#the eroticism of scar kissing

[tategaminu]

callum has memorized EVERY single one of her scars (like. hundreds. he's dedicated)

She's very self conscious about her scars so Callum makes sure to remember all of them to show he doesn't mind at all and still finds her beautiful. They are proof of how rough her two years alone were and kisses them tenderly 🥹🥹🥹

[seven-meds]

Stumbled upon some romantic passages I collected years ago while researching aberrant sexuality and historical eroticism. Unfortunately I did not write down the specific book I obtained them from (aside from the case studies it was unhelpful).

Transcriptions:

Case 34. A man had an inamorata who would allow him to blacken her hands with coal or soot. She then had to sit before a mirror in such a way that he could see her hands in it. While conversing with her, which was often for a long time, he looked constantly at her mirrored hands, and finally, after a time, he would take his leave, fully satisfied.

Case 65. (Dr. Pascal, ibid.) A gentleman in Paris was accustomed to call on certain evenings at a house where a woman, the owner, acceded to his peculiar desire. He entered the salon in full dress, and she, likewise, in evening dress, had to receive him with a very haughty manner. He addressed her as "Marquise," and she had to call him "dear Count." Then he spoke of his good fortune in finding her alone, of his love for her, and of a lover's interview. At this the lady had to feel insulted. The pseudo-count grew bolder and bolder, and asked the pseudo-marquise for a kiss on her shoulder. "There is an angry scene; the bell is rung; a servant, prepared for the occasion, appears, and throws the count out of the house. He departs well satisfied, and pays the actors in the farce handsomely.

Case 48. A married man presented himself with numerous scars of cuts on his arms. He told their origin as follows: When he wished to approach his wife, who was young and somewhat "nervous," he first had to make a cut in his arm. Then she would suck the wound and during the act become violently excited sexually.

[mrboypussy]

the eroticism of showering top surgery scars with gentle touches and bite marks and kisses and hickeys and

[andr0nap]

(slides in) I have been infected with mecha AU ideas after writing that little piece, including: Wolfwood having used a Tesla AI and "retiring" from piloting because it freaked out and almost killed him via the neural link (he's got some nasty burn scars on his arms from it, also the horrible mental scars). Rem having been a mechanic who found Vash and Nai as unique AI spawned from Tesla and the dependent Plant based VIs. Knives getting Rem killed and Vash put out of commission by going rogue and trying to infect/control the VIs. Vash pspsps'ing Wolfwood into being his pilot and then absolutely menacing him because he's funny when he's flustered. The general eroticism of pilot and unshackled AI working in perfect sync. 🙏

YEAAAAH LETS GOOOOO i love this!! the twins being actual AI is chefs kiss!! this is so cute, vash being a little menace to ww for his own entertainment its SO funny

[f0llowyourheart]

T4T body worship kink chainshipping fic?

DHJSDHJDHJ A REQUEST??? oh yes please, i got you.....3 of my favorite things to write

adam/lawrence, saw (2004) warning. 18+ mdni, t4t, oral sex, rough kissing, established relationship, body worship, tw for implied self-harm recovery (im projecting) & body talk .

-> read under the cut

The doctor pressed his lips into the pale, rough skin on Adam's neck, grazing his tongue over the nape. His hands, the practiced, weathered digits only a surgeon could have, still somehow remained soft. His palm brushed over Adam's abdomen, then down to his soft, hairy thigh. The younger man jolted at the touch, breath hitching as he felt Lawrence's finger migrate to his groin. His pink cock lifted up from his slick, above the folds that held his epicenter.

"I hope not a day goes by where you don't love this body," Adam's stomach dropped as Lawrence brushed lovingly over the white, deep scars on his thighs. This touch though was unlike the others; not a hint of eroticism. Light, soft touches. Just love. Just affection. The touch that communicated the words "you're safe." A squeeze that declared “I love every part of you."

"Was that too much?" Lawrence looked up, locking eyes with Adam, his expression a blend of arousal and deep, longing emotions. For a moment, Adam seemed to get lost in the intensity of the other man’s gaze, but then he shook his head slightly and looked away, unable to maintain eye contact. Overstimulation; as usual, in the most irksome of ways. His mind raced.

"Nah, just..." he trailed off, his voice soft and a bit shaky. "Never thought I'd hear anyone say that to me. That's all." His words hung in the air, laden with a mix of vulnerability and disbelief.

"You can always tell me to stop," the doctor whispered, his breath warm against the man's ear. He followed his words with a gentle kiss, his lips lingering on the sensitive skin. The smell of Lawrence’s minty breath made him shiver. "I'll never fault you for that," he added, his voice low.

Adam sighed, then reached around to run a hand through the older man's golden hair. "No. Keep going. I'm alright. Please."

The blonde smiled, then leaned in to kiss the other man, who responded with a wet passionate kiss. Pulling the doctor's larger form in, Adam's heart raced, feeling Lawrence's shirtless, flat chest rub against the fabric of his binder. Two familiar feelings, finally safe, their bodies so different yet so similar. A shared understanding, the true meaning of being a man like some sacred promise. In these tender moments, they were home.

Lawrence's fingers danced over Adam's ripped cargo shorts, slipping beneath the waistband to find his cock nestled against the wet folds. With deliberate precision, he rubbed slow, teasing circles around the edges, feeling the slick lubrication of Adam's pink lips. Adam bucked into the touch, a deep groan escaping his lips as Lawrence used his thumb to caress the length of his member, sliding two fingers inside his walls, welcoming them as he pressed into him.

"Your neck, your arms, your stomach, your thighs," Lawrence breathed against Adam's neck, his voice a heady mix of arousal and reverence. "The greatest sculptures on earth could only dream of your body." His words were punctuated with heavy breaths, each one filled with longing and desire.

"Larry, gfuck-" Adam's words scrambled as the younger man felt the two thick fingers press up into his g-spot, the coldness of the man's watch hitting his taint with every movement. The hotness of Lawrence's breath, the chilled metal creating an arousing combination.

"Show me - dammit- show me how much you like it," Adam demanded, causing Lawrence to stop in his tracks and press a kiss against the man's lips, lovingly slapping his hand on his thigh. 

"Very well then," he retorted, causing a shooting pain, one of pleasure and longing, to trickle down Adam's core at the husky quality of the doctor’s voice. 

Adjusting the prosthetic so Lawrence could comfortably stand on his knees, the younger man handed the other a silk pillow. "Use mine," he insisted, and Lawrence used one hand to slip it under his still-clothed kneecaps. Adam nodded. "Want you to be comfortable."

Lawrence slipped the pillow under his knee and adjusted the makeshift ligament, brown leather lightening in pressure on the edge. "Oof," Lawrence sighed at the relief from the pressure of the prosthetic. "I'll never get used to how good that feels to take off.”

Adam smiled, adoring the man who had risked his life for him. "I'm glad."

"Now," Lawrence exhaled, reaching for Adam's hips, pulling him to the edge of the bed. "Ready for something that feels even more pleasurable?"

Adam's face turned red at the rare jest from the doctor; then, he bit his lip, begging him to continue. "Fuck, please."

Staring into Adam's wet slick, the stained bedsheets became more and more evident as he scooted to the edge, making a lewd, sloshing sound. Lawrence continued to grasp his hips, massaging them with the edge of his fingers, and Adam felt a shot of adrenaline push through his system. Simple touches, soft yet so enticing. Lawrence moved his head forward, open mouth pressing over Adam's cock; then he sucked, taking the thickness in as he used the other hand to push two, then three fingers in. Adam shot his head back, blair hair falling over his eye and sweat dripping down his neck, radiating with wet heat as the doctor swirled his tongue around the pink nub, flicking his tongue harder over it. "I could do this all day," Lawrence hummed, and Adam rocked in, practically riding the surgeon's face as he swallowed Adam's moisture. With every swallow, Lawrence flicked his tongue over his cock, humming harder and taking him to his edge. "Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, just like that-" Lawrence whispered, drowning in the other man's pink folds. 

"Fuckkk," Adam bit his lip, falling back in the bed as his whole body surged, climaxing and sending a wave of pleasure from his neck to his toes. He was filled with electricity so powerful they could power the whole house of the feeling alone; of course, Lawrence pulled him in deeper, allowing all of him on his tongue, drinking him.

After a moment, the doctor switched positions and began to press the prosthetic back on. Hearing the buckles, Adam sat up, still shaking, but let out a wince and a demand; "You. Now, you."

Lawrence's face turned red, grin twisting like a cat. "Use your words."

Adam bit his lip, admiring the half-naked man at his feet, redness on his neck and cum on his lips. "Wanna suck your cock."

"Good boy," Lawrence responded with a smile, propping himself up and climbing onto the bed. Adam shot up, grabbing his beautiful, soft shoulders and pulling the man down with him onto the satin sheets. 

Adam stood up and used one hand to trace Lawrence's chest scars, something he told him always made him feel loved; the artful, jagged, faded pink marks that were the origin of Lawrence's career as a surgeon; the story haunting yet beautiful, the survival of a man who performed his own mastectomy in a hospital he was a patient at over 20 years prior. He was a museum of his own creations, a walking art piece.

As Adam caressed, he lowered himself to kiss the man's stomach, hairy and thick with a soft pillowy quality. Adam's favorite place, his gorgeous, incredible, walking painting of a lover. 

Adam's face practically melted into it, leaving hickies on his tummy, kiss marks and bites that left his mark in red like melted wax on a letter. “How the fuck,” Adam exhaled with excitement. “How the fuck did I score you?”

Lawrence smiled, slick still covering his lip. “The feeling is mutual.”

The man lowered himself on the bed, and immediately pulled off the doctor's long trousers, then boxers to reveal his wetness. His entire core was soaked, climaxing without contact in a way so erotic just the sight made Adam feel faint.

Still petting his hand over the man's torso, Adam dove in, leaving a long trail of saliva on Lawrence's labia, then wrapping his lips around it, began to suck his sensitive cock. Lawrence let out a deep, guttural moan that could have shaken the room, feeling the younger take his dick all in his mouth, the way he masterfully sucked him to the edge of overstimulation as he curled his lips. “You're so fucking- fucking-” Adam slurred his words, consumed with the taste of Lawrence.

“Don't…” Lawrence gasped, hardly being able to think straight with Adam taking his dick harder, his tongue swirling around all his nerves, taking him to the edge of his seat. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

"Be a good boy and don't tell me what to do," Adam murmured, his voice a seductive hum as he repositioned his hands. One gripped Lawrence's soft thigh with a firm, possessive hold, while the other slipped three fingers inside, feeling Lawrence's body yield and mold around his hand.

Adam curled each finger one at a time, then all together, drawing a shuddering gasp from Lawrence, who clung desperately to the bedsheets. With a hunger that matched his intensity, Adam sucked harder, faster, devouring Lawrence’s lower half with an almost feral ease. His tongue danced along the edges of Lawrence’s cock, each flick sending jolts of overstimulation coursing through his body. Adam’s fingers continued their relentless caress, exploring every sensitive area, driving Lawrence to the brink.

As Adam looked up, he was captivated by the sight before him. Lawrence’s face was transformed, etched with an expression of complete subservience and blissful surrender. It was a look Adam had never seen before, one that revealed Lawrence’s total immersion in the overwhelming pleasure. Every muscle in Lawrence’s body tensed, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as Adam’s expert touch pushed him closer to the edge.

"That’s it," Adam murmured, his voice vibrating against Lawrence’s skin. "Come for me, Larry." He intensified his efforts, his fingers curling deeper, his tongue swirling more fervently. The room was filled with the sounds of their passion, a symphony of moans, slurps and gasps that echoed off the walls. Lawrence’s grip on the sheets tightened, his knuckles white as the wave of ecstasy began to crest within him.

"Fuck, come for me," Adam moaned again, his voice a throaty command. "Come for me." The words were a catalyst, igniting the fire that had been building inside Lawrence. With a final, desperate cry, Lawrence's body convulsed, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure. His release was intense, a torrent of ecstasy that left him trembling in Adam’s embrace.

Adam continued his ministrations, drawing out every last tremor of pleasure, savoring the sight and feel of Lawrence’s climax. He reveled in the power he held, the connection they shared, knowing that in this moment, they were bound by something far deeper than mere physical desire.

Pushing himself deeper into the younger man’s mouth, the words hit Lawrence's core, shooting an orgasm through him so hard he could hardly see. Adam lapped in response, curling his fingers as he felt the erotic movements of the doctor in his hand.

Adam hopped onto the bed, taking in the joy of being on cloud nine, with Lawrence; with his doctor.

With a gentle peck on Lawrence's lips, Adam settled beside him, both men basking in the afterglow. They lay together, entwined, the room filled with the soft sounds of their breathing as they took in the reality of the moment, a perfect blend of passion and tenderness that felt almost dreamlike; transcending physical form.

Fading off to sleep, Adam heard the final exchange from Lawrence that night, simple yet meaningful.

“To me, you are perfect.”

[boygina-philosopher]

I take off my skin. It's laden with dog fur.

Only bastardized women do such a thing.

Disgusting showcase of inhumanity for women. Perverse and disobedient, it's sickening for a man to do.

My sinew, teeth and scars wrap around you.

If only. They hover.

Would you kiss my head and clean my ears if you knew my heart exceeds skin? My blood pulls it taut if I know you too long.

I let you catch my midnight ballet. My spotlight becomes pale, rosy pink.

I give you my skin.

I will die of starvation to keep you, but I will die agonizing and empty, because you will never know how hungry I am, how appetizing you are.

Why I need to starve.

You take my skin.

My heart my ribs my arteries burst from beneath my muscle, exposed and grotesque, naked beyond the flesh, beyond eroticism.

You accept my offer.

I cannot eat, I need to be eaten.

I tear your skin, squeezing you with my tendrils. How sheepish I am to be like this with you.

You bite me and my muscle is caught between your teeth.

How full I feel, when starved.

My spine latches onto your ribs, I need your heart. Your hands feel red hot and radiating, gashes against bone.

When the reward is gone from animalism, when we can only create, will you refuse to do so?

Please?

Not "for" or despite." An ardonist symphony with no explanation.

The blood does not dry in time's wake. I will nevermore. We are viscera, indistinguishable from one another.

[ao3feed-zukka]

the fourth ring

Read now on Ao3 at https://ift.tt/yDrqzX2 by sulkybender Sokka comes to the fights because he’s angry. He gives the watchword at the door and the walls fall away, coming back together seamlessly behind him; and the world inside the walls smells like sweat and chalk and blood, a tang in the darkness. It’s elegant, the way he fights, the boy with the scar. Words: 4469, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Sokka (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Katara (Avatar) Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), alt canon, secret fighting rings, pugilists to lovers, Kisses, Smut, angry boys being angry together, the inherent eroticism of knocking each other out Read it on Ao3 at https://ift.tt/yDrqzX2

[meowww-ffxiv]

To be fair to Liios and Estinien, they kept saying they weren't dating because both of them did not know what this kind of love was...supposed to look like?

They were 100% monkeing it right. The soft mornings spent laying in bed together, naked skin against naked skin, no hurry to get up. Estinien remembering how Liios liked his evening mug of chai and getting him that. Liios handling the upkeep of Estinien's weapons and armor, being trusted enough to do it (warrior's eroticism, you wouldn't understand).

But to say this was uhhhh uuuuuuuh "love"? Dating??? Unthinkable.

Estinien twirled a strand of Liios's thick, soft hair around his finger. Kissed it. Liios traced the scars on Estinien's shoulder and arm where Nidhogg's eyes had once gouged into his soul and flesh, while humming a Coerthan lullaby Estinien could still remember from his bygone childhood. The comfort of strength in one another, the comfort of vulnerability chosen to be shown.

Afraid. They were so afraid. They were so happy but the terror, it loomed over them. Bodies and hearts drawn tense with remembered losses and the fear that this happiness too would be torn away. They won the fight against despair itself but Liios and Estinien were too old, too world-weary, to forget that when tragedy struck it often came from where you least expected. And it would always strike true.

So they clung to each other and-- and--

They weren't lovers.

[imhereforscm]

Requesting a human Tauxolouve x vampire mc smut from Tauxolouve's perspective. Soft and gentle please. Thank you 💗

"I want to see you"

Genre: smut

Warnings: nsfw, blood (not much, but still blood)

A/N: Voltage needs to see what is happening, so they can make more Tauxolouve stories. People crave and bounce for this man.ᕙ⁠(⁠ ͡⁠◉⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠◉⁠)⁠ᕗ

The moonlight kissed and caressed her skin and I felt slightly jealous. I wanted to be the one to do it.

My hands reached out to wrap around her waist from behind, as her beautiful and porcelain face was lifted to the night sky.

The low temperature of my little lady's body mixed with mine and I pushed some hair away from her neck, my lips finding her cold skin, which lacked a pulse. "You can see the stars better tonight." I spoke in a low voice.

"Yeah," She agreed, whispering back to me. "you can see every constellation." She turned to face me, her rose red irises boring into mine, their shape so appealing and as she narrowed them, a look so seductive and captivating came forth. "But tonight... I don't want to see the constellations." She leaned into me, her neck craning to the side to kiss my neck and her touch, soft yet cool as snow trailed down my arms to my forearms with such eroticism. "I want to see you."

I smiled slyly and closed my eyes, feeling her tongue darting out and her lips joining in worshiping the skin of my neck in kisses. "I was thinking the same." My fingers slipped between her soft hair as I held her face there and sighed as I felt the tips of her fangs grazing my skin. "Are you going to leave a mark tonight, little lady?"

She pulled away a little, her nose touching the crook of my neck. "Are you okay with that?"

"Will it leave a permanent mark?"

She shook her head. "No. The bite will go away in a few hours."

"Good." My fingers caressed her arms and pushed down the straps of her dress, which made her look so ethereal between the flowers of the meadow, its white fabric standing out between the layers of night's velvet gown. "Because I wouldn't want a scar making me look less attractive to your eyes."

She smiled and her eyes casted down on my shoulder and I knew that if blood was flowing in her body, it would have rushed to her cheeks by now. Growing embarrassed of my flirtatious gaze on her, she fell to her knees onto the ground and with my hand in hers, she pulled me down along.

"You want to make love out here in the open?" I chuckled, yet my loving gaze made clear I was only teasing her. "Well, aren't you brave?"

"No one comes here, aside from birds that lull you during night time and hide into the trees." She said and guided my hands back on her body. "No one will disturb us, so long as you don't let the nightingales' singing put you to sleep in case they do fly here tonight."

"My sweet sweet, dove." That's what she looked like in her white dress. So pure and beautiful. Like a dove. "No siren, nightingale nor kelpie could ever take my attention from you." I tugged on her simple white dress and it slipped down her body, exposing her luscious skin to my craving eyes. "Your body's truly ethereal."

She smiled gently and started undressing me, by taking the shirt I was wearing off and pushing me down softly, so my bare back could feel the short grass beneath us.

The fresh scents of flowers and grass enveloped us within their embrace and we soaked into the atmosphere.

I hugged (name) close and she crawled a little higher on top of me, bringing her breasts in front of my face. I invited myself in, my lips kissing them sloppily as I cupped them with both hands, giving them a squeeze, which made her moan. My tongue swirled around her nipple, as I traced the other softly with my thumb, feeling them both erecting in need. My teeth closed around it really gently, merely grazing it and the rest was taken care of by my lips, sucking on it with erotic sounds coming off.

She slipped her fingers through my hair and pressed my face between her breasts, her chest rising and falling with her breathing, that was growing heavy.

I licked and kissed the spot between her breasts, while all the while, I felt their softness at the sides of my face. I hugged her even closer, her delicate form vibrant with elegance and sexiness, making me want her more and more with each touch and gaze. "You can sense what I feel," vampires could do that. "so you must know how much you turn me on."

"I do." She gave me a breathy response and folded with the belt of my pants and then pulled them down, enough to have access to my cock, which ached and begged for her. "And it's making me feel so beautiful."

"You are."

"It's making me feel so desired."

"You are that too."

Her crimson eyes rose and met with mine. Human and inhuman met and created passion. Love. Desire. "You make me feel as if I'm alive." She gripped my cock, her cold fingers wrapping around it and making me hiss out in pleasure, my jaw hanging open, when she began to move her hand up and down my length.

My hold tightened around her hips, my fingertips pressing into her skin, too scared to let my nails do it, in case it hurt her even a little. I moaned louder, feeling the pace of her hand pick up speed and my cock twitched, my balls swollen with cum and some precum slipping from my tip. "Dove..." I panted, feeling ready to release. "I'm going to come...!"

She crawled backwards and bent forward, holding her breasts with both hands she motioned with her head towards them, her silky hair swaying with indescribable elegance.

I raised my hips and my cock slipped between her breasts. I moaned louder and adopted a rhythm, moving my hips up and down, my cock growing harder with each thrust within her chest, until I cried out and came, the cum going to her sternum by the momentum. The coolness of the grass was balancing out the rising temperature of my body and my chest was moving visibly as I tamed my breathing.

Her head dipped, her fangs coming in contact with my shoulder and gently sinking into my skin. It didn't hurt. It was just a mere tingle, which actually felt pleasurable between the arousal that overtook our entangled bodies. (Name) kissed the spot she bit down on and started sucking on the tiny puncture wound, drinking slowly from my blood. She raised her hips a little and then sat back down, my cock entering her. She moaned and I felt the vibrations through our touching chests and her mouth onto my shoulder.

We held hands and my thumb traced her porcelain skin, as she rocked her hips against mine, the tip of my cock hitting all the right spots within her.

She moaned with a voice so melodic, I could have sworn her vocal cords were dipped in aphrodisiac. "Lou..." She gasped out my name and licked a droplet of blood that was forgotten earlier. "Hold me tighter. Please...!"

We embraced each other tightly and the desperation of which she held me with made me feel like I was a part of her and she was a part of me. Our bodies so close and connected.

Her breasts were pressed against my chest and I felt them bouncing with her movements, turning me on so much, my thrusts picked up the pace.

"Lou!" She cried out my name and I nuzzled my nose into her neck, taking in her enchanting scent as I felt myself reaching my release for the second time tonight. "Lou, I'm goi-" But she didn't get to finish, before she came undone around my cock and her walls clenching around me brought me to my own ecstasy as well.

Her hold on me loosened up, yet she didn't let go of me and I didn't either.

She laid her head on my collarbones and closed her eyes, listening to my heart beating wildly as my breathing remained ragged at first. "Your heart..."

"It's normal." I chuckled, caressing her cheek with my thumb.

She shifted and laid between my legs, her chin on my chest as she looked up at me with these beautiful and beloved eyes of hers. "You're warmer then usual too."

"That's normal too, my little lady." I pressed a kiss to her forehead and held her face in my hands, admiring this precious and pretty, like no other, being.

"It's been so long since I've touched a human, other than you, I guess I forgot." She let go of a breathy laugh and turned her face to her right, kissing the palm of my hand. "Hey... Lou...?"

I hummed in response, feeling her nestling safely against my chest.

"I love you."

"I love you too, my sweet sweet dove."

[sunsetofdoom]

I posted 2,587 times in 2022

43 posts created (2%)

2,544 posts reblogged (98%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@tearlessrain

@alexsrandomramblings

@chokopoppo

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I tagged 1,186 of my posts in 2022

#our flag means death - 461 posts

#hzd - 38 posts

#our flag means death - 24 posts

#hfw - 22 posts

#;-; - 21 posts

#swtor - 15 posts

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#my writing - 9 posts

#avad/ersa - 8 posts

#blackbonnet - 8 posts

Longest Tag: 121 characters

#aloy is like 'well i could proceed with saving the world. or' and lists off all the sidequests she could be doing instead

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Finally finished a fic for once in my life! You know how everyone makes “Avad gets pegged” jokes? Y’all better put your money where your fucking mouth is.

Let Her Be Soft, And Let Her Be Mine

title from this poem, swapped pronouns

It almost hurt to think about- probing the barriers he put up in his thoughts, not letting himself dwell on his trivial love affair when there were so many more important things to worry about. But Ersa was right there, the memory of her vibrant and shining. The lines on her skin, sun-darkened wherever her armor didn’t protect her and pale where it did, the calluses on her hands, the steadying way she touched him. Her scars- he’d spent ages over the years mapping them with his hands, his mouth; the whip marks on her back, the slave-brand on her shoulder, pockmarks on her thigh where the sparks of an explosion had caught her. The way she blushed, up to her ears and halfway down her chest, when he kissed every one like they were precious. She never made a sound- they had to be so careful- but often tangled her hand into his hair as her breathing deepened and stuttered. Always caught off-guard by his affection.

38 notes - Posted January 23, 2022

#4

it’s About the inherent eroticism of the title “Captain”

54 notes - Posted March 25, 2022

#3

everybody knows cats are witches

(a continuation of the daemon AU I started here, though really all the context you should need, even if you don’t know the general concept, is that Stede’s familiar is a golden retriever)

-

“It’s quite ridiculous,” Stede complained. His teacup sloshed in his hand, half-forgotten as he gestured. “Half my crew honestly thinks you’re a witch! This can’t just be Blackbeard’s fearsome reputation, Ed. Really, what have you done to them?”

Ed narrowed his eyes, a familiar smile twisting the shaggy beard, and said, “Come with us.”

Curious, Stede did, settling the teacup back in its saucer and rising to follow with Polly clicking gaily along at his heels. Likewise, Asher padded down the hall in front of Ed, a bit further away than would be comfortable for Stede and Polly; they seemed to have a longer range they could inhabit before the symptoms of human and daemon separation, a tight chest and emotional distress, began to plague them. Ash held his black tail high as he sauntered coolly over the mahogany floors, the very tip flicking back and forth with princely pride. At the end of the hall he jumped up onto the railing of the stairs, perching with all four of his paws in a straight line, and Ed gestured Stede and Polly up the stairs ahead of him.

When they were halfway up the staircase, he flickered his half-gloved fingers in a quiet good-bye. He stayed standing at the base of the stairs, and Asher continued his way up the banister, unconcerned with the distance they were putting between themselves.

Polly froze, her tail tucking between her legs. “Ed...”

He waved goodbye more emphatically, sauntering away in his big enormous boots with his hands on his hips. He was almost ten entire feet from his daemon, and even looking at him made Stede’s chest feel tight with sympathetic pain.

“Come on, then,” Asher drawled from the top of the stairs, rising up onto the decks, his dark fur catching the sunlight. “We don’t have all day.”

With one more nervous flick of his eyes to Ed’s retreating back, Stede followed.

Emerging above-decks was still a novelty, after all this time. The wind, the sunlight hammering down, the salt in the air catching on the back of his tongue- it was overwhelming and beautiful and terrifying. Polly shook her head, golden fur flying, and let her tongue hang out as she panted with an enormous doggy grin.

In front of them was Asher, intimately familiar- his dusty black fur, his scarred, torn ears, the ready-to-pounce tension of him even as he groomed himself meticulously. His tail swished back and forth against the wood of the deck, and he looked as though the entire world would wait until he was done cleaning himself- exactly like Ed, that absolute confidence in his own ridiculousness right up until the flash of claws the second they felt ridiculous.

Except Ed wasn’t there.

“Ash!” The deck tilting like he might be sick, Stede grabbed onto Polly, fisting his hand in her fur. Like their closeness could make up for Ed and Asher’s distance. He couldn’t quite tell if he or Polly had said Asher’s name; perhaps it was both of them at once.

Ash licked his paw, scrubbing furiously at the graying jowls of his face, appearing totally at ease. Alone. Oh, God, he was alone, with no human being to lean against or depend on, a thing of horror and revulsion like a human without a head. One of his ragged black ears twitched, and he stopped abruptly, put his paw down, and trotted away.

Stede pulled himself up by the banister, and followed, his face screwed up in concentration and worry.

The upper deck was empty at the moment, Izzy and Buttons both apparently busy elsewhere, so there was no one to scream or faint at the sight of a daemon with no human- all the more terrifying and unnatural for Asher’s nonchalance. Seemingly without rhyme or reason, Ash sat down in the middle of the deck, his tail curling around his paws until he looked like a statuette. 

Dizzy, Stede leaned on Polly where she was a solid weight against his thigh. Where was Ed? Was he alright, was this hurting him? They ought to have been doubled over in pain, their bond stretched too far for anything but crumpling up into a ball of agony and grief. He looked out past Asher and onto the sea to the south, the expanse of blue sky, and wondered if this was the same scene Ed could see, out of the window of the cabin...

The cabin which was right beneath the deck.

Ash stared up at them, green eyes pinprick-small in the bright daylight, and blinked slowly.

“But you’re not far from him at all,” Stede said out loud, for Polly’s benefit; she was still held tense against his leg. “He’s just in the cabin below. You’re still within range.”

A pleased, husky trill quivered in Ash’s throat, and he stretched out of his picture-perfect pose to trot over and touch noses with Polly. She whined with relief, nuzzling him as his battle-scarred head bumped up against her muzzle.

“See?,” he said, his silky-dark voice wry and amused. He turned, brushing Polly’s nose just barely with the tip of his tail as he walked away. “Scares the shit out of people.”

“Hey, boss?” As if to demonstrate, Frenchie pounded his way up the stairs, sugar glider daemon riding on his shoulder. Technically, crewmen weren’t allowed on the upper deck without an invitation from the captain or mates; such a rule had never been something Stede enforced, though at the moment he rather wished he had.

Catching sight of the lonely black cat daemon, Frenchie froze, his eyes enormous. The sugar glider squeaked, scurrying up into his hair and hiding on top of his head, shaking all over.

Asher saw the twitchy rodent movement and his green eyes dilated. A throaty noise burbled from him as he crouched down, tail lashing and claws digging into the deck, ready to pounce.

Frenchie screamed. Not bothering with the stairs, he vaulted over the railing and fell the full ten feet to the lower deck.

Shouting, Stede rushed to the rail to make sure he was alright, Polly barking in distress at his heels. Frenchie seemed to have caught himself on a pile of boxes, and was struggling to get out of the one he’d broken, stuck in what appeared to be a pile of spare sewing rags from their flag contest that absolutely no one had bothered to put away. He was tangled in scraps of fabric and trying to fight his way free, still squeaking with panic, and right on comedic cue the sugar glider sailed in her small downward spiral and landed spread-eagled on his face.

Straining forward, Ash craned his neck and tilted his head, trying to see- he must have hit the edges of his and Edward’s range, what a relief to see that they had one- and began to laugh.

See the full post

79 notes - Posted April 10, 2022

#2

not one hair of you would I rearrange

“Who named you?” Ed asked, mumbling around the end of the pipe in his mouth. “Never met a nob that’d name their kids’ daemon something s’common as Polly.” Nobs always had long daemon names, the very devil to pronounce and never worth remembering, and they were always out of some book or play that no one in their right mind had ever heard of.

“Ah,” Stede said, looking a little bashful as he put his bookmark between the pages, Polly a liquid lump of dog where she was lying on his slippers. Before them, the fire roared, leaving the cabin an oasis of cozy warmth among the old, comforting sounds of the waves against the hull. “It is, I’m afraid, a short form- her name is Polyhymnia. For one of the Greek muses, I believe.”

“I like Polly better,” she murmured from the floor, her normally-cheerful voice subdued and relaxed from the heat of the fire, and Stede leaned down to ruffle the long, golden hair around her ears. Her coat matched perfectly to his blond hair, and she looked clean and soft and rumpled, just like Stede in his dressing-gown.

“And you?” He asked politely, sitting back up. “Why Asher?”

Asher, taking up space on Ed’s chest, heaved a toothy yawn. He matched Ed the same way- midnight-black in their youth, he had faded over the years to the color of stormclouds on the horizon, fur going gray towards the jowled sides of his face. A thick, ragged tomcat with one ripped-up ear and singed whiskers, he’d left scars on the noses of daemons from here to High Brazil.

“Dunno,” he replied, his voice as low and dark as the voice in the back of Edward’s head that told him when everything was about to go to shit. “Biblical, maybe.”

“Mum was a God-botherer,” Ed agreed, drawing on his pipe and letting the smoke flow away with the words. Stede was the first person he’d spoken to about his mother in more than twenty years.

Stede pursed his lips, brow furrowing as he looked at his bookshelf like the answer was to be found there; Ed wondered if he had a Bible somewhere in those unreadable shelves, just for the sake of having it. That seemed like the sort of thing Stede would do, even if he never said a word about God either way.

“Genesis,” Polly contributed from the floor. “Jacob’s son,”

“Joseph’s brother! Yes,” Stede completed her sentence like always, snapping his fingers. “Sold his younger brother into slavery for spite and jealousy... something of a, er, despicable character.” He leveled Ed with a look that was somehow both fond and guilty.

“That’s us,” Asher stretched out his claws, clinking them against the wood of the pipe with the absolute confidence of an animal who never gave a single damn about being a nuisance. “Despicable all over.”

His weight on Ed’s chest was unfamiliar. They spent twenty years stretching their range, step by step and month by month, slowly gouging out space in their heart-deep bond that let Ash perch above-decks even when Blackbeard was ensconced away in the cabin, scaring the absolute pants off of the crew. The throaty pang of grief and pain in his chest was a constant, and its removal left him feeling almost weightless.

Ever since Stede had come into their lives, Asher circled closer and closer, both of them falling helplessly into his orbit. Ed took tea with him. Ash left dead rats at his doorstep. Edward taught him sword tricks in the dead of night while Asher and Polly play-fought at their feet, Ash rolling on his back and inviting a dog three times his size to snap at his belly.

And now Asher was lying on top of him, self-satisfied as a housecat. He wasn’t even keeping watch.

“When’d you settle?” Ed asked. Their silences were comfortable, but God almighty there was so much he wanted to know about Stede Bonnet, how in the Hell he’d ended up here, at sea in general and within arms’ reach in particular.

Sighing, Stede ran his bookmark over the edges of his fingers; Ed had felt less guilt about cutting mens’ hands off than he did for keeping Stede from his peaceful reading. “I was fourteen,” he said with a soft regret. “It was just before we left school- that school, at least. It inspired as much mockery as anything we did.” He glanced up, his eyes glinting in the fire-light. “A dog, you know- servants’ animals.” He took on a ridiculous and terrible approximation of those fickle Frenchmen, leveling the insult at him.

“Fucking cunts,” Ed said mildly.

Shrugging with faint agreement, Stede smiled in that soft, sad way that made Edward want to fold him up and protect him from the world.

He stretched out to kick his boots up onto the arm of the sofa, jostling Asher, who glared at him with one poison-green eye. “We settled young,” he said, trying to distract Stede from whatever recollection he’d fallen into. “Before any of the other kids, at least. My dad said I was a fucking witch.” Aside from telling that stupid fucking Kraken story, he hadn’t spoken about his father in decades, either.

“Very witchy animal, a black cat,” Stede concurred, smiling at Ash, who preened. Nobody else would’ve thought it, from Blackbeard’s ghoul of a familiar, but Ed knew him from the torn tips of his ears to the pads of his little asshole feet, and Asher was glowing with attention. “Really quite frightening. My peers, though, quickly deduced that Polly was no threat.”

Ed turned over on his elbow, shoving Ash when his tail dropped down in front of his eyes. Polly, in her place in front of the fire, was an average-sized, heavyset dog with clear eyes and strong legs; her constant, dopey smile obscured the fact that she was mouth-focused and picked up or bit everything in sight, and she went to point whenever Stede showed interest in anything. She was almost as attentive to the scrape of a rat in the ship as Asher, and he’d been a ratter his whole alley-cat life. “She’s got to be a hunting breed, though,” he said.

Stede shrugged again. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “My father, though, bred hunting dogs his whole life long, and he could make neither hide nor hair of her.” His tone said quite well that his father had been just as baffled by Stede himself.

Polly shifted, going from her inelegant splay across Stede’s feet to a tight ball on the rug, her enormous tail- so furry that it flapped like a fan when she wagged it- slapping down tight over the tip of her nose. Duly curled up, she heaved a woebegone sigh.

With a splay of his claws calculated to land right on Ed’s bare arm, Asher stretched luxuriously. In a show of nonchalance, he sat up, shook his head, cleaned his face, and with a clink of his claws against the buckles of Ed’s jacket, leapt to the floor.

“Fucking ow,” Ed muttered, rubbing his fingers along the small puncture wounds on his bicep, Asher’s asshole love-notes a lifelong sensation.

Asher padded over to Polly where she was curled up, plopped his enormous black backside next to her, and set his head on her shoulders. The rest of his body followed like water being poured into a shaped glass, drooping contentedly to the floor with the peculiar grace of a cat who was exactly where he wanted to be.

The silence settled into comfort, mood returning to contented laziness as Ed watched his daemon’s chest rise and fall as he breathed. Jesus fucking wept, how long had it been since that cat touched another daemon in something other than violence? Decades. More, probably. Asher regularly stalked and threatened Izzy’s kestrel daemon, knocking her from her perches around the ship; anything smaller than a bear was fair game for menacing, really. He’d even once managed to get a solid strike on Fang’s enormous golden eagle, clawing his way up into the rigging to drop down onto her back and pin her to the deck when she fell, snapping one of her strong wings with a noise like a dry branch.

And here he was snuggled up against a kennel-club, blue-ribbon princess of a dog, her angelic curls sparkling beside his patchy, dusty, ragged black fur.

“Ed,” Stede said into his book, and his head turned so fast it hurt, “forgive me if I’m being forward. But since we’re speaking of it...”

See the full post

110 notes - Posted April 17, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

so unfortunately for you all the above post inspired a daemons AU for these idiots

“Who named you?” Ed asked, mumbling around the end of the pipe in his mouth. “Never met a nob that’d name their kids’ daemon something s’common as Polly.” Nobs always had long daemon names, the very devil to pronounce and never worth remembering, and they were always out of some book or play that no one in their right mind had ever heard of.

“Ah,” Stede said, looking a little bashful as he put his bookmark between the pages, Polly a liquid lump of dog where she was lying on his slippers. Before them, the fire roared, leaving the cabin an oasis of cozy warmth among the old, comforting sounds of the waves against the hull. “It is, I’m afraid, a short form- her name is Polyhymnia. For one of the Greek muses, I believe.”

“I like Polly better,” she murmured from the floor, her normally-cheerful voice subdued and relaxed from the heat of the fire, and Stede leaned down to ruffle the long, golden hair around her ears. Her coat matched perfectly to his blond hair, and she looked clean and soft and rumpled, just like Stede in his dressing-gown.

“And you?” He asked politely, sitting back up. “Why Asher?”

Ash, taking up space on Ed’s chest, heaved a toothy yawn. He matched Ed the same way- midnight-black in their youth, he had faded over the years to the color of stormclouds on the horizon, fur going gray towards the jowled sides of his face. A thick, ragged tomcat with one ripped-up ear and singed whiskers, he’d left scars on the noses of daemons from here to High Brazil.

“Dunno,” he replied, his voice as low and dark as the voice in the back of Edward’s head that told him when everything was about to go to shit. “Biblical, maybe.”

“Mum was a God-botherer,” Ed agreed, drawing on his pipe and letting the smoke flow away with the words.

318 notes - Posted April 7, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[righteousinadversity]

Reblogging this with my original propaganda for a final boost!

Our ship name, Wangxian, is actually the name of the song Lan Wangji sings for Wei Wuxian when he is injured and feverish in canon. The same song is how Lan Wangji recognises Wei Wuxian when he is brought back to life in a different body. Because no one else has ever heard that song!!

Lan Wangji is absolutely a pining maiden of a man, and we love him for it. He sees one mischevious boy with a brilliant smile break every rule his sect has and try to bring alcohol into the premises and has too many feelings and decides that the best way to resolve this is violence. #Inherent eroticism of fighting your crush on a rooftop

Wei Wuxian is a teasing, flirty man who is a complete romantic, and has his first kiss in his twenties, and then the next well into his next life. He also meets a cold, jade like boy who seems like nothing can bother him and decides immediately that he absolutely must be talking to him at all time, must have him looking at him at all time, no need to think too deeply about it.

They have a darling son, Lan Sizhui. Wei Wuxian saved his life, and protected him, and when Wei Wuxian is killed, Lan Wangji, injured and hurting, finds the child and takes him to safety and raises the child. Wei Wuxian buries Sizhui in soil, Lan Wangji buries him in a pile of bunnies.

Gifts! Wei Wuxian is always throwing flowers at Lan Wangji, draws a portrait of him with a flower in his hair, gets him his first pair of rabbits (Leading to an entire rabbit field in a sect that forbids pets). Lan Wangji writes him the aforementioned song, is always buying him everything he wants. They are married your honor.

Their love confession started with Wei Wuxian announcing in the middle of a hostage situation : "Back then, I-I really wanted to sleep with you!" #Priorities.

They eloped immediately after this, and went on their honeymoon.

Lan Wangji, the shy, blushing (his ears turn red!) one is the top, and Wei Wuxian, forever flirty, is the bottom.

Wei Wuxian, seeing a monster biting Lan Wangji, rips its jaw open with his bare hands.

Lan Wangji, when faced with his elders who want to harm an unconcious Wei Wuxian, fights them. This results in him being almost whipped to death, leaving him with scars that last him for all of his life.

(TW: self Harm) Wei Wuxian has a brand on his chest that he took to save a girl. When Wei Wuxian dies, Lan Wangji in grief gets really drunk and brands himself to carry a piece of his love with him.

'Everyday is Everyday'. This is about sex. They make it a point to fuck everyday after spending so long dealing with all the outside world bullshit and missing out on precious time.

The forehead ribbon on Lan Wangji? That's meant to symbolise self restraint and discipline. The only ones allowed to touch it are close family members and your partner. Wei Wuxian has multiple times tugged at it without knowing about the significance, sending Lan Wangji into feelings galore~. The first time he does this, Lan Wangji breaks the bow he is holding from his grip. #LWJ's horny grip.

The forehead ribbon is also used for, ahem, bedroom fun times. #Inappropriate use of the forehead ribbon 😜

There is a beautiful phrase used in the chinese fandom, that goes "只羡忘羡不羡仙" (zhi xian Wangxian bu xian xian). It is based on a line from Chang'an nostalgia by Lu Zhaolin that goes "只羡鸳鸯不羡仙" (zhi xian yuan yang bu xian xian) which means “be envious of lovebirds, not of immortals”. As in, it is much more desirable to lead a mortal life with your loved one than to live forever. In the fandom expression though, lovebirds is replaced with Wangxian. As in, 'be envious of Wangxian, not of immortals'. Made all the more sweet because immortality is possible in the world of MDZS.

Lan Wangji, after Wei Wuxian's death, starts to keep Emperor's smile, Wei Wuxian's favourite brand of alcohol, under the floorboard's in his home. This is absolutely adorable for two reasons - 1) Alcohol is forbidden in his sect and Lan Wangji is upheld as a paragon of rule following, and 2) The first time Wei Wuxian visits the sect, Lan Wangji stops him from bringing the same alcohol into the sect and even gets them both punished!

Lan Wangji first kisses Wei Wuxian when he is blindfolded, and proceeds to angrily start slashing at trees for doing so without asking for permission! This means that much later, when a drunk Lan Wangji is kissed by Wei Wuxian, he smacks himself on the forehead and makes himself faint. (Wei Wuxian also has a similar panic proceeding this, thinking he forced Lan Wangji)

Speaking of drunk shenanigans! Lan Wangji has no alcohol tolerance, and is a one drink and done kind of boy. This leads to him trying to recreate everything Wei Wuxian has ever mentioned himself enjoying when he was younger including - stealing chickens, jujubes, and vandalism. The vandalism in particular are the words 'Lan Wangji of Gusu and Wei Wuxian of Yunmeng were here' (He makes Wei Wuxian write his name) with a drawing of two kissing figures!! #Simping forever and ever

More about the chicken stealing - Chickens are often given as dowry (or bride price, I am not certain about which)

Wei Wuxian is always waxing poetic about Lan Wangji, and in the firm belief that it is not his crush speaking but the universal truth. (I mean.... he's not wrong either so...)

Both of them have carried the other at some point. Bless them. Wei Wuxian gave him a piggyback ride as they both are trying to outrun a murder tortoise and Lan Wangji bridal carried him when he had a curse on his leg.

I will bite anyone who calls either of them a twink. Wei Wuxian did not pull an arrow out of his body, throw it back, and kill the one who shot him to be called a twink. Similarly, Lan Wangji did not lift a massive statue, a coffin, and three people, all with one hand, for this slander.

Fandom things:

'Sexytimes with Wangxian', a fic that clogged the search and tag system so much that AO3 decided to change its policy. That one post going around like 'what do you die of' and its a bunch of ao3 tags you zoom into this? This masterpiece (derogatory? Affectionate?) right here.

Inspired the RPF that pissed of some puritanical chinese netizens so much that they got AO3 banned in the country.

They have enemies-to-lovers. They have friends-to-lovers. They have forbidden love. They have slow burn. They have fast burn. They have mutual pining. They are everything.

AO3 Top Relationships Bracket- Quarterfinals

This poll is a celebration of fandom history; we're aware that there are certain issues with many of the listed pairings and sources, but they are a part of that history. Please do not take this as an endorsement, and refrain from harassment.

[cr1t1cal-darl1ng]

the inherent eroticism of gently kissing someone who's a reject of society just like you.

the inherent eroticism of knowing that someone loves your body, despite how alien it is both to you and the people surrounding you

the inherent eroticism of someone tracing their lips on your scars and bruises, calling them beautiful in a way you never thought possible

[uniquevocashark]

Gladiator Alcina AU

The first night you had met Alcina, properly met her rather than watching from the stands, was a cold and bitter autumn evening. She was even taller in person, though you hadn’t let your eyes roam very far when your father introduced her. Her name was a strange one, though you liked how it felt on your tongue, and she had a cold and callous air about her.

She hadn’t said anything that night, nor did you try to start up a conversation with her, though she watched you with an intensity that made you heat.

You watched her fight the next day.

Your parents were proud of how much interest you showed in their investment, and you listened to your father rattle on about the many victories she had won. They called her a true Amazon, taller than any man and submitting only to those who could best her. Becoming her editor was a favour from Mercury, from the way your father described it, though you thought she was more a gift from Venus.

They didn’t quite understand what you were getting at when you watched her though. They saw your admiration and warned you sternly off even thinking about becoming a gladiatrix yourself. That didn’t stop them from putting Alcina in your room as protection though. You never did catch the reason why, not when you had found a long and clean scar tracing down one of her biceps.

“It’s from a sword,” Alcina had told you one night, sitting beside your bed as you traced a finger over it again and again, “My second fight. There were three suppositicius before the bout ended, and the second one got me before I beat her.”

You had not stopped staring at her, nor had she stopped looking at you, “That must have been terrifying.”

“It was.” She replied, her accent affecting the words thickly. She leaned forward and you did too.

“And this one?” You asked softly, tracing a scar up her cheek with your lips.

She shivered beneath you, but her voice was strong, “That was done by a lion. It collapsed on me after I killed it.”

She leaned into you and closed her eyes, letting you kiss her eyelid. The bedframe creaked under her clenched hand and her other hand came to hold your neck.

“Tell me to stop if you aren’t comfortable.” You murmured and fell on top of her.

Her eyes lidded, her perfect pink lips parting softly, pliant underneath you, “I will.” she swore and said no more.

[reining-disaster]

Rein felt his body trembled in a way it had not, before, gasping as he realized they had left him breathless when they pulled out of kiss. A trail of their saliva still connecting them. His cheeks were flushed, almost hiding that scar on his face as he looked them over. He ran his hands along their torso, leaning forward to begin to place small kisses along their neck. He was ever so gentle with each graze of his lips on the sensitive flesh, lingering each one longer and longer.

Rein hummed as he began to gain a little confidence in his actions. This was Evoka. And they wanted him. So... He let out a hot breath against them, trailing his hand up their body, "I can be a good boy. I want you to feel good, too. Not just me. You can be spoiled. Touched." He placed a thumb on their nipple, "I want to be good, too." Despite his words, his tone dripped with lust. Part of the eroticism for Rein would be to make Evoka feel good.

Rein smiled a little as he lifted the other by the thighs, only to lay them down nearby. He was taking charge, but not forever. He pressed his lips to theirs, once, before beginning to trail kissed down their body, stopping at the sensitive nipple, again and flicked his tongue across it curiously. It was clear he'd never done this, but he knew that it was a sensitive area, his eyes looked to Evoka's face. Those sweet eyes. He wanted to gauge their reaction before he continued. He was like a dog, waiting for approval. No motive beyond Evoka's pleasure. His was second on his mind.

@necromanticdancer

Closed with @necromanticdancer

Evoka takes a long draw from a wooden carved pipe, dark wisps of smoke exhaled through their nostrils. Not the first time the druid had been propositioned on their journey. Staring at the man for a moment as if contemplating something. He is fairly handsome and seemingly kind thus far. On the stronger side as well, which they like.

Pipe kept in one hand as Evoka sat on Rein's lap. Practically saddling his thighs. Grinding against him in a deliberate manner with a salacious hum.

Blood red eyes half lidded and focused on the barbarian's face as they take another hit of their pipe. Breathing the smoke into the other half-elf's face with a dangerous smirk, "Don't mistake me for the type of drow that breaks my lovers. l'd rather an active participant than a plaything, darling. I'm not going to roleplay slavery or be the lolth-sworn of your possible fantasies. As common as it is, I am no one's tool and am more than my heritage. It must be me you desire."

Free hand running fingers through his blond hair, trying to set it loose. Directing the larger adventurer to lean down. Expounding further on the sensitive topic, "If you call me any sort of drow related slur during an act of intimacy., I will slit your throat and feed your body to the wolves." Chuckling lightly in spite of the threat. Getting it all out of the way. Hoping that Rein Won't be a concern when it comes to those matters but opting on the side of caution, given previous experiences.

With those important boundaries established Evoka presses their mouths together in a tentative kiss. Tasting of burnt herbs and sweet berries. Pressed flush against Rein's chest. Whispering against his lips, That's all. Everything else goes, within reason. Be gentle, be rough. I'm yours for the evening."

Kissing him again with renewed vigor and confidence. Silently urging him to kiss back and touch them in return.

Rein melted at every touch, every sultry word. His breath was heavy, his eyes were half lidded, he traced his hands along their body. The grinding was absolutely driving him wild, head spinning. He wasn't even sure where his own comment came from. It was like a voice from within snuck out of him. Nevertheless, he wanted it. He wanted this. He wanted them.

"Please... I-... You... I want you..." He shivered, feeling his hands behind to tremble. And it was clear that he was not confident in this subject, "I-I don't even know any drow slurs." He admitted, going wherever hands where directing him. His heart raced, but his mind raced even more. Was this too soon? Maybe. Did he want this? Absolutely.

He pressed into the kiss when it was initiated, opening his mouth to allow them full access. He was fully submissive in the moment. Not because they were a drow. No. Because they were them. A voice of reason. Confidence. Assurance. He liked those attributes. And it didn't hurt that they were nice to look at, that was for sure.

Rein gently and shakily ran his hands up their thighs, practically begging to be given instruction. It was as if he had forgotten how to use his body. He felt like a spell had been cast on him and he adored it. He pushed his tongue into the kiss and ground his hips up. He didn't have a dick, but that didn't stop him from meeting their hips together. He wanted more. Craved more. He wasn't sure what had come over him, but he didn't complain. Maybe he would be embarrassed, later, but not now.

[ao3feed-zukka]

the fourth ring

Read now on Ao3 at https://ift.tt/MifzS34 by sulkybender Sokka comes to the fights because he’s angry. He gives the watchword at the door and the walls fall away, coming back together seamlessly behind him; and the world inside the walls smells like sweat and chalk and blood, a tang in the darkness. It’s elegant, the way he fights, the boy with the scar. — Or: there is no fight club in Ba Sing Se Words: 4470, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: M/M Characters: Sokka (Avatar), Zuko (Avatar), Iroh (Avatar), Katara (Avatar) Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar) Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Zuko (Avatar), alt canon, secret fighting rings, pugilists to lovers, Kisses, Smut, angry boys being angry together, the inherent eroticism of knocking each other out, Ba Sing Se Read it on Ao3 at https://ift.tt/MifzS34

[no-other-words]

on the study of eroticism

Synopsis: Xie Lian discovers that there are some parts of his body that invites certain sensations and he can’t quite figure out what to do with it. His husband helps. Rated M | 2500w | post-canon, domestic fluff, a little spicy [ Read on AO3 ]

A sudden heat comes from nowhere, slowly bubbling from the bottom of his stomach. The spot where Hua Cheng kissed is sending tingles down his spine. It’s…a weird feeling.

Then a mischievous tongue swipes at the same spot and—his body jerks.

“Ah—!”

Xie Lian quickly covers his mouth. Was that…him? Did that keen, airy sound, full of want and something else come out of his lips? He’s never heard himself like this before. So foreign to his own ears. So strange.

“I didn’t know Your Highness has so many…receptive spots.”

---

The first time it happens, Xie Lian is utterly mortified.

They’re lazing away the afternoon, sitting on a hill near Puqi Shrine. Xie Lian’s snug against Hua Cheng and entirely engrossed in a book he found in an old book store.

Hua Cheng is quiet the entire time. Xie Lian learns that he’s okay being the silent accompaniment as long as he gets to watch Xie Lian to his heart’s content. It’s also out of respect, ‘this one doesn’t wish to break gege’s concentration when he’s reading.’

The summer breeze brings a refreshing chill to the otherwise humid weather. Xie Lian swipes his hair to the side, getting some air to his neck. He should look into lighter clothing, now that the—

Xie Lian’s thoughts cut off.

He feels Hua Cheng’s lips against the back of his neck. Warm breaths tickle his skin that make goosebumps rise deliciously down his arms. Xie Lian’s about to make an off-hand comment when those same lips open and place a daring kiss.

A sudden heat comes from nowhere, slowly bubbling from the bottom of his stomach. The spot where Hua Cheng kissed is sending tingles down his spine. It’s…a weird feeling.

Then a mischievous tongue swipes at the same spot and—his body jerks.

“Ah—!”

Xie Lian quickly covers his mouth. Was that…him? Did that keen, airy sound, full of want and something else come out of his lips? He’s never heard himself like this before. So foreign to his own ears. So strange.

So…lewd.

Hua Cheng does it again and this time Xie Lian grabs the legs on either side of him in a panic. His shoulders shrink inwards, a weak attempt to both escape and invite for more (more more). Xie Lian’s whole body buzzes with this sudden onslaught of pleasure and he’s not sure how to process it.

Something pulls his legs together and he realizes it’s himself. Squeezing tightly to hide the embarrassment.

He’s hard. Full on aroused by just a kiss on his neck.

What is this?!

Xie Lian peers back to see Hua Cheng, his gaze loving as always in his carefree and youthful appearance.

“Yes gege?” His husband asks as if he has no idea just how much Xie Lian is affected by him. “Did I do something wrong?”

A voice tells Xie Lian that Hua Cheng knows exactly what, but the unassuming smile on Hua Cheng’s face pushes any suspicion away.

“N-no. It’s nothing.”

The rest of their afternoon go undisturbed. Hua Cheng doesn’t make any more advances and lets Xie Lian to his reading. At least he tries to.

The intensity from Hua Cheng’s stare weighs heavy on his back.

---

It festers in his mind for the next passing days.

What had happened seems so trivial yet profoundly curious. Xie Lian has experienced pleasures before (oh has he, with Hua Cheng’s relentlessness and skill in bed). But never has he imagined that a single touch to that specific spot can incite such a reaction.

From his voice. The sharp pitch, with just a touch of breathlessness, almost choking from the sudden amount of pure want. He doesn’t think himself capable of producing such a sound. Ought to be dying from embarrassment.

Not even the heat from the kitchen fire can match the fever running through his head. He should concentrate on the task at hand. Concentrate!

He’s making radish soup tonight, specifically requested by his husband. Despite having an army of servants at their disposal, Xie Lian prefers to do the cooking. Especially for dinner. It reminds him of slow days at Puqi Shrine, when Hua Cheng was San Lang who made sure to keep his distance and didn’t dare to step over the line. And now?

Now he sneaks to Xie Lian’s side with every chance he gets, pretending to move with innocent intent when they both know Hua Cheng is itching to cop a feel. Xie Lian lets him. There is comfort in close proximity.

Xie Lian pauses at cutting the radishes and touches the back of his neck.

Huh. Nothing.

Curious indeed.

“And then?” Hua Cheng breaks him out of his reverie.

“Hmm?”

“Gege was telling me how those idiots got into a brawl again.”

Xie Lian straightens himself up and says, “ah yes. It was the usual misunderstanding between them. Mu Qing said something about Jian Lan and Feng Xin took it the wrong way. You know how he can be.”

“Foolishly so.”

Xie Lian sends him a not-so-stern look that Hua Cheng shrugs at. Is he wrong? He supposes not. Hua Cheng is rarely wrong in many things. He boasts when time calls for it, rightfully so. It’s one of his traits that Xie Lian finds so charming.

Xie Lian finishes up chopping up the green onions before dumping them into the pot. The aroma smells right this time. No sourness hidden in the air. Last time, Hua Cheng had suggested to maybe leave the vinegar out. Good call on that.

“San Lang, come have a taste.”

Hua Cheng obediently saunters over, stopping behind Xie Lian. He towers over him, both hands resting Xie Lian’s waist and the latter naturally leans back. Xie Lian scoops up a small amount of soup and blows at it.

“Careful, it’s hot.”

Bending forward, Hua Cheng joins in and blows at the steaming spoon of soup. He shifts slightly and suddenly Xie Lian feels a soft stream of air tickling his ear.

A gasp escapes his lips before he could stop. His hand jerks, spilling soup over the pot.

There it is again. That tingling. The heat, travelling from the tip of his ear to the pool of his stomach and down to the place where he’s really trying not to think of right now. That blow of air to his ear had awaken something within his body, brought back memories of feverish nights and mind-blowing pleasure.

Xie Lian quietly swallows and wills his body to settle. It’s unseemly, getting this a strong of a reaction from such a meaningless act. It’s the same as when Hua Cheng had kissed the back of his neck. His body freezes then heats up in want, in need, in desire and—and what is it? There must be something wrong.

Hua Cheng, oblivious to all the turmoil battling inside Xie Lian, continues to blow at the soup. Or whatever’s left of it. Xie Lian should scoop another batch up. That’s right. Hua Cheng needs a taste. Why is his hand shaking?

Another steady stream of cool breath caresses his ear from behind and—

“San Lang!”

His cry comes out more as a desperate whimper, indecently so. Xie Lian’s other hand grips the edge of the counter so tightly that he can see veins lining out. He presses forward, willing his arousal away.

“It’s hot right? This one’s only taking measures to cool it down a bit,” says Hua Cheng coyly. “Can’t risk our tongues burning.”

Something else is already burning in Xie Lian and it’s definitely not his tongue.

Hua Cheng takes the arm holding the spoon and brings it towards to them. He takes a quick sip of the soup, waits, then gives Xie Lian an approving smile. Eyes bright and full of delight and…playful?

“Gege makes the best soup! It warms me up all nice inside.”

Xie Lian’s eyebrows twitch.

He watches Hua Cheng proceed to set the table in an easy-going manner. He wears a small grin that Xie Lian usually overlooks as contentment but now it seems to be carrying something more. Satisfaction. Amusement. Pride.

Is Hua Cheng catching on?

---

The ghost king is up to something. By now Xie Lian is sure of it.

Hua Cheng is an affectionate being, giving gentle brushes of their hands here and a soft nuzzle there. His husband is surprisingly rather tactile and he is all for it.

But lately, there has been a lot more sneak attacks. Ones that ruffle Xie Lian’s feathers, tickle his nerves, invoke those same strange and embarrassing sounds that Xie Lian is failing miserably at preventing. Some touches result in no reaction, just a weird look from Xie Lian. Others…oh how they make him shiver with unforeseen bliss.

It is almost as if Hua Cheng is looking for treasure chests hidden all over the map that is his body and the only way to uncover them is to blindly cop a feel or blow a kiss.

Today is no exception.

They’re having a stroll down the streets of Ghost City. Its civilians are delighted to see Hua Chengzhu out in public. A rare sighting. Of course, it is no surprise that beside their lord is his esteemed companion, the one with the bamboo hat and easygoing smile.

Xie Lian stops at a stall on the side, something catching his eyes. A display of old archives all crusty and tattered and really shouldn’t be up for sale. But Xie Lian is Xie Lian and knowledge is limitless so he curiously glances over the titles.

Chronicles of the Flesh-Eating Toad

A Thousand Nights in a Thousand Brothels

Great Conquests of Black Water Sinking Ships

“Anything catching our esteemed guest fancy?” The stall-owner asks. She’s a rather old woman, wrinkles marked deep into her leathery skin. One eye atrociously scarred and her attempt at a smile offers the opposite effect of warm and welcome.

Xie Lian hums in earnest, thinking seriously before answering. They quickly enter a conversation on forgotten literature and unwritten history. Hua Cheng, naturally, is already by Xie Lian’s side, a hand on his back.

That same hand, despite behaving at first, spread itself across the lower of his back, pressing just so. Xie Lian stops in his words then hitches a startled breath when he feels Hua Cheng’s hand slither upwards. It’s agonizingly slow, with fingers kneading ever so slightly against the bumps of his spine, inducing little humming shockwaves riding throughout his entire body.

The area below his stomach throbs, warming again to the same sensation. This time, Xie Lian keeps his voice in check and lets out only a choked breath.

“Gege?”

His ear tingles.

“Something on your mind?” Hua Cheng asks, leaning close. “Do you not feel well?”

His back. He’s thinking of his lower back and how it hums and makes him twist inside. He’s thinking of a kiss planted behind his neck and a sensual blow of breath to his ear tips. He thinks of cool skin and sweat, of long nights and vivid images, of a bed adorned in red and of highs he’s never ascended to before until Hua Cheng Hua Cheng San Lang—

Xie Lian staggers a little, alarming the stall-owner. She doesn’t want to offend Hua Chengzhu’s cherished person. But it is not her at all. It is the thumb now caressing lightly over the inside of his wrist and aaah, that’s another spot so sensitive to Hua Cheng’s touch. And he recognizes that this has all been done on purpose.

A whimper escapes his throat. Oh, how red his face must be.

“Gege doesn’t look too good. You’re warming up. Perhaps we should return for the night.” His voice is filled with worry but Xie Lian now knows the little game Hua Cheng is playing. He peers over and sure enough, that corner of Hua Cheng’s lips is gleefully curved.

“I didn’t know Your Highness has so many…receptive spots.”

---

His full assault comes when Xie Lian is at his weakest.

When the martial god is entangled in sheets, splayed across the bed in a state of helplessness. He writhes at every shock sent from below where ghost meets god, cries on each impact. Hua Cheng dominates from behind him, chest to back, and he takes full control of every nerve in Xie Lian’s body.

A hot tongue laps at the back of his neck and another wave of heat shoots straight to his arousal. This time, Xie Lian learns not to hold back and he moans keenly into the pillow.  When the same tongue moves to behind his ear, his voice shifts into an obscene-sounding whine.

“San Lang…San Lang—ah!”

He feels the incoming wave of pleasure, a tense ball forming inside just waiting to burst and he can’t wait. Oh the anticipation, oh the blissful release Xie Lian’s clumsily chasing right now. That Hua Cheng’s demanding.

“Gege is especially sensitive tonight,” Hua Cheng remarks, voice low and deceivingly calm. “He seems to be more vocal than usual.”

Xie Lian grinds desperately into the bed as Hua Cheng grinds into him. He always manages to hit that sweet spot that makes Xie Lian sing.

And he does. He sings brokenly into the night when Xie Lian finally comes wrecked and sweet. His whole body quivers, intoxicated in sheer delight.

But Hua Cheng doesn’t stop there. He mercifully gives Xie Lian a short moment before resuming his thrusts. The hand that had held Xie Lian’s moves to the base of his neck and slides sensually down his spine. Hot lips press against Xie Lian’s neck and begin to suckle at the skin.

It’s all too overwhelming. Xie Lian curves his back deliciously so, prying away from Hua Cheng’s touch yet yearning for more more more.

“S-San Lang..too much…”

His plead is in vain. Hua Cheng’s other hand wraps itself around Xie Lian’s wrist and the thumb languidly rubs over the erogenous area.

“What’s that, gege? Is this spot too much? This one doesn’t think so,” Hua Cheng murmurs as he blows softly at Xie Lian’s ear again. “Who knew gege had so many hidden treasures?”

Jolts of bliss come at every direction. His lower back, his neck, his ear, his wrist. Xie Lian can feel himself hard again and he can’t—he can’t again.

“San Lang, San Lang!”

Xie Lian abruptly knocks Hua Cheng off and flip them over, pinning his husband down with his legs and hands. His chest burns from heavy breathing and he takes a moment to gain composure. Hua Cheng wears an arrogant smirk.

He wants to wipe it right off.

“I like it when gege gets a little rough.”

Xie Lian huffs. “San Lang is being a bully.”

Hua Cheng raises a doubtful eyebrow. “This one merely wants to make His Highness feel good.”

Not fair, not fair at all. Hua Cheng lies there all comfortably, basking gloriously in the fact that he’s made Xie Lian this euphoric and happy. Knowing he’s made him feel so loved and adored and deserving.

Leaning down, Xie Lian presses a long kiss to Hua Cheng’s lips before moving down his jawline. Soft, lingering pecks trail along his husband’s neck. He stops at the Adam’s apple and gives a lick before continue. Hua Cheng takes one deep breathe—good, he’s relaxed.

Xie Lian arrives at his collarbone, gives a good stare, then gently bites on the edge.

Hua Cheng jolts beneath him, his abdominal clenching on instinct. Xie Lian hears a choked grunt, cut midway as if it was stopped desperately. He looks up to see Hua Cheng scrunching his eyebrows in slight confusion. Arousal swims in his eyes.

Xie Lian grins.

“Found yours.”

---

a/n: erogenous zones fascinate me.