#purr subvocal

[rabidbatboy]

SPECIFIC SUBVOCAL FLAGS: based on this (link) flag and definition. intended to be used by misceanimalis who exhibit specific subvocal sounds, but use as you please

growl | purr | trill squeak | chirp | hiss yip | bark | meow

TAGGING: @omegai @omegarchive

🧼 ——— FLAG COINED BY ME

[omegai]

Subvocal : 'verses where beings have a second set of vocal cords that produce animalistic sounds like purrs and growls for communication.

for omegaverse+ only.

this blog is about identity, not kink

[zet-sway]

Fanfic: Girasol

Or, Shepard and Thane get frisky over a crowded nightclub

[Read on AO3] - Rated E for SPICEEEY

Pairing: Thane/FShep | Rating: 18+ | Words: ~6400

“Imagine it, Siha,” he says, his chest flat against her back as he nips her jaw. “The dancers below are none the wiser, for a time. And then one looks up,” he gestures out over the dance floor and takes a deep, long breath. “And there you are. Bent over before me, colored lights sweeping across your skin, shaking as I take my fill of you.”

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Thane smiles when he says “I know a place.”

A place for a night out - somewhere he promises will be both free of prying eyes and luxurious in its indulgence. A fancy dinner date that demands the kind of attire Shepard seldom gets to wear. 

So it is that she finds herself leaning too close to her bathroom mirror, eyeliner pen in hand and its cap in her mouth as she draws out a black, knife-edged wing over each eye with practiced ease. Like riding a bike, she thinks, before she steps back to take one last look at her appearance, making last minute adjustments. 

The dress is black, form-fitting, with a high collar hugging her neck to pronounce the defined angles of her jaw. Below, a diamond of exposed skin in the center of her dress reveals the shadow between her breasts. The garment ends a little more than halfway down her thighs, and she stands a few inches taller in her heels. She smirks to herself, heels clicking on the tile floor as she steps over to the sink and tidies her makeup bag.

Thane knocks softly at the bathroom door before sliding it open. She can hear the low purr of appreciation as he moves close. 

“Siha,” he murmurs, low and reverent, subvocals thrumming with excitement and desire. “You look radiant.”

Shepard dips her head, booting up her omni-tool to check their reservation. It’s something she does to deflect his attention from her blushing cheeks. “What,” she says, giving her all to sound nonchalant. “Were you expecting sweatpants and a t-shirt?” The clock in the bottom corner of the mirror ticks up by one minute and turns red - time to leave.

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Thane turns her to face him, cupping her elbow as he slides an arm around her. As his lips ghost over hers, she clamps her hand around his bicep and pushes back. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”

His dark eyes gleam at her from across the skycar cabin. They’re headed somewhere swanky, but he still hasn't told her exactly where. Shepard tugs the bunched up edge of her dress out from beneath her thigh and bites her tongue. He’s already called her impatient at least three times and she’ll be damned if she’ll give him reason to say it again. Assassins and their secrets. 

Their vehicle whisks past the neon landscape of upper Tayseri Ward, the light of the nearby Widow Nebula casting facades and spires in bright lavenders and deep cobalts. The passing shadows gleam across the broad, deep V of scales at his chest, exposed between an immaculately trimmed double vest and pressed button-up with rolled sleeves. 

He glances, a knowing look in his eye, looking for all the world like he’s about to make a smart remark about the way her foot taps rhythmically against the seat across from her. Whatever he’s thinking, he elects to keep it to himself as the cab finally slows.

They’re just meters from the bleeding edge of the ward, the furthest possible stretch from the Presidium. Before her, a golden glow emanates from the most expensive looking restaurant she’s ever seen in her life. 

The cab VI pings softly and announces, “Now arriving at Girasol Restaurant, Tayseri Ward. Thank you for choosing Citicab.”

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They’re seated beneath an infinite panorama of stars. Ships pass overhead, and far off, they can just barely make out the Widow relay, distant flashes of light reaching their eyes with the steady churn of the relay queue. They’re served what might be the first multi-course meal she’s ever had. 

This far out on the Ward, simulated rotational gravity is more comfortable than she’s used to. Heavier, but far closer to the SR2’s environment than the Presidium has ever been. The station’s rotation is actually perceptible from here, with so many ships flying in and out. 

“So, when were you going to tell me you were close friends with the owner of the most expensive restaurant on the Citadel?”

Thane actually laughs, his face cracking into a wide, amused smile.

“Serana is a known ally for someone of my employ. She’s more of a trusted business partner than a close friend.”

Shepard polishes off the rest of her drink and side-eyes him. “I’m not the jealous type, Thane. You don’t have to blow smoke.”

He pulls both elbows up on the table and loosely cups his hands together. “No smoke, Siha. Only the truth. I’ve only met her on one occasion. She owns multiple establishments on Tayseri ward, and has a reputation for the kind of… discretion that assassins and their clients are looking for.”

“So, a safe meeting place, then?”

“Yes,” he nods. “Ask for the right table, and it’s all taken care of from there.”

A teal-colored asari with golden tattoos collects their empty glasses as she passes by, and a set of refills is immediately behind. There’s one other drell dressed in neutral colored leathers conversing with a salarian at a nearby table, and another two across the restaurant engrossed in deep conversation with two hanar. It strikes her that this is more drell than Shepard has ever seen in one place before. 

“So you brought me to the super secret assassin speakeasy. Very cool, Thane,” she smirks, “I can cross that one off the bucket list.”

He smiles at her, enormous dark eyes gleaming with admiration. “You're quite welcome. There are few perks associated with my profession. I'm glad to share this with you.”

Shepard leans back in her chair, thinking, one wrist resting on the table. “They probably think you’re here to kill for me.”

“Siha,” he says, closing his hand over hers, “The very reason we met is because you asked me to kill for you.”

Quirking a brow, she says, “You make it sound so romantic.”

“As I recall, it was you who initiated the romance.”

She shrugs. “What can I say? I have a weakness for moody, leather-clad aliens with plunging necklines.” Shepard nods in the direction of his buttondown, the first three buttons of which are undone, perhaps more than would be tasteful in polite company. She could say she's used to seeing him like this - it's how he's dressed from the moment they met. But sometimes…

Thane’s smile turns catlike, and he squeezes her hand. “Indeed, I feel the same.”

She gives him a playful nudge with her foot. “Damn, I walked right into that one.” 

“In case I haven’t mentioned it already,” he says, leaning forward, voice low, “You look ravishing in that dress. Please, give Kelly my regards.”

Not unaffected by his lower vocal registers, Shepard offers a nonchalant rebuttal. “I think Kelly’s been chomping at the bit for your ‘regards’ since she first laid eyes on you.”

Thane smiles with a wave of his hand. “I’m spoken for, as you know.” 

He relaxes back then, removing the napkin from his lap and folding it neatly before setting it on the table before him. The golden light above their table gleams off the deep V of exposed scales on his chest, and Shepard feels the not-so-distant rumbling of desire in her blood. She loves him like this - laid back, cocky, with a kind of easy bombast that he only brings out for her. 

“Alright, Sere Spoken For,” She grips his hand, nails touching his palm in silent excitement. "Dinner was great. Why don't we get into some trouble?”

“I'd like that,” he says with a smile.

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Lower Tayseri ward is wreathed in neon and shadow. They make their way to a nearby taxi pavilion and Thane casually slides a credit chit across the volus caretaker’s desk. 

“Right this way,” he breathes heavily, leading them to a parked cab. The doors swing open and the seats slide back as they enter, revealing a wide hatch and ladder beneath. Thane descends first, Shepard close behind him. She's slower than she would like in these shoes, her mobility not improved by the tight confines of her dress.

“I know you’re getting an eyeful down there.”

Thane catches the sole of her foot as she very nearly plants her heel on his face, and he stops his descent, almost certainly to raise his eyes to the clear shot he must have between her thighs. 

“I was not, until you suggested it,” he muses. “I love that color on you.” 

Leaning to peer down the ladder at him, Shepard winks. “I know you do.”

They dismount the ladder one at a time, metal grating beneath their feet. They’ve arrived in some kind of tunnel system. Distantly, Shepard can hear the pounding bass of a nightclub. 

“I’m relieved to hear the club is still operating,” Thane says, as though he were the type of guy to be pressed about a nightclub being closed down. They begin to make their way down the corridor. It’s too narrow to walk comfortably side by side. Shepard settles for admiring his ass as he leads ahead of her. 

“You’re taking me to a nightclub?”

“It’s called Cernunnos. Their DJs are a crowd favorite.”

A keeper crosses their path ahead, and they pause to let it pass. Shepard takes the opportunity to pull herself in close, savoring the feel of his muscled frame beneath her hands. “You have a favorite DJ?”

He doesn't answer, offering that classic little smirk-smile he only shares with her. This man, she thinks. 

“Come, Siha. It isn’t far.”

They traverse the winding network of grated catwalks, narrow corridors, and dusty passageways, lit by dim red wall panels reminiscent of a submarine and lined with a concerning number of locked, unlabeled doors without handles. It would be so easy to get lost down here, spend a few hours well and truly alone - a thought that’s becoming more and more interesting as she wonders what Thane plans on doing to her when he finally has her cornered. 

At last, they come upon one large door with a glowing red lock. Thane presses a panel beside it, revealing a console so well hidden it may as well have not been there at all. Seconds later, the lock turns green, the doors open, and they're swept up in the colossal sound of pounding bass and dancing bodies. 

“Holy shit,” she says under her breath, the sound of her voice lost to the music. 

They arrive at a horizontal catwalk stretching along the curved wall of the club from one end of the dance hall to the other. There’s maybe 12 inches of space between their heads and the ventilation ductwork, and the guardrail is trussed with lights, circling in neon patterns over the dancers far below who frolic over a mirrored floor lined with still more lights that give the space an otherworldly feel. The bass shakes her bones, settles hard over the pounding of her heart. Incredible, what freedom a bit of loud music can bring. 

She takes a step up to the railing, soaking in the energy of the crowd and the beat. Thane’s arms slide around her waist. It never gets old - the way he pulls her back into him, letting his breath wash over her neck. He presses close, giving a thoughtful hum as his lips ghost over her ear. 

“I once chased a target to this very spot,” he says lowly, in a haze of memory. “A human woman. Red of hair.”

Shepard leans back into him, smirking. “You brought me all this way to tell me stories? I love that about you.”

He brushes his nose against her hairline, presses his cheek close. “She was a fierce combatant. Slipped through my fingers more times than I could count as I pursued her across systems, through relays, until at last I cornered her here, on the Citadel.”

Their current arrangement is not lost on her. Leaning against a narrow metal guardrail with the galaxy’s most feared assassin at her back, she can't help the excited jump in her pulse. 

“Next you’re gonna tell me you prayed for her before you dropped her over the edge,” Shepard teases. 

“You mistake me, Siha.” His hands wander to her hips. “My hunt had only just begun when we reached the Citadel. After I infiltrated her ship and earned her trust.”

That gets a genuine laugh out of her. “Mixing business with pleasure, Thane?”

“As all assassins do,” he agrees without a shred of shame or discomfort. “One might argue that by the time I caught her, she openly goaded me to chase her.” His lips touch her neck. “To claim her.”

“So you cornered her here,” Shepard replies, leaning her head back against his shoulder, inviting his wandering hands, his warm mouth on the curve of her neck. 

“As I have cornered you, now,” he says, voice low. Seductive.

“How'd you do it? A quick snap of the neck? A knife? An unfortunate, ‘accidental’ fall?”

“I never said I killed her, Siha,” he says, with a playful lilt to his voice. His hands smooth down over her abdomen, over her thighs, fingertips pressing close to her apex. She knows this touch to be exploratory, communicative, a subtle ask from his body to hers. What a simple thing it is to respond in kind, pressing her backside against him.

He gives a quiet laugh, kissing the spot behind her ear. 

“I see how it is,” she teases, arching her spine, pushing her backside into his hips. The unmistakable warmth of his arousal pushes back, and she feels her own desire begin to smolder. “You know all of my secrets but I can't know yours?" 

His arms tighten around her and he lets out a low rasp. 

"You offer your secrets to me voluntarily. Perhaps you would do well to watch your mouth."

"Oh?" she says, turning to face him, setting her elbows back on the railing and arching her neck in a silent invitation. In the low light, his eyes are hungry. "Say that again, to my face."

"I said, watch your mouth, Siha." He touches her chin. "If you prefer, I will find better use for it."

He kisses her, then. Pulls her body flush with his; the way that makes his mouth and tongue feel like a full-body experience. Heat flares beneath her skin, and she only gives fleeting consideration to their location as she considers all that she wants from him, wants to give him, right here and now. 

"You really think that'll shut me up?"

"An untested theory," he says, nipping her bottom lip, one hand sliding down to cup her ass. “Perhaps if we...”

She gives his belt a quick tug and pulls it free, her eyes never leaving his. The sound he makes is deep and desirous as she pushes him up against a shadow-washed bulkhead. Eyes locked, she descends to her knees before him. 

"I never feel more humbled than when you offer me your mouth," he whispers  as she strokes him. He’s rock hard, pulsing in her hand. In the darkness, she counts the swirling lines that sweep along his length. They flank the coronal ridge of his head, flowing along the shape of him and meeting again just past his sheath. 

"This mouth is famous," she reminds him, peering up to meet his eyes as she teases along the underside. "Some might even say infamous."

"And yet none have known it as I have." He relaxes against the wall and touches the side of her face, sliding his fingers into her hair. The intention in his grip is unmistakable, but he's so pretty when he begs. Gazing up at him, she flutters her lashes, swipes her tongue across his glans and hooks her fingers around his shaft. The colored, moving lights off the club sweep across his face. 

"Please, Siha,” he says sweetly, tilting his hips to nudge his tip against her mouth. 

She smiles, hand tightening around his length. And then he's sliding between her lips, venom burning on her tongue, sinking as far as she can manage into her throat.  

He groans. His hips tense as she pulls off him, hollowing her cheeks as she goes, sucking hard and following with a soft tongue. For all his bluster, Thane is a man like any other - spellbound and lost in the heat of her mouth. He fists his hand in her hair, nails raking along her scalp, guiding her with steady strength. The base of him tingles with his natural lubricant, envenomed and leeching into her blood as she stretches her lips around him and swallows him to the hilt. Christ. She wants him so badly it aches. 

He abruptly tightens his grip on her hair, stalling her. 

“Siha,” he groans. “Siha.”

Shepard releases him with a pop, and he only takes a moment to sag against the wall before hauling her up against him, pressing his tongue against hers. His hands are on her thighs, gathering her short skirt, bunching up atop her hips. He backs her up, step by step, until the railing pushes into her back. 

"Turn around,” he says with a rasp as he spins her, caging her between his arms against the guardrail.

The crowd of dancers below moves like an ocean, swelling and crashing between the mirrored floor and sweeping lights, tangled limbs and bodies lost in one another. She surveys the tables and bars ringing the dance floor, at once both curious and worried to know if they've been spotted. Her search is almost enough to distract her from Thane’s hands sliding beneath her bunched-up dress, scaled palms gliding with unmistakable intent across her skin.

“I want you,” he murmurs in her ear. “Right here, just like this.”

He rocks his hips against her, slow and firm. 

“I thought you'd never ask,” she says breathily.

He nudges her legs apart with a booted foot. "Do we have an audience?"

She shakes her head. “Do you want an audience?”

He kisses her again behind the ear. "Perhaps you will give them due cause. You always make the most delicious sounds when I take you from behind."

Fuck. His voice vibrates between her ears, down her spine, and settles in her throbbing cunt. She aches, her blood pounding with the bass. 

Thane pulls her hips back toward him, pulling her panties to the side. She breathes out a soft moan as traces her seam with just the tips of his fingers, sliding toward the top of her mound and back again before slipping with ease into her channel. 

"Wet," he murmurs. "Does the taste of me arouse you so?"

Shepard bites her lip and whines, and he continues, fingers sliding in and out of her at a slow, dragging pace. There’s no doubt that this insufferable tease is avoiding her clit on purpose, and she reaches between her legs to pleasure herself. Thane intercepts her before she can make it there. 

"Mind your hands, Siha,” he warns, placing and curling her fingers back around the metal. “We wouldn't want our hosts to get the wrong idea.” The low rasp in his voice is driving her mad. The moment he lets go, she reaches back behind his neck, arching herself toward him, intent on capturing his lips. 

“Or what?” She rasps. “Go on, Krios. Threaten me with a good time.”

This time, his grip is firm. Just shy of bruising. He cinches her wrists together with one strong hand, as the other reaches between them to hook a finger around the crotch of her panties. He tugs at them, aggressive, urging them down her thighs until they fall to her knees at an angle, still hooked on his finger. 

Shepard steps out of the garment one leg at a time. Heaven only knows what thoughts are locked in his fathomless mind, but she loves where this is going. Loves to egg him on, deny him just enough to leave him dangling on one, fragile thread of frustration and ever more eager to ravish her. Thane is never one to disappoint. 

He lifts her damp panties to her wrists, and in a series of swift movements, binds her hands to the guardrail. Perfect. An excited chill races down her spine. No one plays dirty quite like he does. 

He nips at her neck, and then her ear. “Shall I pardon myself, Shepard? Leave you here for a time, with nothing but the music and your desire to drive you to madness?” 

“You wouldn't,” she taunts back, testing her makeshift restraint. The fabric isn't made for any sort of strength; it wouldn't take much to tear free, but she'll wait till the right moment for that. 

“No. I am nothing if not generous, as you are aware.” His cock is a hard line against the crack of her ass, his hands returning to her body, feeling the contour of her breasts, her hips. He makes a low sound when he returns to the heat between her legs and effortlessly spears her with his fused fingers. 

“Generous, my ass,” she taunts. “They teach you not to play with your food in the Compact?” Her gut clenches and she moans “Fuck” against gritted teeth as he curls into her walls, hitting her exactly where she likes it.  When he withdraws, he wraps his arm around her shoulders.

"Taste, Siha," he whispers, fused fingers leaving a wet trail along her cheek as he pushes them inside her mouth. Flooded with lust, she accepts without a second thought. The salty flavor of her own arousal hits her tongue and she groans around his hand, sucking his fingers just like she’d sucked his cock. 

At last, he adjusts himself, nestling his velvety tip against her opening. 

Thane's fingers tear free of her lips and settle on her jaw, gripping tight, forcing her head to the side, pressing his face to hers so she can feel his breath coming hot and heavy against her cheek. Bound before him, all she can think about is his cock, his head hovering just inside her folds, thick and heavy and slick, primed to penetrate and fuck her right here and now on this dusty catwalk-

"Goddess preserve me," he breathes.

And then he's sliding home, the wide head of his cock prying her open inch by inch, every one of his ridges like fire licking the ring of her opening as she stretches and pulses around him. 

There's no substitute for this - the deep throbbing heat, the pressure, the incredible stretch as her body conforms around his beautiful alien cock. She wishes she could bottle this feeling, inhale and relive it during her many sleepless nights aboard her ship - fuck, she’d never want for anyone ever again. It steals her breath. White knuckles on the railing, her head pitches forward with a long moan as their hips go flush. 

His voice is shaky as he mutters her name like a prayer into her skin. Hard, unyielding, and sheathed to the hilt inside her, he kisses with unfocused, desperate lust against her mouth and cheek. It feels like he could swallow her whole, pulled flush against his chest with hands trembling.

Stars - she could grind herself to oblivion on him. It’s killing her that she can’t touch him.

"You will be the death of me, Siha. The things you let me do to you-” his hips abruptly snap into hers, followed by a few short, shaky thrusts before he settles into a heavy rhythm that makes her cunt throb.

“This turn you on, Krios?” She laughs, the sound ragged. “Fucking me over the dance floor of a crowded club?”

It's a struggle to keep her voice level, but it's worth it. His forehead briefly comes to rest between her shoulder blades and he tightens his fingers on her hips, pace unfaltering. These little tells, she knows, speak volumes of his control, his desire.

“If I didn't know better, I'd say you want them to watch.” She thrusts back against him, leveraging her hands on the guardrail.

His pace stutters. He gives a sudden, sharp thrust, swallowing before he manages, “If I wanted them to watch, I’d have stripped you bare.” 

Shepard lets out a breathless chuckle. “I think I struck a nerve.”

Thane makes a low, desperate sound. “You are my savior and my tormentor,” he rasps. 

He rocks back slowly, stroking her walls with every ridge until he comes free. Shepard chases him with her hips, empty and aching, until his hands close over hers and he begins to thrust wetly against her seam. She can feel every single contour of his cock dragging over her sensitive, swollen pearl, bringing her closer to the brink as he backs down from his.

“Imagine it, Siha,” he says, his chest flat against her back as he nips her jaw. “The dancers below are none the wiser, for a time. And then one looks up,” he gestures out over the dance floor and takes a deep, long breath. Two steps backward. Drags her hips with him until she's almost at chin level with the guardrail. 

“And there you are. Bent over before me, colored lights sweeping across your skin, shaking as I take my fill of you.” His hands drag over her curves, lingering at her breasts, squeezing, flirting with roughness. “Whether they wish to be you or be inside you, they can only watch and wonder - what must it feel like to put one's hands on such a beautiful creature?"

Her cheeks are on fire. Yeah, she's struck a nerve alright. His fingers massage her nipple through the fabric of her dress, and she can tell by his uncharacteristically clumsy grip that he’s at least thinking about tearing holes in her dress. 

A hand comes to rest on her belly, holding her tight against him as he eases the tip of his cock inside her again, pushing, seeking. He’s still maddeningly restrained. All he allows her is what remains of his patience: long, slow, deep thrusts. Her skin itches, body aching for the full, unleashed strength of him. He squeezes her breast again, pushing deeper into her cunt now, and all at once, the realization hits her. 

"Are you-" she chokes, "Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

She can imagine it - the hands of a stranger freeing her from this damned dress, sliding over her skin, kneading her breasts - tongue drawing circles around the taut bud of her nipple - Thane fucking her all the while - 

As though he can hear her thoughts, he pulls her hips sharply back into his, and she gasps. The fantasy takes her by surprise and her eyes squeeze shut, arousal boiling beneath her skin.  

"Maybe we could try that sometime," she heaves, and she can tell by the way his body shudders that she’s under his skin now, too.  

He pauses, slipping out of her, and for a moment she thinks he's actually going to make good on her suggestion. Instead he adjusts his stance, pushes her hips forward until they're flush against the railing bars and thrusts back inside her at an angle that leaves her gasping. 

"Siha," he groans into her neck, "The mere thought of sharing your pleasure with another…" His voice is ragged as he begins to fuck her in earnest. "To imagine them… on their knees before you… tongue devoted to your pleasure as I move inside you. Merciful gods."

He grips her waist, pounding into her at an angle that makes heat flash along her spine like lightning. Shepard struggles to keep her eyes open, as though by watching the dance floor, she could somehow keep them from watching her. They’re in too deep now - but there’s something intensely arousing about being had in this state. About knowing any wandering eyes might catch the sight of Thane taking his pleasure from her. Knowing how, despite her (frankly excessive) state of dress, it would be immediately obvious what was happening. 

His hands moves between her legs, sliding against wet, warm flesh, focused where she’s spread wide around his girth. He circles her clit in frantic, jerky circles that give away just how much his control is fraying at the seams. Shepard is on the edge before she even knows what’s happening, spellbound, vividly imagining Thane fucking her into oblivion beneath a stranger's hands and mouth. 

"Thane-" she chokes, a lip between her teeth. Hands lock around the cold steel railing and she struggles to breathe, lurching forward, spine bowing, until she's truly hanging on for dear life while her climax shreds her nerves from the inside out. And he doesn't stop - 

It feels like heaven. Glowing, white hot, and savage jabs of ecstacy ripping through her as he braces himself against her hips and fucks her for all he's worth. The force of him makes her stumble, the binds at her wrist tearing thread by thread until they unravel, torn elastic whipping away from her hands and falling uselessly into the crowd below. Whoever they land on is the furthest thing from her mind. He's deep, so impossibly, brilliantly, earth-shatteringly deep inside her, every thrust rocketing through her on forked flashes of lightning until her eyes roll back and she chokes out half-formed words in the vague shape of his name.

Swallowing a moan, she manages only a few clear words: "Fuck me, Thane." 

He makes a low noise, something between a moan and a growl. Teeth drag against the curve of her shoulder, driving spike after spike of incandescent pleasure through her body. And then he shudders, gasps, and grips her hips to the point of pain as his cock pulses hard between her legs, and fuck - 

She can feel it - the wet, warming gush of his release painting her deepest reaches. The feeling conjures new, unbidden fantasies in her mind - a body on its knees before her, mouthing at the wet heat of their joining, perhaps even daring to meet her eyes as they dragged their tongue between the swollen, blushing lips of her cunt to collect their mingled essence. 

Her cheeks burn. 

Yeah, she admits to herself. She wants that. A third partner.

Would they fuck her through the dregs of Thane's venom? Sliding between her legs to occupy the space he vacates as he finally separates from her with their hot mouth, their fingers, their cock, anything - pushing up into her channel with barely concealed lust, drinking from her; saliva and fingers and come dragging hot against oversensitive flesh. Her whole body feels heavy - drugged with a deep, buttery heat that’s slowly cooking her from within.

Who could they…? 

She's running through the possibilities in her mind. Hiring someone feels too risky because her name is so well known. Someone closer to home, maybe? Someone they trust. And all at once, it's clear. There's one person on her ship that she trusts enough to either be discreet, or let her down easy. 

Shepard turns to Thane and pushes her hands into the open collar of his shirt, dragging her nails against his chest and her tongue against his throat.

Fuck-drunk and breathless, she asks, “You’d go for a threeway with me?” She squeezes her thighs together, his release threatening to flow from her at any moment.

He blinks, and she’s sure he’s having some kind of post-climax revelation about what the hell they’ve just done - but fuck it. She’s unbuttoning his shirt, his sculpted chest rising and falling rapidly in the aftermath of his exertion.

“Yes,” he says, pulling her flush against him. She bites her lip, feeling the wet drip of him between her legs.  “Provided we agree on the partner.”

“Garrus,” she breathes. “What about Garrus?” and she can feel Thane’s sharp intake of breath beneath her wandering hands. 

"You have bold tastes, Siha. Are you certain?"

Thane grips her ass, every mottled inch of his body pressed up against her, and raises her thigh with a guiding hand so he can slide his fingertips along her leaking seam. 

"He wants me,” she says between fevered kisses. "He doesn't know how to say it, but he does."

“You've built a career on uniting the galaxy's various species,” he replies. “It's only fitting that you should do the same in your bed.”

Thane pushes his fingers up inside her and her lips rip from his as she gasps, feeling the bulk of his spend fall from her only for him to press it back into her mound, grinding his palm up against her clit. She releases a pathetic moan, buries her head in his shoulder, rolling her hips against his hand. His come feels so good, some bizarre quirk of biology giving it a warming quality when it comes in contact with her own wetness.

Blindly, she reaches for him, dragging her tongue along his neck when she finds him hard and ready. 

“Is that a yes, then?”

He seems to consider her with a thoughtful hum, working his hand between her legs, infuriating in his unending patience. She tightens her palm around his cock, and his lips trace the shell of her ear. 

“I'd like that, Siha.” 

She moans, muffled against his neck, and sinks her teeth into the sensitive ruby flesh beneath her mouth. He growls in turn, winds his free hand into her hair to force her lips back onto his. 

“We should return to the Normandy,” he murmurs, breath ragged. 

He's right, of course. But she can taste the potent citric salt of his venom and she knows she's too far gone, by miles. She can't get enough of him, mind swimming in fantasies of him and Garrus taking turns with her, converging on her, filling her mouth, her cunt, her everything with brain-melting pleasure. She's sure of only one thing - they're not making it back to her ship. 

“Negative, soldier,” she breathes. “How well traveled are these maintenance corridors?”

Suddenly she's in the air, legs clamping around his waist as he physically lifts her and carries her down the catwalk. 

“Storage loft, on your left,” he manages. She reaches a hand blindly to the wall, releases an overloading charge from her omni-tool that singes both her palm and the lock’s control panel. There's a rush of cool air as the doors whiff open. 

No sooner are they inside than she's wriggling free of his hold, pushing him down onto the nearest moderately flat surface, peeling her dress off, and mounting him. It's quieter here. She can hear the low catch of his breath as she takes him to the hilt. 

He feels positively divine. Warmed from within by sex and venom, she begins to ride him. She rises until his tip rests at her entrance and plunges back down, the whole of his length rocketing through her like a thick, ridged bullet, over and over again, endless, perpetual, and fucking perfect. 

Thane's eyes are fixated on her, reflecting the dim fluorescent lines that flicker above them in time with the bass of the club just outside the door. One hand splays itself over her belly as though to steady her, and then he licks his lips, fingertips sliding down, down, warm and rasping scales sliding over her slick pearl. 

Wherever she's supposed to be right now, she only knows she's here, right on the edge of nonsense and drunken need, Thane rolling her again and again up the precipice of climax like Sisyphus and his stone. She falls over him, tongue wrapping around his, impaled on the burning tower of his desire, his hand curling around her breast, thumb flicking over her nipple, rutting up into her with equal vigor - 

The first shock of her climax flashes like a spark between her hips. She clenches, involuntary, gasps against his mouth - tries in vain to hold back the tsunami that's already racing toward her, but it's too late. She shudders and gasps into him, and he's only seconds behind. He closes his teeth around her lower lip as he floods her, tip to root, warmth blooming along her spine. 

She lays atop him, panting in the aftermath. Her forehead rests against his. His arms are trembling as they wind around her shoulders. 

“Wow,” she breathes, after a long moment. Now that they're both still, she can feel how the floor - the crate - below them shakes with the club's bass. 

He offers a sated “Mmm” in response, nuzzling her head, breathing hard.

“Have I ever told you that you're the best sex I've ever had?”

“You haven't, Siha,” he says, voice low. “But I inferred.”

She pushes a playful, weak palm against his arm. “Smartass.”

She moves to stand, but he seems loathe to release her. His hands trail down her shoulders and arms as she sets one shaky foot on the ground at a time, heels clanging on the dusty metal floor. Shakes the dust off her dress before sliding it back on with a wince. 

“Were you serious, about Mr. Vakarian?”

Shepard wrinkles her nose. “He's going to say no if you call him that.”

Thane sits up on the edge of the crate, tucking himself back into his pants. 

“You were serious, then?”

Shepard states at him, still moderately high, doing her best to seem coherent, as though his spend isn't rolling down her thigh. 

“Yes,” she says, matter-of-factly. 

He extends a hand, then, and pulls her by the arm to stand between his knees. With a deep inhale, he kisses her, sweet and tender. “I will approach him then, when the time is right.”

Shepard sighs with contentment, leaning against him for a moment, inhaling the clean, dry scent of him as she rests her head on his shoulder.

“Pretty sure my underwear fell onto some guy's head.”

“You'd have kept them if you had not challenged me, my Siha.”

“As though you wouldn't have torn them off me at some point,” she retorts. 

“As though you wouldn't have begged me to do so,” he says with a smile.

Then he stands, removing his vest. 

“A concession,” he offers, holding it out for her. “And, if you'll permit me, I will replace your lost garment. Perhaps a deep blue, if our turian friend should accept our invitation.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Shepard says as she bends gracelessly and uses the fabric to wipe the mess from between her thighs. He takes it back from her when she's finished, folding the soiled side of the material into itself and tucking it into his back pocket.

They step back onto the catwalk, the air heavy with sweat and sex and smoke. As Shepard twines her fingers with his, Thane takes a moment just to gaze at her, his enormous dark eyes catching the light of the club below. He places a soft kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Come, Siha,” he smiles. “The night awaits.”

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

But If

Past =-= Next

Author's Note: More of Draco in Waters AU. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric. Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Arnault, Roland. Thank you to @egrets-not-regrets for letting me borrow Erriox and Lenora and your help with editing and other things :)

Summary: Draco gets pinned by several of the Astartes that had gone to rescue poor Claude. More conversations are had.

Warnings: Panic, Bond Denial, blood, yandere tendencies, let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

The Gray Knight shifts in the grip of his cousins, and the Iron Warrior twists the knives deeper into his tail to get the bastard to stop moving. It works, even if the bastard of an Astartes growls at him subvocally and glares at him. Erriox glares back, his spines and fins flaring in aggression, he very much wanted to kill this bastard- and it would be his pleasure to do so, if that’s what is decided, provided it didn’t harm Lana more.

“Whatever will happen to Lana will depend on your answer, silver one.” Mara states, standing tall over the Gray Knight trapped on the ground, “I need your promise. An oath.”

“What oath? What Promise do you demand of me?” The Gray Knight asks, still proud, and stubborn. Although he desperately wants Lana, to go to her, to hold and have her as his. She is his already. To get her away from those chittering, conniving, lying two-faced Hydras.

The elder harpy speaks, “I need you to take an oath that you will never lay a hand on Lana, on the colony, and on our allies indiscriminately. You will, in addition, allow for whatever conditions Lana wishes to place in order for this bond to be acceptable. If death is still what she wishes, then I will grant it.” 

“I could kill him now, and save Lana the agony of this Bond,” Erriox purrs out darkly. “Spare her from the backlash of the decision.”

Mara shook her head, with the little knowledge of what she knows of bonds, killing the silver one would still cause a backlash, judging from how Lana and this silver predator are reacting to one another, “No, unfortunately killing one, would mean killing the both of them, Erriox.”. 

Erriox bows his head to her wisdom and decision, while keeping his hands on the blades and digging it into the bastard’s tail. He will abide by the decisions of Lana and the Gannet Harpies, but should they prove the need for the death of either the Gray Knight or Lana, he’ll volunteer as executioner, should they request one.

Mara’s last sentence drew a myriad of reactions. Zariel and his brothers argued against it, wanting their Lana to live, but after the Look Mara gave them, they settled down, upset and worried, clinging to Lana, but careful not to bruise her with their superior strength. She was withdrawn and solemn, unwilling to look at any of the Alpha Legionary brothers. They will watch the Gray Knight carefully, and monitor and report his every action.

The Gray Knight scowls, rage burning a fire in both of his hearts at the Elder harpy’s words. Equally, he doesn’t want his Lana to die- he desperately wants to keep her alive, and if he has to promise these paltry things, then he will. He clenches and unclenches his fists, he would lash his tail in frustration, but the Iron Warrior pinning his tail with knives makes that a tricky and painful endeavor.

He tilts his head up a touch defiantly, he speaks up, “I promise that I will never lay a harmful hand upon Lana, I shall never lay a harmful hand on Lana's Colony, I shall never start a fight, or be the first one to lay a harmful hand on Lana’s allies indiscriminately. I shall hear and obey the conditions that Lana chooses to place on our Bond to be seen as Acceptable.”

Mara nodded her head, satisfied, then added, “Should you ever renege on your oath, we will reconsider your’s and Lana’s place in the colony. You are both inexplicably connected, unfortunately.” She frowns. The elder harpy turns to Lana, her stern voice turned soft, “What is your wish, my dear?”

“I need to know that you will never lay a heavy hand or maliciously injure any of the fledglings, be they harpy or mer-Astartes for punishment or otherwise.” Lana says.

“The one named Claude needs Psyker Training,” The Gray Knight points out, “If he doesn’t learn to control it, it will control him and can cause untold catastrophe.”

“Does learning control mean that he should be beaten into the state he was in?” She rebuked him. 

“He needs to learn obedience, he wasn’t obeying and following my orders, was defiant and refused to learn, he lied to me saying he doesn’t have psykery,” The Gray Knight points out with a scowl, “He also needs to have resistance and training for pain and other things as well. Then again, Hydras big and small are defiant, lying little bastards one and all.”

“Don’t you dare insult them!” Lana yelled at him, wincing, a sharp stab of pain striking once again, “Watch your words Gray Knight! I haven’t accepted the bond yet.”

The Gray Knight winces a little at her words, mostly from the pain it caused with her partial rejection of him and nods, “I shall take care with my words, more closely, my Lana.”

“It’s one thing to teach and train for war. Pain and discipline can be a valuable lesson, but it is not to be used in an unrestrained manner. Not to the level of what Claude had gone through. Obedience through fear, that only gives more of a reason for one to lie and hide from you.” She hissed.

“Promise me you won’t be so heavy-handed with the fledglings. That is one of my conditions.” Lana sighs, feeling exhaustion starting to seep into her bones. 

“We Astartes can take a lot of damage and punishment,” The Gray Knight points out, “And our normal training can seem overly harsh and brutal to mortals, how will it be assessed as my punishments and training as being too harsh?”

“If you think,” Erriox growls from near his tail, “That I’m going to let you train my sons at all, or without me watching or someone I trust to ensure their safety, then you are a Fool. Every single one of them has a deep-seated mistrust for any Firstborn marines and I can easily see why now, with what you have done to Claude.”

“They have the ability to withstand greater injuries, and heal from them faster,” The Grey Knight sneers at Erriox, “And the ones who survive we know aren’t potentially chaos-abominations for their creation being done by the Mechanicus, rather than by the Apothecaries and Chaplains of the Chapters they are made for.”

[virtuallucan]

hello, hi, welcome.

i am LUCAN, ( he / hym ) also known as @bluescreenies & @digitalcaniline . . .

this is my therian & holothere blog.

my kintypes consist of:

> Coastal Wolf

> Turkish Angora

> Sandros Leisha

> Welsh & English Springer Spaniel

> Coyote

> Spotted Hyena

> Bearded Vulture

> Harbor Seal

> Russian Wolfhound (Borzoi)

> Jackalope (Cryptid, but still included)

> Maned Wolf

> Big Cat Clade

^^^

in order of shifts, experiences, and such.

kinsidering:

> N/A

i would also like to mention that i am misceanimalis. typically miscecanis.

my dynamic is a bidynamic; beta + omega (bega? oeta? idk)

my scent typically fluctuates, but normally, it is french vanilla + cinnamon. i tend to have sweet & warmer scent.

i have a mate. he is wonderful <3

i can subvocalize. typically with barks, yips, meows, purrs, etc.

tags:

> text and reblog posts: #howlsoflucan

> "home" posts: #homeoflucan

> shift log posts: #lucanshifts

that's about it.

paws off to you! thank you very very much for reading.

[spaced0lphin]

challenge for all you shakarians

Listen okay so I've been in the ME fandom a long-ass time. Like, actual BioWare writers frequenting the LiveJournal community long. So, whilst Shoker is my ship, I have been known to at least understand Shakarian from time to time, and I know a lot of you fools also obsessed with a decade plus old series like I am do, too.

I see a lot of excellent Shakarian art where it's like, Garrus is cuddling Shepard or like smooshing his giant face into them or something, or doing spicy stuff to them clutching their thighs - it's always him doing stuff to them - and it's all very passionate and excellent and as a monsterfucker myself I do get it

but I have a spicy challenge for you Shakarian artists because this is sorely terribly lacking in your field and for the life of me I do not understand why

Never, not once in my long journeys, have I ever seen art where Garrus is just getting his mind absolutely goddamn obliterated. Where he's got his long neck thrown back onto the points of his crest and the pupils of his half-lidded eyes are contracted to pinpoints in shock and amazement, his mandibles are just quivering, splayed open wide because of the sheer magic of human lips. Turian cartilage flaps cannot do that. He has never been more alive and more destroyed in a single moment in his life. He is having an out of body experience. He is one lick away from a cardiac fucking event but in a good way. He is completely physically useless at this moment - he is putty in Shepard's hands and mouth. The only thing he can do is shake and let his subvocals loose in the deepest approximation of an orgasmic purr you can imagine. Garrus is getting it done to him, he is not doing anything but getting done.

I submit this for your consideration

[lycantooth]

Dexter Morgan from Dexter is a miscefelis dynamic nonconforming non nesting infertile feline omega who is otaean (omega 4 beta) and orchean (omega 4 alpha), has a purr subvocal and an atypical scent of blood!

self indulgent one :3

[dovahbee]

Romance head cannon! (I don't have the heart ;-;) for Garrus.💙

OH YES ILY

- Shepard in combat gets that boy going like nothing else. Her sweaty and covered in blood>>>>

- he loves watching her do domestic things like brushing hair, cooking, laundry— stuff like that. he might not even realize he’s being rude by not offering to help but he’s just sitting there like a lil bitch making happy purrs 🐱

- cleans her guns and armour as a love language (especially when he’s stressed, chronic arms cleaner)

- gets frustrated when Shepard won’t open up to him, takes it personally. He fails to realize he does the same to her what funny little morons. Vulnerability is hard

- garrus cant say ily to shepard cuz he thinks she’ll die when he finally does (yes i chose violence today) though, his subvocals already said it long ago

- they can’t get very far into an argument before abandoning it to do seggsy things. I don’t think either of them can distinguish anger, adrenaline and horniness

- accidentally slips Shepard’s weird habits or quirks to their friends cuz he doesn’t know they’re not normal human things to do. Ex: flossing with her hair or something

[intenderstendencies]

🔊 🦋🍄

foer the ask game :]

hello! thank you for asking, mad appreciated

🔊 What subvocals do you do? How do you communicate and what do your subvocals mean?

I am absolutely HUGE on purrs and growls as my subvocals. I only really (sub)vocalize when I'm happy though, and so growling is mostly a playful sort of thing to me! although it's mostly involuntary, purring often shows how content I am while growling shows I'm feeling playful

🦋 Any specific misces habits/urges you have?

I am a huge nester! for myself personally, but I also have a habit of going to other people's spaces (only close friends promise.) and helping them move/rearrange/decorate their spaces to be more comfortable for them (and leave something of myself behind in the process) I'm also a really big scenter, I love putting my scent on the places I go and the people I'm with.

🍄 What do you enjoy most about your dynamic?

my favorite thing about my dynamic isn't even really dynamic specific to be honest. previously I mentioned helping people move stuff around and I think I can offer people a pretty big confidence boost just by helping them figure out what they want and supporting them on the way there. I feel like I can be a natural courage booster by just existing and that's amazing to me

[miscehievous]

MISCEHIEVOUS

prns ♱ they/spite/helios/it

type(s) ♱ san

LEPFANG: psi-sigma astra caree

MELABEA: eta-rho

verse(s) ♱ fallen angel, owl, shifter, typhon, na’vi, echo stalker

aucto(s) ♱ deity, divine, angel, feline, undertale monster, dolphin, xenomorph

scent(s) ♱ rain, vanilla, dust, autumn

subvocal(s) ♱ growl, purr, hiss, humming, trill, mimicking

disorders ♱ did, aspd, oc(p)d, audhd, dyslexic

endo friendly ♱ no discourse ♱ misceverse blog

[roadkillxd]

Entirely out of left field and six years too late, I wrote a ME:A smut drabble...

Kandros x Scott Ryder  ↪ 468 words — 18+ / SMUT

Content tags — cis male dominant Ryder, cis male submissive Kandros, xenophilia, hookups, mention of Scott having fucked an angaran before, dirty talk, teasing, handjobs, and fingering.

“I’ve always had a thing for turians,” Scott purrs, running light fingers over Kandros’ mandibles just to watch them twitch and shudder under the attention.

“Oh, yeah? Just any turian?” Kandros smiles, gripping Ryder’s hips, settling him a little more into his lap. 

“God, no. M’not one of those humans, trust me,” the man hums, “I have a type…”

“Care to inform me?”

“Mmm… I like big crests, and fringes. Makes ‘em look dominant… and, oh, long mandibles, the ones that hook upward in the back—it’s a shame you usually only see them in the women. Like Vetra… woof.”

Kandros chuckles, pressing (what passes as) kisses against Scotts neck, tongue dipping out ever so slightly to dampen the press of his hard lips.

Scott grasps the back of Kandros’ head, pulling him away gently to trace idle fingers over his face markings.

“And I like turians with tattoos, bright ones. I was told once, that markless turians can be… dangerous.”

“Hmm, stereotypical,” Kandros offers, “though, in most cases, very true.”

Scott chuckles, leaning down for a kiss, sucking eagerly on the turian’s pointed tongue. 

“Universally, though…” Scott murmurs, pressing his soft lips to Kandros’ mandible, against his neck (and Spirits, how can a predator's lips—entire body—be so soft?), “I like the small waists.”

Scott smiles, grabbing Kandros hips for emphasis, squeezing the plates there.

“Is that so?”

“And the voices… fuck. Your people, and the angarans, too. They drive me insane. That deep, resonating hum whenever you speak. Or fucking… Jaal. Or Evfra. Makes my cock ache.”

“Sounds like you just have a thing for military men, Ryder,” Krandos purrs, his subvocals vibrating with lust that has Scott’s spine shivering. 

“And did you know,” Scott continues, palm trailing down over Kandro’s scutes, down to his crotch to tease at his pubic plates, fingers between his slick slit, “the Angarans have a, uh, similar form of protection down here?”

Kandros gasps, subvocals twinging as he throws his head back and groans, feeling his cock slowly slipping free as Ryder’s fingers tease.

“They’re a lot softer, without the chitin, like a human woman… but, oh, Kandros,” Scott moans, and the tone makes the turian’s cock pulse, the tip peeking out from his slit, “their slits feel just as good as a turian’s to fuck. Tight and slick, their pretty cocks just as blue, pulsing with that fucking—bioeletric field…”

Kandros’ cock is fully exposed now, Scott stroking the slick member.

“But you know why I’ll always love turians the most?” Scott asks, his fingers trailing down Kandros’ shaft, “the Angaran are so… open. But turians… with all that self control. That discipline. I just love to watch them break.”

Ryder punctuates the statement by slipping two fingers into Kandros’ slit, massaging the sticky walls and making the turian cry out, subvocals oscillating wildly.

[beastpurrs]

Welcome to the den.

I'm a nameless big genderqueer butch (who's also a guy), pronoun apathetic but tends to use he/him and an adult, there may be mature content (tagged after dark for nsfw).

This is a misceverse orientated blog, but there may be some overlap with alterhumanity.

Alterhuman blog - @beastqueer

[Alpha] - [Glaios] - [Werewolf Alpha] - [Shifter Alpha]

Some scents: [Alpha Smoke] - [Ocean] - [Chocolate]

Further info below (myself & identification)

I'm new to the community although no stranger to omegaverse itself.

I'm questioning, but as is I identify as an alpha, albeit a more relaxed one. I'm still comfortable being aggressive to assert myself when warranted but feel little need or desire to be so otherwise (more bite than bark you could say). I prefer to be more laid back and rooted in simple mutuality. You get what you give, roughly.

My identities tend to be complex and multifaceted so I expect my identification here to complicate and deepen over time, especially as I experience it in different contexts while I settle into and explore what the community has to offer.

Subvocals: [Growl] - [Purr]

[lilmissnatcat24]

Turn Left Ch 11- Pickup Lines 101, With Garrus Vakarian

Garrus meets Shepard during a horrible blind date, Commander and Archangel blow off some steam (HORNY CHAPTER ALERT)

Relationship: Femshep/Garrus Vakarian

Archive Warnings in author's note (CW- alcoholism, PTSD)

Additional tags: enemies to friends to lovers, slow burn, slow build, alternate universe- canon divergence, detective noir, sex club, anonymous sex, canon temporary character death, murder mystery, drug use, dom garrus vakarian, whump, smut, heavy angst, alien sex, dual pov, an overly sexual elcor named candy, earthborn, ruthless, fake/pretend relationship, dead dove: do not eat, identity porn, yall when i say slow burn i mean SLOW like they're not getting together in this fic slow

Detective AU mixed with identity porn mixed with so much whump my fingers are bleeding

(or, start from the beginning here)

lil text blurb:

Garrus felt himself walk over to her before he made the conscious decision to do so. He slid onto the stool next to her. If she noticed him, she didn’t make much of an indication. “So. Do you come here often?” Silence. “I’d be concerned if you did. It would probably mean you’re an alcoholic or something.” Silence. “Of course, I wouldn’t know anything about that. I have a few more pickup lines in my arsenal. Did you want to hear them? You must be a quarian, because you look so hot I’m running the risk of a fever . Not my favorite, but a classic. Are you a hanar? Because this one’s feeling lucky tonight . That one normally gets the ladies to drop to their knees... Oh, there’s my favorite one! Are you an Alliance pilot? Because I want to suspend your license for driving me crazy .” 

Shepard turned to Garrus. Her eyebrows were downturned, her mouth was in a frown. But something behind her eyes showed a spark of playfulness. It was enough to make Garrus’s subvocals purr in contentment, then be eternally grateful that humans couldn’t pick up on their frequencies. “I don’t feel like talking to you right now.” 

“Are you an illegally parked spacecar? Because you’ve got fine written all over you.” 

“That one was significantly worse than the others,” Shepard said. “Also, fuck off.” 

“Aw, come on. You’re not going to stay mad at me forever, will you?” Shepard just turned back in her barstool, pretending to be enthralled by the biotiball recaps on the vids. “How about this: I’ll leave, as soon as you give me your best pickup line.” 

“No.” 

“It’ll be fun. We could roleplay, like we’re meeting on a date. It’ll be like undercover work.” 

“I thought your date was already going on, Casanova.” Whatever a Casanova was, Garrus was unsure. But, she was observant enough to notice him earlier. He wondered how much of the conversation with Vaia she’d heard, and how much she’d eavesdropped on him dropping the ball. 

“I’m pretty sure she ran.” 

“ Ouch . Can’t say I blame her, she was going out with a jackass.” 

Garrus chuckled into his empty drink. “Yeah, I guess I’d say I deserved that one.” 

“Yes, you did.” 

[omegai]

maybe a flag for those who experience subvocals? idk if the concept is common outside of a few fandoms - basically, alphas/omegas (and sometimes others) have a second set of vocal cords that produce animalistic sounds like purrs and growls for communication!

queued!

[mxwhore]

I just came across your art of Jon knotting Martin (if that’s the correct way to use that) and was wondering what knotting is? Is it just part of a/b/o stuff? And do you know what subvocals are? I’m so sorry to bother you with an ask I just can’t seem to find any answers that aren’t about dogs :(

Knotting is a reproductive strategy present in canids and some species of pinnipeds as well, in which the male quite literally gets stuck inside the female via the structure located at the base of the penis called the knot. It presents two main advantages: by being stuck, the male erases the possibility of another contender mating with their chosen female AND the vaginal walls tugging at the knot actually estimulates eyaculation. On the other hand, subvocalization is a process we humans do while doing silent reading by exercising our speech muscles without necessarily producing sounds we can actually hear. The scientific bases of A/B/O are already shaky by design (since yknow A/B/O dynamics in wolf packs dont actually exists), but knotting in that universe is basically the same i described. Subvocalizations in A/B/O is more like instinctual communication, saying what you really mean via trills, purrs or whatever without actually engaging in real speech

[messydiabolical]

Wednesday WIP/ficlet Rated E for extremely fucking spicy! Seriously even the summary is spicy so it's below the cut. Copious body fluids lie within! Kolyat x Feron

Summary: Kolyat has been kept plugged all day as Feron fills his lover over and over... somehow I still made it fluffy. I'm incapable of anything else.

Deft fingers slide beneath the waistband of Kolyat’s leather leggings for the fifth time that day, none the less eager despite the marathon sessions. If anything, Feron seems more excited than ever; always so enamoured with his lover. Love and lust are writ across his beaming face as he kneels between the legs of his amafi.

The eager drell is staring intently at the bulge of Kolyat’s cloacal slit, down to where a hint of the plugs’ edge is bumping through the fabric. As his gaze falls upon it his subvocal song pitches from affection and want to outright need, a gravelly note of proud possession lacing through. Kolyat notices with a shiver that Feron’s erection twitches and thickens as the colourful drell takes in his lover. He is always so greedy for Kolyat, claims nowhere is better in the universe than when they are together. When they’d planned to try plugging he’d been almost feverish describing how intense it would feel to be between the legs of his slick, filled lover, to join with him and feel the evidence of their matings as he fills him once more. The way he purrs for him now, enthusiasm rolling off him despite thier many trysts already, Kolyat finds he is just as hungry. He tries not to squirm as a wave of love fuelled lust causes a shudder to wrack through his body. His subvocals call back to his lover.

Yours. All yours.

“Amafi!” Feron groans, sharp claws briefly digging into the sensitive flesh of pelvic frills. He smirks and looks upwards for a moment.

“Such a sweet, wicked boy you are”.

He leans forwards, tracing his forked tongue over the leather covering of  Kolyat’s cloacal bulge down towards the plug. Leaning forward he presses on it with the sharp point of his nose. The stimulation makes Kolyat’s oversensitised cloaca strain to flutter and he tenses hard around the plug to keep it from shifting. A strained mewl escapes his lips, sweet nerves suddenly pressed with exquisite pressure.

“Do you think anyone else noticed this today, amafi?” Feron looks up once more, impish smile in place.

“Did they see the shape of it through your clothes? Or the way you’d suddenly gasp and whimper so prettily as it moved so slickly inside you?”

Kolyat blushes furiously, his cheeks and frills burning. Feron presses forward again, a firm nudge directly into the plug base. Something inside him sparks deliciously and Kolyat cannot contain it this time, whole body spasming and cloaca fluttering around the plug. It shifts, a gush of hot cum leaking out around its edges and slicking across his scales and trousers. A panicked gasp escapes him. Feron looks up sharply, so acutely in tune to his lover.

“Are you okay, amafi?” his warm eyes gliding up to his own.

“I-” another whimper. Kolyat bites on his lips briefly, sharp fangs pricking into plump flesh.

“I think. I think I may have leaked around the plug, a little. I’m sorry!” 

Notes of regret creep into his song as he lowers his gaze, shamed. 

“Amafi” 

Feron’s face softens. He soothes fingertips across puffy pelvic frills, purring his affection.

“You have done so, so amazingly, my love.” 

A kiss to his inner thigh.

“Taken me four times, held my loads inside you all day. Gods, when I think of how you’ve kept me with you like this I-” he cuts of, subvocals reaching a fever pitch of pride, love and lust.

“You are incredible.” Another kiss. “Let me show you. Don’t look away now, my sweet”.

Feron grips the trousers once more, peeling them down and away. Warm palms gently press Kolyat’s thighs apart as he leans in once more, panting warm breaths up and down Kolyat’s slick, puffy seam. His erection is half emerged, tense muscles keeping it from fully unsheathing.

“So amazing. Just look at you”. 

Thumbs trace through the cum and slick around his seam and Kolyat trembles.

“You can let go now, amafi. I promise, not a single drop will be wasted.” 

Feron’s eyes lock with his as he leans in then, tongue swiping firmly around the plug, swirling through the wet mess with enthusiastic groans. He slurps up every drop he finds, sucking obscenely at the plugs edge without swallowing. Kolyat moans and writhes, erection springing forth hard and eager to slap wetly against his abdomen but it’s almost an afterthought, all focus on the sensations of his cloacal sheath and Feron’s incredible tongue.

When he’s finally satisfied with his clean up job Feron shifts, crawling up Kolyat’s body, eyes locked as hands come up to frame his face. They meet together in a hungry press of lips, Kolyat opening his mouth beneath his lovers as they share the cum and slick. Tongues twist and writhe together as the kiss gets sloppy, mishapen around pants and smiles.

One of Feron’s hands snakes back down between Kolyat’s legs, gently gripping at the plug. He leans back a few centimeteres, just far enough to speak but unable to bare being parted far.

“Relax, my love.”

Kolyat hums and lets his body go lax. Feron beams at him with an approving purr, pulling the plug out in a smooth sweep. As the thick flare of it pops past his rim, a filthy sound resonates and a gushing wave of cum following. Before it can escape onto the sheets below Feron is there, thick erection pressing wetly into his seam and filling him wide, promise not to waste any drop fulfilled. 

He slides in easily, Kolyat so wet and open his body welcomes Feron’s thick erection like he was made for him. When the final base ridge fills him they groan together, eyes locking and hands gripping tightly either side of Kolyat’s head as they start to gently rock together. Acutely aware how sensitized Kolyat will be by now, Feron is attentive; thrusting firm and deep but in a smooth glides, their love making slow yet no less passionate as they are lost in each other.