I started working as one of his mercs. I left the Chargers because…” She sighed and gave him a frank look. “When the Iron Bull starts to get worried about your drinking habits, then you know you have a problem.”

His eyebrows rose slightly. “Ah. I see.”

She shrugged and looked up at the ceiling again. “Yeah. At least I’m taking care of that. Thanks to you, actually.”

“I am glad to help,” he said seriously. 

This time, the silence that fell between them felt loaded. His hand was moving more slowly on her leg than before, and Tamaris breathed shallowly as she waited for him to ask another question.

When finally spoke, his words were careful. “I was under the impression that you were reluctant to sleep with someone new after Fen’Harel.”

Her stomach writhed with discomfort. The question was implicit in his words: if her avoidance of Felassan wasn’t a reluctance to sleep with someone new, then what exactly was her reluctance about? Especially if Felassan was offering the same sort of practical, non-emotional sex that she and Bull had enjoyed?

This, of course, was the problem. She and Felassan had only had sex this one time, and already Tamaris felt so differently about this one tryst than she did about any of the dozens of times she and Bull had been together. 

I would happily burn in your heated depths… Felassan had said that to her right after he came, and Tamaris didn’t know if he was being serious or playful, or if he’d simply been swept away by the passion of the moment. But the hard truth was that Tamaris was starting to feel exactly like that. 

She was starting to feel like, if she allowed it, she would sink willingly into the sweet warmth of Felassan’s smile, and she would get burnt.

She sat up. “I’m pretty tired. I’m going to bed,” she said, and she slid off of his bed.

“Oh,” he said blankly. “You’re welcome to stay.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “I’ll sleep better in my own bed.” Without looking at him, she collected her discarded clothes and padded toward the door. 

Before she could leave, he called out to her. “Don’t forget your tea,” he said.

She glanced at him. He looked so relaxed with his arms folded behind his head as he lounged in all his naked glory, and her heart squeezed painfully at how beautiful and peaceful he looked.

Why can’t I just be like that? she wondered. Felassan had suffered terrible things too, but he was still able to enjoy the good things in life without overthinking them. Why couldn't Tamaris be like him? Why couldn’t she just… enjoy being with him? 

She swallowed the growing lump in her throat. “Which tea?” she asked weakly. “The anti-dream one or the withdrawal one?”

“If you have to ask that, you should probably have both,” he said. 

She huffed. “You know what, that’s fair. Thanks.” She opened the door. 

“Goodnight, avise,” he called. “Feel free to come back for seconds if you get hungry again.”

She scoffed despite the ache in her chest. “Uh-huh,” she said, and she finally left his room and closed the door. By the time she was in her own bedroom again, her cheeks were wet with tears. 

She dropped her clothes on the floor and wiped her face. She’d thought Felassan was too much of a mess for this, but the shitty truth was this: she was the mess. Felassan had been nothing but perfectly patient and funny and affectionate, and how had Tamaris reacted? By leaving him abruptly after the best sex she’d had in years. 

She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t be involved with him like this, not if it meant she’d be running off in a fit of panic every time he said or did something that made her feel something.

She sat heavily on the bed and closed her eyes. Fuck, she thought hopelessly. He really wasn’t going to forgive her for this.

[havenoffandoms]

This was requested by @eskelchopchop on discord. Prompt 52: “This is new” with Yen x Eskel. Okay, so this is smutty. I didn’t expect it to be smutty, but the idea hit me in the face with a frying pan and wouldn’t let me be. 

You can request a prompt here. You can request a prompt more than once with different pairings. 

THIS CONTENT IS NSFW, SO I WILL ADD A CUT HERE.

Eskel x Yen: “This is new” (prompt 52)

“This is new,” Yen comments in a sultry tone laced with a hint of genuine curiosity as she traces the new scar running along Eskel’s thigh and cutting across his hip bone.

“Is it?” Eskel rumbles deep in his chest, enjoying the gentle glide of Yen’s fingers across his scarred skin, “Probably. When you’ve been fighting monsters for as long as I do, you stop keeping track of all your bumps and bruises.”

“This is more than just a bump or a bruise, my dear,” Yen corrects him before getting off the bed and heading for her vanity. Eskel, who until then was lying on his back with one arm propped under his head for support, opens his eyes and follows the sorceress’ movements with his eyes. She’s wearing a set of purple lace underwear which leaves very little to the imagination. 

“I’m still alive, aren’t I?” he asks rhetorically, a comment which earns him a pointed look from Yen. Eskel sits up so he can admire Yen’s back and her long legs better. The purple garter frames her thighs in the most alluring manner.  It gives Eskel thoughts of pulling it off her with his teeth. 

“Yes, but for how long?” Yen picks up her comb and runs it through her dark locks, not even flinching when the teeth catch on a particularly stubborn knot. There’s a grace to her movements that never fails to surprise Eskel. It results from her innate elegance that a certain sensuality flows from Yen’s actions, no matter how mundane or insignificant they may seem at first glance.

“That is for Destiny to know and for me to find out.” 

Eskel swings his legs off the bed and gets up, with significantly less poise than Yen managed, and then heads to where the sorceress is sitting. Their gazes meet in her mirror and when Eskel smiles a crooked smile at her, he can’t help but feel unconscious as he catches his hideous reflection. Yen notices the sudden tenseness in his jaw and shoulders - she stills her movements, slightly tilting her head in a way that tells Eskel she has something to say about his sudden change in demeanour. Yen, unlike past lovers, knows not to tell Eskel that he’s handsome despite the scars on his face. It’s not that she doesn’t wholeheartedly believes this to be true, but she understands that it will take more than words to improve Eskel’s sense of self-worth. 

Eskel is a man of action, so naturally, he’s more receptive to deeds rather than words. Facta, non verba. 

“Eskel, be a dear and go fetch me my apple juice.”

Eskel steps into action instantly while Yen busies herself with applying her make-up. She faintly hears Eskel pour some juice into a recipient, but she doesn’t let that faze him as she reapplies her blush and paints her lips a delicate raspberry pink with an angled brush made of mink hair. By the time Eskel returns with her cup of apple juice, Yen tilts her head so she can glance at the witcher out of the corner of her eyes. 

“Thank you.” She takes a sip before rising to her feet, facing Eskel and needing to crane her head so her violet eyes can meet his honey-molten gaze. She takes his hand in her much smaller one and places carefully over her chest. She encourages him to feel the material of her brassiere, the delicate lace catching on Eskel’s calloused fingers. “Close your eyes. Let me lead.”

A hint of uncertainty flashes across Eskel’s eyes, but he complies with the demand nonetheless. Yen pulls him to the foot of the bed and gently shoves him onto it, angling him sideways before straddling his lap and nibbling at his ear. Eskel heaves a shaky sigh. 

“Keep your eyes closed for now. Do you trust me?”

“Always,” he whispers, almost as if he feares that speaking at full volume would break the moment. Yen caresses his unscarred cheek, deciding to not draw more attention than necessary to the root of Eskel’s shame, and leans down for a kiss. Eskel moves his lips lazily against hers, keeping his eyes shut like she asked. Yen skilfully slips out of her panties and pulls Eskel’s growing hardness out of his smallclothes. She shifts some more until she’s got Eskel nestled inside her. She doesn’t move for several heartbeats, relishing in the way Eskel’s breath catches in his throat. 

“Open your eyes, Eskel. And look to your right slightly.” When Eskel complies, she can feel him bristle under her. She expects him to look away, but when he doesn’t she’s pleasantly surprised. “Good boy.”

She doesn’t praise lightly, but she feels that Eskel deserves this now. Yen looks in the same direction and sees their reflection in her vanity mirror, the both of them joined together, both looking flushes with desire. Yen makes eye contact in the mirror. “Keep your eyes on me,” she tells him before undulating her hips, her jaw dropping when she feels Eskel move inside her. Eskel’s eyes darken, his pupils dilating with lust as he takes in the sight of Yen riding him and so clearly enjoying herself. Yen considers it a win that Eskel is still looking at her through the mirror even though his scars are so noticeable from that angle. 

It’s like he’s completely forgotten his scars are even there, marring his face, as he drinks in the sight of Yen rocking herself up and down his engorged member. 

“Do you like what you see?” Eskel nods, which simply isn’t enough for Yen, “I want to hear you say it.”

“Yes. I love what I see,” he clarifies in a rasp, his voice silk over gravel that goes straight to Yen’s core. Her fingers go to massage her bundle of nerves as her movements become more frantic. 

“So do I,” she tells him, voice several octaves lower as she nears her release, “can you see how much I’m enjoy this, Eskel? Can you feel how much I need you?”

“Fuck, yes I can.” Eskel’s hips start to meet her movements, but for the most part he lets her take control. Yen tightens her walls around Eskel, smirking at the groan her actions pull from him. “Yen, you’re soaking…”

“All for you, dearest,” she assures him and seconds later, her orgasm crashes over her in waves. Eskel then looks away, grabs her hips and jerks his hips upwards until he joins her over the edge, which doesn’t take long at all all things considered. They stay locked together through their post-orgasmic haze, their breaths coming in short pants and the silence only broken by the wet sound of lips leaving open-mouthed kisses on flushed skin. 

“Did you enjoy this?” Yen doesn’t have to ask. She knows the answer already, she can feel the evidence of how much Eskel enjoyed it running down the inside of her thighs as she moves off him. The witcher paws at his scars pensively. 

“Yes.”

“Would you like to do it again?” 

There’s a brief pause during which Eskel pointedly refuses to look at her. 

“Yes.”

Yen smiles. Soon, Eskel will come to realise that his scars are a token of his bravery rather than of his shame. Thankfully, Yen is a very patient teacher when she wants to be.