#i literally just fucked around with brushes for several hours

[mocha-illustrates]

CW: BLOOD

[ID. A digital drawing of Moon wearing casual clothes. He is standing facing right with his hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt. He’s wearing baggy sweatpants and slippers and is taking a step forward. His face is turned slightly away but he looks at the viewer with half-lidded eyes and a toothy smirk. There is blood spattered across his face, his clothes and the floor. The color palette consists of both deep and pale purples, pale grins and pops of red. The background is a pale purple. END ID.]

me: oh wow, a day off. i can finally work on some of my bigger projects like my animatic or my tumblr header

also me: starts a completely new piece and downloads a new set of brushes to mess with all day instead

 anyway i got the urge to draw some casual moon realness. Version without blood under the cut

[acaciusbride]

Honeypot: Joel Miller x AFAB!Reader 

Summary: Joel fucks hard. You’re a little sore. He takes the phrase “kiss it better” quite literally.

Notes: I don’t know how I got 2 fics written in 72 hours. Maybe she’s born with it, maybe it’s maladaptive coping mechanisms. No beta, we die like men. (As usual).

CWs: no physical description of reader but all my readers are plus size coded / friendly | reader is AFAB | pet names (darlin, baby, honey) | mentions of PIV sex | oral sex (f!receiving) | allusions to oral sex (m!receiving) | Joel cums untouched oop | big girthy unspecified age gap is alluded to but not mentioned so could feasibly be ignored | dirty talk | explicit content 18+ etc

Warm sunlight streams through the bedroom window, the gap in the curtains allowing for a beam of warmth to hit the bed just so.

You wriggle under the warm sheets, rolling onto your side to bury your face in the solid wall of muscle that is Joel, inhaling the sleep sweat sex smell of him that makes you feel at home.

Really, you’re not too sure what you are. More than just friends with benefits, but not willing to put a label on it just yet. It’s a work in progress.

A big, thick arm wraps around you, tugging you closer. As you move, you wince slightly at the sudden ache between your thighs.

“You alright there, hon’?” His Southern drawl is a low, sweet sound in your sleepy ears.

“Mmhmm,” you inhale his scent again, wriggling when you feel the hot, hard length of him against your stomach. Fuck, he’s so big. No wonder you’re aching.

“You sure?” His lips brush your throat and you shiver.

“I’m a little sore,” you admit, shy in spite of everything. You’re a little worried that he’ll take offense to it, especially when you know he took such precautions to make it easier for you. He always does. Joel is so careful with you, at least when it comes to making sure you can take him.

“Aw, hell… was I too rough with you?” He pulls away from you ever so slightly, props himself up to look down at you, soft brown eyes concerned as he watches your expression.

“No!” You jump to reassure him, because god, if you hadn’t begged him for it, begged him to be rougher, to go harder, to hold you tighter. “You’re just… really big.”

You feel like an idiot for saying it, feel like an inexperienced fool, even though that isn’t the case. He just has, even though it sounds ridiculous, a huge cock.

Joel shakes his head, and even though you can tell you’ve stroked his ego with the comment, his expression remains concerned.

“Should’ve said something…”

You give him a wry, cheeky smile as he looks down at you.

“Pretty sure I did. Several somethings. And all of them were along the line of ‘give it to me harder’ and ‘don’t stop’ and begging you to fuck me.” You remind him.

Joel laughs, in spite of the pang of guilt he feels, because you’re right. All that came out of your mouth, aside from senseless moans and mewls of pleasure, were pleas for him to keep going, begging for it harder, deeper, faster. His cock twitches against his stomach at the memory.

“‘M sorry, I got carried away.” He chews his lip, caramel eyes softening with regret.

“Aw, Joel, it’s fine,” you tell him, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Besides. If you’re that worried, you can always kiss it better?”

You’re joking mostly, being facetious, because honestly it’s nothing that a couple of days without sex and a nice hot bath won’t fix, but his expression becomes almost devious as you say it.

“Kiss it better, huh?” Joel leans down to kiss you, then gently turns you onto your back, kissing down your throat, down your chest; his hands follow, sliding down your shoulders, across the curve of your breasts, thumbs brushing your nipples as he kisses down your stomach, spreading your thighs and settling between them.

“I was jo- oh!” Your sentence is cut short as he nips at your inner thigh, one muscled arm flat across your abdomen as he looks up at you.

“Shh, honey. Gonna kiss it better, just like y’asked…”

Joel is goddamn dominant most of the time. Loves making you weak, loves watching you submit. Loves impact play; he fucking loves it all, but nothing turns him into a mess more than someone who lets him eat their pussy.

Keeping his arm flat across your abdomen, so your thighs are spread for him, he presses the lightest of kisses to your clit, carefully flicking his tongue out in the tiniest of kitten licks, before he groans at the sweet salty taste of you.

“Fuck, sweetest fuckin’ pussy…” he mumbles almost to himself, unconsciously rolling his hips slightly against the silky sheets, getting the tiniest bit of friction against his suddenly throbbing cock.

Fuck, you taste so good; his tongue dips inside you, making you wriggle above him. Still, he manages to hold you in place, moaning into your cunt as he licks and sucks greedily at your folds, taking his time, making sure to be careful.

You whimper, looking down at him; his deep caramel eyes look up at you, expression thoroughly pussy drunk as he nuzzles his nose against your clit. Your head drops back against the pillows, lips parted in a desperate moan.

Joel doesn’t like showing any sort of vulnerability; it’s incredibly difficult for him to try and be soft, be caring. Even though he does care, cares far more than he lets on, he’s afraid that if he shows it, it’s a weakness to be exploited.

Either way, he’ll take this moment for all it’s worth. Take the time to connect with you, to focus entirely on you. He doesn’t even seem to realise that his hips are rolling slightly against the sheets, getting a little bit of friction - not enough, not really - against the aching length of his cock.

He nuzzles your clit again, drawing a lazy circle with his nose as his tongue laps at your slick, drinking you down with zero hesitation or concern for how wet his scruffy beard is getting. All that matters is the way you writhe and moan for him, the way your hands move to tangle in his grown out curls as he keeps your thighs apart with his broad shoulders.

“Joel…”

You draw his name out in an almost loving whine as he drags his tongue lazily through your folds. He wants, so badly, to slip a finger inside you and curl it just so, knowing just the right angle to make you fall apart for him. But he doesn’t, knowing you’re still sore and aching and it most certainly wouldn’t improve the circumstances if he did.

Instead, he keeps on teasing you, sliding his tongue inside you and fucking you with it, waiting until you’re tugging lightly at his curls to withdraw it.

“Taste like honey, baby,” he groans, rolling his hips against the sheets again, feeling the way his cock drips with his own arousal, feels it hot and sticky against his belly as he suckles your clit into his mouth, barely grazing it with his teeth, making you mewl pathetically for him.

“Joel, I’m -” you can’t get the last word out, knowing he gets the point; your cunt tightens around nothing, aching to be filled in spite of still feeling the after effects of the previous night.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, just spreads your thighs wider, gently shaking his head from side to side as he eats your cunt like it’s his last meal, greedily drinking down your slick as it pours onto his eager tongue.

Fuck, he feels good, his skilled mouth sending you over the edge before you even realise it’s happening. Gasping, tugging on his curls, your filthy little moans echo off the walls as you come apart beneath his touch.

Joel groans into your fluttering cunt, feeling your walls pulsing against his tongue, tastes the sweet salty tangy taste of your release, and that’s enough to send him, too.

Before he even realises it, his cock is throbbing, aching, balls tight as he comes entirely untouched, his spend soaking the soft hair on his stomach, the linen sheets, making him groan into you before he turns his head to one side, resting on your thigh as you recover.

Chest still heaving with rapid breaths, you prop yourself up on shaky hands to look down at the sight that is Joel Miller looking up at you with a blissful, pussy drunk expression on his handsome face.

“D-did you just cum from eating me out?” You ask, voice a little hoarse from moaning for him.

Joel gives you a half shrug from his arguably extremely comfortable position.

“‘M sixty years old, darlin’, and your pussy tastes like a goddamn honey pot. Man’s gonna cum.”

You giggle and then smirk.

“Does that mean I get to kiss you better now?”

He groans, clearly appreciative of the idea.

“Fuck. Yes. But not right now, honey. Let me just enjoy this for now, hm?”

You hum your agreement, flop back against the pillows, link your fingers with Joel, and sigh in contentment as the sunlight warms your bare skin.

Yes, you think, you’ll be more than happy for Joel to take you literally any time soon.

[satorusugurugurl]

STARE GAZING WITH SUGURUU!!

My Constellation

Summary: Marie’s Summer Smut Fest prompt: Stargazing

Pairing: Geto Suguru x AFAB!Reader

Warnings: Smut, pnv, unprotected sex, cream pie, exhibitionism, night sex, outdoor sex, fluffy, sweet, goodness

Word Count: 974

A/N: nothing says summer like stargazing up at the sky. It's a perfect way to spend a summer evening. Only if Geto Suguru was around to make it ten times better!! ⭐️🌙 (were gonna pretend there's no scars alright 😁)

Crickets chirped, and the air was cool compared to the summer blazing heat of hours before. You lay on a blanket, staring at the stars, while your boyfriend gently grabbed and held her hand. The night was clear and beautiful, making it the perfect night for stargazing.

“It’s so pretty.” You whispered, winning a glance from your boyfriend. “I can’t believe there’s so many stars up there.”

Suguru nodded, his fingers intertwining with yours. “It’s pretty breathtaking, isn’t it?”

“Mhmm.”

“But you know nothing else is as breathtaking as you, right?”

You scoff, turning your head to look at him with an incredulous glance. “Suguru, these are literal stars and constellations. I’m nothing compared to their otherworldly beauty.” Your boyfriend looked at you as if you had insulted his whole family and friends.

“You did not just say that about yourself.”

“I’m not a star.”

“You’re my star.” He released the group he had on your hand, moving to crawl on top of you. “And you have constellations all over you.”

“Oh?”

He trailed his fingers over your arms and the freckles and scars that littered your skin. “See.” His fingertips slowly grazed over your arms. “You are a perfect constellation.” You shivered as he gently pulled your shirt over your head, allowing it to fall to the grass beside you.

“W-Well, you’re just as perfect.” Following his lead, you pulled his shirt over his head, tossing it to the ground as his long, dark hair fell over his shoulder. “I could trace your constellations forever.” Your fingers brushed over his ‘X’ scar on his chest, sending shivers down his spine.

“I love you.”

The rest of your clothes were removed, and Suguru slid his cock inside of you with a heavy sigh of pleasure, grunting as he slowly rocked into you, his lips pressed against yours with slowly lazy movements as he fucked into you. With each thrust, his fingers grazed over your skin, tracing the beauty of it, the constellations that weren’t in the sky but were on you. The person he loved so incredibly much.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as the pad of his thumb rubbed over several of your freckles. “God, I want to map out every inch of you with my—nngh—with my tongue.”

That would be for a later date, though. Because right now, you were too obsessed with how good Suguru’s cock felt sliding in and out of your tight wet heat. He lost himself in the wall, stretched out as he gripped your hips, losing himself and you as a whole. He admired how the stars twinkled from above, reflecting in your eyes as you stared into his dark, lustful gaze.

The blanket moved with each thrust; the smell of fresh-cut grass and wildflowers made you drunk of your over-heightened senses. You could taste Suguru’s mint gum on your tongue, smell the summer breeze and his expensive shampoo, feel the warmth of the summer evening over your skin, and hear Suguru whispering soft affirmations of love into your ear.

You love him, God; you loved him so much. Suguru grunted as you began rolling your hips and time with his thrusts. Your inner walls begin squeezing his cock, hugging him tight, trying to hold him as deep inside of you as you can. You always got this desperate and needy when he fucked you like this. But you didn’t know that he was just as lost in you as you were in him.

Seeing such a view of the cosmic beauty that was you had Suguru’s hands leaving your hips to cup your face as he kissed you deeply, his buck faster, pushing himself all the way inside of you before pulling back out, repeating the action, drawing out the sweetest cries from your throat. Your pussy clenched around him, causing him to whine as you kissed each other until you pulled back far enough to breathe.

“S-Sugu—!!” you wind, tilting your head back, allowing him to lick and suck at your pulse. “I-I’m gonna! Oooh fuck I'm gonna—”

“Fucking do it. Give it to me, Princess, give it all to me.” his teeth dug into your neck right above your pulse. “Cum on my cock right fucking now!”

Not needing to be told twice, you came hard all over his cock. The twitching and squeezing of your walls had Suguru throwing his head back, hair flowing with him as he roared out your name like a prayer he emptied himself inside of you.

As the warmth of his cum fills your insides. Your boyfriend panted, holding himself up by his hands that caged around your head. He smiled softly in the moonlight that highlighted your features and admired your pure, gorgeous face. He sighed before leaning down and kissing you softly. As you lazily kissed him back, Suguru slowly pulled out of you, lying down on his side and holding you close to his side.

“You are my everything, princess, my stars, constellations, sun, and moon.” unlike before, you didn’t argue with him; instead, you pressed soft kisses against his chest as you blushed.

“You’re my entire world, too, Sugu.” both of you lay on the blankets, staring at the starry sky. Suguru’s fingers trailed over the beautiful marks on your body. Marks that he called his constellations and that we’re all named after you.

Forever Tag List:

@darkstarlight82 @pandoness @nealeart @simp-plague @sugurubabe @chilichopsticks @reap3erslov3

Summer Fest Tag List:

@typicallife-101

[ananxiousgenz]

HEY YOU GUYS KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS????? JARTHUR COWBOY AU TIME!!!!!

this one also comes with a bit of info for the beginning:

@percymawce-arts and I have finally given this monster child of ours a name!! from here on out, this fic shall be known as "When the Land was Godless and Free" (a lyric from the song foreigner's god by hozier)!

the chapters we are posting are like. severely out of order. we've just been going crazy behind the scenes (we keep getting good ideas and then discussing/writing them for literal hours, it's a great time). percy basically wrote all of this and i just did some minor edits and left all caps comments screaming about how fucking GOOD this is, so any and all compliments should be directed at him <3

and some trigger warnings: this chapter contains alcohol and some suggestive themes!!

@izel-reblogs and @ellamenop (if you guys want me to stop tagging you please lmk)

“Here’s to John and Arthur! Arthur and John!” Noel shouted, stepping up onto the bar and raising his beer, some of it sloshing over the side of the cup with the motion. “Freaky-ass, sharpshooting, vigilante crime-fighting extraordinaires! Without you two, those gangsters would still be shooting up this charming little town.” He flashed a wink and a gaggle of girls seated behind John giggled. John rolled his eyes. “To John and Arthur!”

“To John and Arthur!” the bar echoed, jovial sounds of conversation and rowdy drinking soon filling the space again. John smiled into his drink, only to choke and nearly fall out of his chair when Noel clapped him on the shoulder. 

“Get ready for a lot of free drinks,” he said, hopping down to the floor. “This town’s full of generous rich folks just waiting for a chance to throw some money around.” 

John groaned. “Does that mean I have to talk to people?”

“I’m afraid so, darlin’,” Noel said, all easy charm and swagger as he leaned up against the bar next to John. “Uh oh. Don’t look now, but there’s one coming up behind you.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” John swore under his breath as a young blonde woman in a pink (and startlingly revealing) dress came up to the bar beside him. “That was fast,” he whispered to Noel, who barely managed to hide a snigger.

“Hi!” the woman squealed, her pitch akin to metal nails on glass. John winced. Voice aside, her general disposition was the near equivalent to staring straight into the afternoon sun, and the neon pink of her dress didn’t help matters.

“Can I buy you a drink, cowboy?” she crooned, gently brushing a hand over his shoulder as she smiled far too brightly (the whole blind sharpshooter gig tended to work better when only one of them was blind). 

John shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, I don’t-”

“It’s on the house for you, sweetheart. I’ll pay for everything, don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. So, how about that drink?” She moved in closer beside him, her hand drifting up his neck and along his jawline. John was only beginning to think of how to politely decline when he felt a looming presence over his shoulder.

“Only if you buy for all of us,” Arthur said, not unkindly. But John had been traveling with him for long enough to recognize the hint of something else beneath the politeness. Not what it was, just that it was there. The woman giggled.

“Well, of course! Anything for our dashing heroes!” John glanced over his shoulder at Arthur. His face was set in stone, watching the woman like a hawk on a rabbit as she slipped a few coins into the bartender’s hand and waited for drinks in return. He looked… tense. Like he was a piece of rope, stretched to the verge of snapping, and if that annoying woman made one wrong move, he would.

Noel raised an eyebrow at Arthur. “You must be a real hit with the ladies,” he murmured into his glass, looking Arthur up and down as he did so. Arthur paid him no mind.

The sunshine woman was not the last to buy them a round of drinks, not by a long shot. Plenty of flirtatious ladies (and a few flirtatious men), thankful patrons and impressed watchmen approached them, hoping to show their gratitude by buying them a shot or a glass of whiskey. Arthur didn’t leave John’s side the whole night, quick to shut down any attempts at seduction by feigning ignorance to the intentions of anyone who approached them. But John knew better. John could see the hard set of his jaw, how he gripped his glass too tightly whenever a scantily clad lady twirled her hair around her finger, or a rambunctious young cowboy leaned too far into John’s personal space. It made John’s heart flutter wildly in his chest. 

The drinks only slowed as the saloon emptied out, leaving Noel, Arthur and John three sheets to the wind, laughing uproariously at something stupid as the morning sun came over the horizon (Oscar had retired hours before, drunker than anyone at the bar much, much faster. Arthur had squeezed his shoulder and bid him goodnight with an expression of concern that made John’s heart clench).

Noel wiped tears from his eyes and looked over John’s shoulder, out the window behind him. When he saw the beginnings of daylight creeping over the horizon, he sighed. (He watched them, Arthur and John, engaged in a quiet but passionate discussion about something he couldn’t parse. They were both flushed and leaning in too close, chuckling at every other word that passed between them, oblivious to the rising sun or the empty saloon or Noel’s hands on their arms, steering them towards their room at the inn upstairs).

John chuckled (he did not giggle, he chuckled) as Noel tossed him into their rented room, with Arthur following soon after. He tripped over a trunk near the foot of the bed on his way in, falling forward onto the mattress with a gentle oof. Arthur laughed at him much too loudly for whatever time it was. 

“Alright, you two,” Noel said, trying to hold back a laugh, “wash up and go to bed. God, I should’ve never given that toast, you’re both insufferable drunks.”

“Oh, shhhhhhh,” Arthur hushed, pulling John out of bed by his wrist. John leaned fully against Arthur in an effort to stay upright. It mostly worked. “You loooooove us,” he laughed. Noel smiled.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, rolling his eyes but unable to keep the fond expression off his face. “You keep telling yourselves that.” He wiped his nose and tipped his hat to them. “Goodnight, you two.” Then he closed the door, and it was just them. John and Arthur, Arthur and John. 

“Okay, come on,” John said after a long stretch of silence, inelegantly turning Arthur in the direction of their shared washbasin and mirror. Arthur giggled a bit as John tried to move him forward, mumbling some drinking song under his breath that John didn’t recognize (maybe it’s a British one, John thought lamely). They tripped over each other's feet a few times, but ultimately made it to the edge of the sink without completely falling over. 

When they did, John braced his hands on either side of it with a tired sigh, watching his reflection in the mirror. There was a thin sheen of sweat across his forehead and a flush to his cheeks from the alcohol, but otherwise he seemed in decent condition. A few cuts and scrapes, some new and some old, and his braid was a little out of sorts, but nothing really concerning–

Then all the haziness of the alcohol and the late night was gone because Arthur’s full weight was at his back, his warmth permeating the fabric of John’s shirt and vest. His hot breath fanned across John’s ear and jaw, his eyes fluttering closed with the weight of inebriation. John inhaled shakily, suddenly brought back to shifting bodies and whiskey and fireworks with such vivid clarity it could have been real.

But it wasn’t real. It wasn’t real. John was drunk. Arthur was drunk, he could barely stand up straight, for fucks sake. He was just using John for support, falling asleep on his shoulder, and… 

And pressing his nose behind John’s ear, ghosting his lips over the back of his jaw. Breathing his name with a pained expression. John’s own expression matched, half lidded eyes never leaving the mirror, tense and pained and wanting, oh-so deeply, for the one thing he knew he couldn’t have.

Despite himself, John’s eyes slipped closed. His shoulders relaxed, tension leaving his body as Arthur hands came up to rest on his hips. His head tilted, granting Arthur access to more of his jaw and neck. And Arthur took it. He didn’t kiss, but he skimmed. Barely there, almost not real, deniable. Like a spirit. Like a gut feeling. Like instinct.

“John…” Arthur breathed. John felt a shiver work its way down his spine at the sound of Arthur’s voice at the base of his skull, reverberating in his head like it was meant to be there. It took every ounce of will that John had to keep the small moan building in the base of his throat from escaping.

“Arthur,” he answered, voice hoarse and quiet. He wanted to open his eyes. Wanted to see himself in the mirror with Arthur over his shoulder, arms around him, nosing at his neck and shoulder, resisting the urge to press warm kisses into his skin. Or maybe to bite. To draw blood. John had never been shown a difference between violence and love. Maybe they weren’t so different. He hoped so. He wanted… 

He wanted to see the look on Arthur’s face. Would it be like it was that day in the cabin? Shocked and a little confused but mostly needy. Yearning for something. Yearning for John. Or would it be darker? Dark like the clouds before a storm, the kind of storm that drowned you with rain and filled the air with electricity. Would it be dark like he was holding back? Like John was? 

But John didn’t open his eyes, no matter how badly he wanted to know. If his eyes stayed closed, he could pretend Arthur’s gentle, delicate touch wasn’t there at all. Just a taste of something more, enough to leave John wanting. Enough for him to imagine. Enough for it to stay a pleasant, alcohol induced dream. If he opened his eyes it would be real, and it would have to stop. And John did not want it to stop.

“John,” Arthur murmured, his voice just above a whisper now. “Open your eyes.” The timbre of it was deep, so much deeper than John had heard it before. How could he have possibly known? How could he know John so well in so little time? So completely? The moan John was holding on to finally slipped past his lips when Arthurs grip on his waist tightened, ever so slightly. “John,” Arthur choked. 

“I can’t,” John whispered as Arthur’s fingers moved from his hips, leaving a burning heat behind in the shape of Arthur’s palm. They trailed up and up, tugging at the buttons of John’s shirt as they went, making his breath hitch. Up to his open collar, nails dragging across John’s collar bone and hollow of his throat. Until they wrapped ever so gently around his neck, the thumb coming up to guide John’s jaw this way and that. John was breathing hard, now.

“Why?” Arthur asked, pressing himself closer, still, to John. John whined.

“I…” I want to. God, I want to. Make me. “Please, Arthur, don’t make me. Please, just–”

John gasped when he felt Arthur’s teeth scrape lightly over the skin of his neck, his hand flying up to grip Arthur’s hair, his shoulder, something. To hold Arthur. But he was stopped by a strong grip on his wrist, which guided his hand back down to the edge of the sink, holding it there. Pinning it. 

“John,” Arthur whispered. John’s chest was rising and falling like Akke’s after a long sprint, his heart fluttering like a hummingbird’s. Arthur’s thumb caressed his knuckles, white with the strength of his grip on the sink.

“Please,” they said at the same time. John’s brow furrowed, his lips hung parted in anticipation. His mind swung wildly from the present, between Arthur and the mirror with a hand around his throat, to the cabin, pressing Arthur to the wooden floor, pinning his wrists above his head. The burning momentum between them suddenly halted by John’s fear, like a landslide on the track before a train. Now the train was out of control again, brakes screeching against wheels that just wouldn’t stop, sparks flying. Sparks like fireworks. Sparks like live wires. Sparks like exploding gunpowder.

But then the warmth at his back was gone. Along with it the hand at his throat and the one  pinning his own to the sink. The teeth at the junction of his neck and shoulder and the hot breath on his skin vanished, leaving only a stark coldness where they’d been before. John sighed, whether in relief or disappointment he didn’t know, and opened his eyes.

The flush on his face had migrated down his neck and chest, which was exposed now (when had Arthur done that?) and heaving. The ‘light sheen’ of sweat was beading at his temples and brow now, falling in drops down to his jaw, along the bridge of his nose. His lips were parted and his eyes were wide and his neck was bare. 

And Arthur, leaning drunkenly against the wall behind him, arms crossed, expression chilly. He was breathing heavily too, and his face was red like the first hints of daylight in the sky. But it was the hard set of his mouth and brow that made John shiver.

“We should go to bed, John,” he said, voice still raspy. A needy, sad little sound rose from John’s throat then, and John’s hand flew to his mouth, as if to force the offending sound back in. Arthur swallowed and turned, ready to head back to one of the twin beds awaiting them. Side by side and yet still miles apart. “And don’t worry.”

“It’ll all feel like a dream, tomorrow.”

[mamawasatesttube]

#25 for the gentle prompts, maybe? :D

25. "You can sit on my lap."

By the fifth time Tim shifts his weight, leans on his staff, and heaves a sigh more explosive than Mount St. Helens, Kon has just about had it. The stubborn set to Tim's jaw means he doesn't want Kon to point out that he's clearly tired, but also, uh, the idiot is clearly tired, and it's getting a little ridiculous.

"Rob."

Tim holds up an imperious finger. "Don't say anything. I'm fine."

Kon rolls his eyes. "We're probably gonna be stuck up here for stakeout purposes for, like, at least another hour or two. You might as well make it easier on both of us."

Tim gives him a mildly dirty look. It's probably supposed to be worse than mildly dirty, but despite himself, Tim hasn't been able to stop looking at Kon with, like, heart eyes, ever since his resurrection and return. Even when they're bickering like they did as kids. It... it gets Kon, sometimes. He tries not to think about it too hard.

"I'm fine," Tim repeats stubbornly. He folds his arms over his chest and stares down at the warehouse they're watching. "I'm fully capable of finishing the stakeout."

Oh, for the love of—

Kon leans over and bonks him on top of his cowled head. "Yeah, I wasn't disputing that, dumbass."

Tim stiffens for a second. Then he heaves another huge sigh, his shoulders slumping. "...Sorry," he mutters, scuffing one boot against the wet rooftop; a pebble goes skittering off towards the edge. "I, uh... sometimes get all defensive and kinda grouchy when I'm tired."

Both amused and endeared, Kon snorts. "Yeah, trust me, I've noticed." He lightly tugs at Tim's cape. "You've been on your feet for hours. Why not sit for a bit at least?"

Tim glances down at the wet rooftop and makes a face. It's been raining on and off since afternoon faded into evening, and Kon has to concede the point; stakeout or not, that's not the coziest place to chill. Sitting in a puddle might mean Tim's poor ass gets hypothermic—literally, his ass. Yikes.

Well, easy solution. Kon hops up onto an invisible recliner and leans back comfortably, then holds out his arms. "C'mere. You can sit in my lap."

For the second time in as many minutes, Tim freezes for half a heartbeat. Kon can hear his heart rate kick up a notch, can hear the breath catch in his throat, can hear his eyelashes brush the insides of the lenses in his cowl as he blinks rapidly.

Even behind the cowl, the look on his face is still as fond as ever. It does things to Kon's heart, too, if he's being honest.

"...Yeah, okay," Tim says. It's several seconds too late to be casual, but both of them politely don't acknowledge that.

Kon tugs him into his lap, winds his arms around his waist, and wraps his TTK around him for extra security. Tim sighs again, softer this time. He's stiff for a moment, but when Kon doesn't start screaming about cooties or whatever, he relaxes incrementally, muscle by muscle. Finally, after several heartbeats, his head comes to rest against Kon's.

Oh, Kon thinks. Oh.

This is nice.

Oh, no.

"Um. Thanks," Tim mutters. His heart is definitely beating faster. His fingers curl into Kon's jacket. Fuck, Kon likes that—he likes that a lot. Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no.

"Anytime, Rob," he answers, way more casually than Tim managed, if he does say so himself. "Make yourself comfy. You barely weigh anything to me anyways."

"Mn." Tim goes quiet, but after a moment, he does slip his arm around Kon's shoulders, and... that's really nice, too.

"I guess we should keep watching for our guy to come out of there, huh." Kon forces his attention away from Tim and back down to the warehouse. They're on a mission here. He can't just get distracted by... by... canoodling.

"Yeah," Tim agrees, and—is Kon imagining it, or is there a note of reluctance somewhere deep down in his voice? "I guess we should."

[vinyldreamsfuckup]

soo desperately waiting for rocket queen part 3 🥺🥺

Rocket Queen Pt. 3

A: i’m here to deliver 💗 sorry i was gone for so long. i saw slash last friday and it literally knocked me out lol. finally have energy!

Warnings: fluff, drinking, smoking, mentions of hard drugs but no one explicitly uses them

Part 1

Part 2

Well several months passed and it was finally the night the album was being released. Axl was throwing some huge rager. You and Slash had been so caught up in the newness of your relationship that you were now rushing to get ready for the party.

"We're going to be so late," Slash giggled out as he pulled up his jeans.

"Wait, hold on. You have lipstick on you," You chuckled and tried to wipe the bright red lipstick off of his collarbone. Slash looked down as you tried to wipe the lipstick off.

"We don't have time, it's fine," Slash chuckled. He grabbed a black see through button up and pulled it on. His fingers gently caressed the buttons as he started buttoning it. It was nearly impossible to keep your eyes off of him. Sure, you'd been sleeping together for awhile, but this was completely different. You could hardly keep your hands off each other. Slash had practically moved into your apartment, "You have to get dressed, my beautiful lady."

You chuckled and pulled your gaze from him. Your stomach flipped as he complimented you. You were utterly fucked. You pulled on a pair of jeans and a black tank top. Slash moved behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist. He set his head on your shoulder, his curls brushing against your neck.

"Yes?" You giggled out.

"You're just so beautiful. I don't know how I got so lucky," Slash mumbled with a smile. You couldn't help the smile and blush that spread across your face. You looked down at him.

"Well thank you. You don't look too bad yourself," You giggled. Slash rolled his eyes.

"Let's go smartass," Slash chuckled and stood up straight.

We got to the party and there were girls out on the patio making out with whoever they could find, needles and red solo cups were sprawled out on the patio. Hell House was known for it's wild parties and this wasn't an exception. In fact, this was probably going to get pretty crazy. You took a deep breath and grabbed Slash's hand, intertwining your fingers. He smiled down at you and walked with you into the packed party.

After several drinks, you were leaning against the wall watching as Slash moved through the crowd. Your lipstick still smudged on his collarbone as he navigated his way toward you, two cups in his hands. People stopped him to congratulate him on the album, flirt with him, tell him how talented he is, etc. It wasn't a very large house, but it felt like it took hours before he was finally walking up to you. A little bounce in his step from being drunk.

"God...I'm tired," Slash slurred his words as he walked up to you. He handed you your cup. You couldn't help the drunken giggle that left your mouth. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close to him, "You're so beautiful."

You looked up at him, he gently shook the curls from his face and you kissed him. The taste of whiskey and weed on his lips. He smiled against your lips and kissed you back. You both then proceeded to drink even more and smoke many cigarettes, even dance? Neither of you ever danced but you can briefly remember grinding against each other on the makeshift dance floor. Somehow, you ended up in Slash's bed in the garage at Hell House drunkenly making out.

"How come we don't stay here more?" You drunkenly mumbled against Slash's lips.

Slash snorted, "Cause Axl sleeps in here too."

Slash's hand ran up your side carefully and grabbed your boob. You slightly mumbled and he started kissing down your neck, "But it's a house."

"A house full of groupies, strippers, and drugs. Trust me it's not worth it to be here more than we have to," Slash spoke between kisses down your jaw and neck.

"That's fair," You drunkenly chuckled.

Slash chuckled and pulled you closer, your bodies were firmly pressed against each other now.

"Maybe you should just move in with me," You said, the words fell from your mouth without even thinking. Slash's lips paused on your neck.

"Wait...what?" Slash asked, his voice still slightly slurred. He looked up at you.

"What? Nothing. I didn't say anything," You said quickly, trying to cover it up.

A smile spread across Slash's face, "Say it."

"No. I didn't say anything," You said. Slash chuckled and leaned forward, pressing another kiss to your neck.

"Say it," He whispered against your skin.

"Move in with me," You blurted out.

"Yeah, cupcake? You want me to move in with you?" Slash said with a smile. You nodded. You hadn't been together all that long, only 6 months, but for some reason, you'd never felt more sure about anything in your life.

"Well then I'll move in with you," Slash whispered, he lifted his head and cupped your cheek. Both of you being hammered definitely didn’t help the situation.

“We’re too drunk to make this decision,” You giggled out. Slash shook his head.

“No, no we’re not. Because I know I love you and I want to move in with you,” Slash said softly, honesty filled his eyes. You just nodded.

“I love you too, Slash,” You managed to whisper out.

He leaned his forehead against yours, “We’re a little family.”

“I love you,” You whispered. A smile spread across Slash’s face.

“I love you too. More than anything.”

[masturbucky]

The Intruder

DARK!Winter Soldier x fem!reader

Summary: You had issues with sleeping for the past two weeks. You wake up every night and you swear you can feel someone's staring from the shadows, but there's no one, and you know it's your imagination. Sometimes you feel touches. When you're tired of your mind tricks, you start taking those sleeping pills. It's good for you, and for the man who watches your sleep every night, too. But you dont need to know that. You need to sleep.

WARNINGS: DARK REALLY DARK PLEASE BE AWARE(!!!), Smut, Somnophilia, NON-CONSENSUAL EVERYTHING, AGAIN IT'S A FUCKING RAPE, Obsessive behavior, unprotected p in v, WS basically romanticizes from his sick point what he does to you, no y/n, literally NO comfort, creampie, marking, a bit of knife play(he tears your shirt off and touches you with a knife a bit), a lot of mentions of death by WS, choke kink if you squint, dacryphilia if you squint, what else? ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE! Also I kinda forgot to post it when I finished it and so i remembered only like an hour ago, changed some stuff a bit, but grammar errors are still on the table yk. Also, YOU ARE THE ONLY ONE WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. I'M NOT YOUR DADDY I CAN'T TELL YOU SHIT, I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE A MINOR, IT'S YOUR PROBLEM.

You sigh, dropping your bag on the couch while slipping out of your shoes on the way to the kitchen. It's a living hell, you think.

Two fucking weeks you can't sleep. You wake up every night, a several times at least, with a fucking panic attack, or in a sleep paralysis, or whatever the fuck it is — you don't know, you don't care, you just want it to stop.

The thing is, you're going insane.

Every night the reason you wake up is this feeling of someone's eyes on you. Someone's staring at you, from the shadowed corner of your room, every night and it doesn't stop. At first you weren't brave enough to look. On the thrid night you said fuck it and turned the light on, looking around. No one, nothing, no trace of anyone's presence. The fuck you expected to see? The windows were closed, same goes to the door — you checked, three times and one more to be sure — and you were honestly confused and tired enough to get back to sleep. Only for the same thing to happen the following night. And the next one. And again, and again, and again.

You changed locks. Better safe than sorry, you know?

It didn't helped. You still feel watched every night.

Sometimes YOU SWEAR you could feel lingering touches on your body. Cold or warm.

Again, you're going insane.

You bought a fucking camera and installed it in your bedroom under the ceiling just to find your sleepy self and your scared to hell awake self, walking around and searching for the fucking intruder, on it in the morning.

You tried to invite your friends over for the night, but — what am I, a fucking joke? — they all laughed at you, when you told your story. Fuck them, really, you should consider searching for new friends.

You decided to go to the therapist your friend (the only one who, thankfully, didn't laughed with the rest, but still brushed you off) recommended you. The point is, you'll have to wait a month to get an appointment in their busy schedule. You ain't gonna wait so long, you need to sleep for fuck's sake.

That's being said, here you are. Reading an instruction list to Flurazepam, which is like a fucking blanket itself, and grinning like an idiot, excited. Fuck your brain really, fuck it's dumb imagination, fuck the imaginary intruder! You need your sleep and you'll get your sleep, thanks to medicine!

Tonight you eat, shower, read your evening book and get to bed happily, excited to finally get some sleep. Maybe you take a bit more Flurazepam than needed. Just in case, you know?

***

He entered your apartment the same way as always - it wasn't hard to steal your keys and make a copy. He's used to be unnoticed, they would've been disappointed if he was careless enough to let you know about his mere existence. So far, you're stupid enough not to look into details. Smart enough to try and change locks and install a camera, smart enough to show him that you're safe from everyone, but him.

He stops the recording of this damn camera before walking into your room. He solved this problem the first night you installed it. It's a nice kind of change, he must admit. Seeing you from different angle other than from cameras he installed before is nice, truly. Beautiful, clever and caring about his... needs, even without knowing about him. That's what makes you so divine.

Tonight... To be honest, he was waiting for this just as much as you. He was excited, even. For your sleep and his next move in your relationship, if he could call it that.

He takes his mask and glasses off, walking closer to your bed, to your sleeping, relaxed. Asleep, more calm than usual. Just like the first night. Your breath is soft, heartrate is slow, the pills you took obviously worked. You probably took a bit more than you should have, his dumb little thing you are.

He doesn't know how it all happened, to be honest.

What he knows is, he needs you. Badly. All the time, day and night, needs to see your beauty and he needs to be close to something as perfect as you. He thought they wiped everything that could've been even close to what he feels towards you, but apparently they only made it worse.

More likely they know where he disappears every night to. They know everything, and he noticed how much easier it became to sneak out. And if they know and let it be, then he's allowed to have this. Which probably gives them even more power over him.

But he doesn't care. As long as he can see his angel, as long as he can touch something as perfect as you are, he doesn't give a fuck about what else Hydra would make him do. Consider it done. Consider it dead.

He takes his gloves off, kneeling down beside your bed. Slides your blanket off your body, and takes a deep breath. You're in your usual clothes of choice — this tempting shirt, which he often can see your nipples through, which he allows himself to touch sometimes even, and a comfy pair of underwear. He doesn't know what other men usually consider sexy, but for him it is whatever you wear. Especially this pair of panties.

Brings his hand to your thigh, more confidently than usual strokes the smooth skin up, touching the soft material of your underwear and sliding under the warmth of your shirt, to your belly. He doesn't need to be careful now. You won't wake up anyway, you're too deep in your slumber, thanks to those pills.

He almost groans only at the feeling of your soft, warm skin under his fingertips. It's not often when he touches you UNDER your clothes. Too much of a risk, he never intended to wake you up. It would mean a too big step, he doesn't need you to put up a fight and resist too much. If so, he would have to hurt you. And take you away. He's not ready to do that just yet.

But now? Now he can at least do that much without rushing things into it's natural ending. He could have you now, he could taste you now, and then he would prepare to take you somewhere where he would do that as often as possible. He just has to be patient.

For now he could just leave you a message of who you belong to. A promise, of sorts.

The bed cracked under his weight loudly, thanks god you're so deep in your sleep, and the blade shines in the moonlight, so does the hand, the whole arm. Soldier knows that what he's about to do will break you. But a broken angel is still an angel, a fallen one is not.

However, he's very clear with his messages.

Your shirt goes first. The material breaks easily on a sharp knife, he uses it to kill after all, and he's devouring every second of it. He prays that it wont be possible to erase from his mind, just like it was with you, with his angel.

"Beautiful," He breathes out, his voice hoarse and his throat hurts. He hasn't talked in quite some time.

Your shirt is no longer on his way. And oh god, seeing your chest again makes him believe in heaven, whatever this is. When you'll be his, you won't be wearing any clothes at all. It will be his personal heaven.

"So beautiful..." He lowers the knife to your chest, tracing soft skin, nipples with the backside of it. He could so easily switch the side, he could leave a permanent mark on you, a reminder of your first night as his, but he wont. Not now, at least.

Then he lowers the blade to your underwear. Two simple cuts on either sides - and it's just as dysfunctional as the shirt. But he doesn't think you'll need them anyway, now. He might as well just... Take them, as a little reminder for himself? A promise.

He lifts your pretty legs up, resting them on his shoulders when he settles in between, and slides the thorn material from under you with his flesh arm. He wants to feel this. He wants to savor every touch.

Your panties are left in the pocket of his pants, and he returns his full attention to you. Only if you knew how beautiful you are right now, naked for him, ready for him. He would show you, one day. When you would be conscious and used to him, his presence, his touches. For now, this will do.

The knife is back in it's holder, and he lowers to your warm body. Hands slide up your waist to your tits, and the left one to your neck. Metal fingers trace the warm, delicate skin, pressing ever so slightly. The only time he really focuses on how much pressure he adds. Looks just perfect on you.

He can't wait anymore.

Right hand slides off your body to lower his pants, just enough to free his almost uncomfortable erection. He was so mesmerized by your beauty that he completely forgot about himself.

Leans back slightly, once again admiring the view. His angel, so perfect and peaceful, in her sleep. Your calm face, delicate neck, chest, your belly, legs and, a fucking paradise, your pussy. He can't see much, but he knows its perfect. He had seen it, many times, on the cameras. He also knows what you play with, and where you hide it. Lower drawer of your nightstand.

Soldat leaves a trail of open mouthed kisses on your neck, tasting your skin. It's his time to enjoy, his moment to savor, so he slides his hand down to your exposed to him — only him — heat. You're wet, just a bit. Enough for him, at least. Touching you is a privilege already.

Your legs are pushed up, over his thighs. He doesn't know if he wants to hurry up or take his time, it feels like he needs both. Contradictions became natural to him since he found you.

A deep breath. He lined himself up with your entrance, stroking himself slowly, just a bit. Smearing his precum over your clit and soft folds, enjoying the moment. It's so strange to be so overwhelmed. So excited. You make him feel things he didn't knew he was able to feel, and you have no clue. You will, eventually.

He pushes in slowly, groaning and almost cumming right away, holding himself back and biting on your neck. He takes a second to remind himself about how to breathe. Unbelievable. You feel like death. The best feeling ever, the only good feeling.

When he's fully in, he thinks that calling it a heaven would've been an understatement. Your insides around him are so much more.

When he pulls out to the tip and pushes back in, that's where he could've die happily.

You're so warm. So tight, squeezing his manhood just right. It's where he belonged, it's where he feels complete and forgiven. Your walls hug his dick perfectly, and he want's to stay in there until he fades away. And he wants more.

He's greedy when he starts moving. In and out, slowly at first, but getting faster — yes, he's greedy. He's guilty in more than greed, he doesn't care. With your pussy taking him so well, with your warm body under his hands, his lips, just under him — he doesn't care. It's all his, you're his.

Oh how he wants to hear more than those sweet whimpers from you.

He can imagine. His angel, you, under him, hands gripping on his arms, you'll be begging him for more and crying for him, clamping down on him so deliciously and needy. You'll be screaming — screaming the name he can't quite imagine, he can't remember, but he knows you'll be screaming it. One day.

He will take his time to praise you, to tell you how good you are for him, angel, taking all he can give, giving all you have. He will make sure you're shaking and breaking all over again on his cock, tears smeared all over your face and you're drooling with this fucked out look on your divine face-

Oh god, more. He needs more of you, he takes all he can take.

He will leave so much marks on your body, just like now, over your chest and your neck, while you'll be squeezing him inside and begging, begging for his seed-

He cums with a groan, slurred fuck left his lips, headboard of your bed cracks under his metal hand. Aftershock hit the Soldat hard. Right hand gripping on your hip, his breath is ragged and he barely remembers how to breath correctly — he knows this feeling well, but from the bad side. Now? It's euphoric. He doesn't want it to end, he wants to die right here and there, buried deep inside of your heat, with you taking his cum so well, his beautiful angel.

He opens his eyes after what feels like a blissful eternity, his gaze slowly focuses on you under him. He can hear your breath, hard and ragged, he can see a layer of sweat over your body. Small smile cracks on his face. Even in your sleep, you accepted him. You enjoyed it.

He doesn't want to pull out, but he does so anyway. He reminds himself that it's not the last time. He'll have enough chances to do it again with you, after all. He knows what to do. He knows how. He just needs to prepare it.

Soldat looks down, mesmerized by how his seed leaks out of you. There's so much, he has to resist the urge to push it back in. Or to lick it out.

You're so perfect, his beautiful angel. But he has to go.

On a second thought...

He reaches out to your nightstand, barely even looking up from your pretty cunt, still leaking with his cum. Grabs his mask and glasses. Puts both on quickly, then grabs the remote control of your camera from his pocket, and presses on.

After all, he should be very clear with his messages.

[carlsdarling]

Being with Carl Grimes headcanons

Giving my fellow Carl people a sexy alphabet. Hope you enjoy it :) Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw

A – Aftercare

Carl is very loving and affectionate. After you both finished, he hugs you tightly and enjoys feeling your heart beating against his own. Cleaning up is not a priority for him, nor for you, so you usually fall asleep sticky and sweaty.

B - Body

Carl loves your belly and the curve of your waist to your hips and thighs. He can't stop looking at that part of your body. He also loves to cum on your belly.

C - Cum

Carl prefers to cum inside you, either in your pussy or in your mouth, but as long as he can cum anywhere on you, he's happy.

D – Dirty Secret

Carl has his secret fantasies about dominating and "punishing" you, especially when he is jealous. But it would never occur to him to hurt you.

He also secretly watched Beth changing her clothes in jail and jerked off.

E - Experience

He was completely inexperienced when the two of you got together, but he was so willing to learn. Now Carl is very experienced and knows exactly what he is doing.

F – Favourite position

You riding him and missionary. Carl wants to be able to kiss you and look at you while he fucks you, and it excites him a lot when you stroke him while he does it, brushing his hair back and moaning in his ear.

G - Gentle

Carl is usually very gentle unless you both feel needy, then it gets rougher and you both enjoy it.

H - Hair

He trims his pubes every now and then so they don't get in the way when you suck him off, but he doesn't really care.

I - Intimacy

Carl loves to lie in bed with you for hours, cuddling, talking and having sex over and over again.

J – Jack off

He hardly ever does it now because you literally can't keep your hands off each other. In the past, before Rick's group came to Alexandria and you met, he did it regularly.

K - Kink

Carl has some kind of a cum kink. He loves to see his jizz running out of you after sex and staining the bedding or the car seat, or spreading on your skin, he also gets excited when he ejaculates so much that it runs out of your mouth after you suck him off.

L - Location

Anywhere reasonably safe. But never outdoors outside Alexandria. Carl thinks that's too dangerous; he can't relax then.

M – Motivation

His sex drive is very high. He is 18, what else do you expect? ;) The smallest sign makes him get hard.

N – No Go

Humiliate you, beat you or fecal games.

O – Oral

He loves giving as much as receiving. When he eats you out, it drives him crazy how you squirm under him, clawing your fingers in his hair and begging to finally have him inside you.

P – Pace

It depends on what mood you are both in. From slow and sensual to fast and hard, Carl is flexible.

Q - Quickies

Often quickies are the only way for you to be intimate, so yes, he likes them. But preferably he has a lot of time and comfort to do it several times in a row.

R - Risk

He is definitiely a risk taker when it comes to someone potentially catching you in the act. You've already done it in various places in Alexandria - in the grass behind the horse stables, in the toolshed (you were sitting on a table with your legs wrapped around Carl's hips), once even in the dark on the wall.

S - Stamina

He can do it very often, you are constantly breaking your own records; currently the record stands at eleven times a day. You are just extremely horny for each other.

T – Time

Several times a day, unless you are on your period.

U – Unfair

Carl always tries to make you cum as often and as long as possible before he cums himself. Jokingly, he sometimes complains that this is unfair.

V - Volume

He is very loud no matter where you do it.

W – Wildcard

At one occasion, the two of you went on a tour and had a wild time in the back seat of the car very close to the Sanctuary, knowing that Negan's people could have shown up at any time.

X – X-Ray

He is a bit over average, but not much, his cock just fits you perfectly.

Y – Yes

Carl says yes to anything you want to do with him.

Z - Zzzzz

He prefers to fall asleep naked and cuddled up with you. If you have had sex at home, it doesn't take long for him to fall asleep.

[girlwiththepapatattoo]

A Bit of Aid

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Pairing: Halsin/Female Reader

Warnings: smut, masturbation, vaginal fingering, praise, bad puns, Astarion being a little shit

Summary: A friend offers you some help.

Notes: This is going to be a PROPER ONE SHOT. (I'm telling this mostly to myself. *wags finger at my own brain*)

Anyway, I've had this mental image in my head for like two weeks and had to get it out. I hope you enjoy <3

Read on Ao3 here!

///////////////////////////////

You lean back against the tree, your face scrunched in frustration. The cool night breeze brushes over the beads of sweat at your hairline, on your neck, making you shiver softly. You pull your hand out of your pants, wiping your fingers in the grass and muttering a very heartfelt, “Fuck,” under your breath. 

It’s been a week and a half since you escaped the nautoloid, waking up with an unwanted passenger behind your eye. 

A week and half, and you’ve built up a group of similarly afflicted people, and a druid you saved from a goblin camp. 

A group of very attractive people.

Now, you were far from a prude, but being surrounded by some of the most attractive people you’ve ever seen in your life is intimidating. Especially when you’ve always felt yourself as being painfully middle-of-the-road. 

And being surrounded by the most attractive people you’ve ever seen in your life is making your active libido scream at you. 

Back home in Baldur’s Gate, before you were snatched up into literal hell, you’d always get yourself off at the very least a few times a week. It was good for your mood and body alike. 

But that was when you were in the quiet safety of your own home. Trying to touch yourself while you’re in a thin-walled tent while those gorgeous people sleep mere feet away is too nerve-wracking to contemplate. 

And so, you’d decided to sneak away for some well earned alone time. Once everyone but Halsin (who volunteered for first watch) had gone to bed, you snuck out of camp and trekked probably half a mile into the forest. After making sure you were alone, you’d sat down at the base of a tree, loosened your belt, unlaced your pants, and shoved your hand into your smalls. 

Almost an hour later, you give up. It turns out that stressing out over the very real possibility of sloughing off your current form to become part of a tentacled hive mind, nearly dying several times at the hands of goblins, and are now facing a trip down into the Underdark, doesn’t make for an easy time getting off. 

Who knew?

And so you sit there against the tree, deciding to wait out the arousal swirling in your gut, to wait out the rather insistent throbbing in your clit, and once you were back to your default state to just go to bed. You exhale through your nose in annoyance, wanting nothing more than to feel that sweet, beautiful-

“Ah, there you are.” 

Your eyes shoot open in terror. You hear Halsin’s voice, his footsteps approaching through the trees, and you scramble to do up your belt at least, so he doesn’t suspect. 

He steps around the tree just as your hands leave your belt, and he quirks an eyebrow down at your red-face, at the way you’re not quite meeting his eyes. “Are you well? You didn’t come back to camp after you left, so I got worried.” 

“O-Oh, no, I’m fine, Halsin,” you stammer, trying your best to give him a friendly smile. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out to…think.” 

“To think.” He tilts his head a little. “I understand the appeal of having a private spot, but the middle of the night in these woods is more dangerous than you’d suspect.” 

You give a weak smile. “Yeah…sorry for worrying you.” 

Mortified at what he almost caught you doing, you move to stand. But when he crouches before you, smiling in his normal, friendly way… “Would you like some help?” 

You freeze, your eyes locking onto his bright hazel gaze in shock. Did he just…? “Um. What…do you mean? Help with what, standing up? I got it, I promise.” 

He chuckles. “No, no. I mean, help with reaching orgasm.”

You pray that the ground opens you up and swallows you whole. 

“I…” You clear your throat so that more comes out than just a squeak. “W-Why would you…think that I…I wasn’t…” 

His expression is soft, kind. You’re pretty sure that only makes it worse. “Be at ease. There is no shame in desire. For most people, it’s as natural as hunger, as thirst. And there’s no shame in accepting a helping hand…or two. After everything you’ve been through so far, it’s no surprise you’re having trouble on your own.”

Against your will, your eyes flit down to his hands. Thick fingers are laced together between his bent knees as he squats before you, and the thought of what they could do on your flesh makes the hair raise on the back of your neck. You’re suddenly hyper aware of your own body, every inch of skin sensitive. 

“And if you’re worried that I’ll be offended if you say no, you needn’t be.” You look back up at his face in surprise. He gives you a serious look. “I would never touch you without your permission. If you don’t wish my help, say the word and I’ll head back to camp.” 

His words go a long way to reassuring you, and you take a moment to really think about it. It’s been so long since you last had anyone to share an intimate moment with, and you could easily die at any moment. Why shouldn’t you indulge in this man who seems more than willing to help you out? 

You lick your lips. Nerves race through your gut, along with your growing arousal, but you meet Halsin’s eyes. You mean to say something like yes or all right then or hell yes let’s wake up the camp with my screaming, but instead all that comes out is a whispered, “Please…” 

His lips quirk up, his eyes darken even as they flash in delight. “Hm. Please what?” 

His voice has lowered, his customary rumble more pronounced. Your mouth goes dry. “Please…I’d like your help,” you respond. 

“Gladly,” he all but purrs. “Let’s get comfortable then.” He has you move over, and as you shift he pulls his leather vest off. You inhale sharply, your eyes darting over his torso. His shoulder muscles ripple as he lowers himself to sit down with his own back against the tree now. 

What really surprises you though is his body hair. Elves as a whole don’t tend to have hair at all below their heads, but Halsin…his forearms are thick with it, his chest sports a nice patch, and there’s a tantalizing line running from his navel to below his belt. “Gods, you’re gorgeous,” you breathe. 

He chuckles softly. “I’m flattered you think so.” He reaches out a hand to you. “Now, come here to me.” 

Anticipation roils in your gut. You take his hand, warm and calloused and huge. He tugs you over, helping you sit down on his lap, and you gasp as you feel a half-formed erection press against your ass. He rumbles in enjoyment at the sudden friction, tugging you firmly by the hips so that your back is flat against his chest. His cheek presses to yours on your right sight, and his voice vibrates into you, along your back and into your jaw. 

“We’re going to adjust your clothing now. Pull your pants and smalls down for me, hm?” 

His tone is soft and gently encouraging, almost casual, as though he’s teaching you a new skill. It makes you feel desperate to obey. You wriggle your pants and smalls all the way off in your eagerness, which makes him chuckle. His left hand pats your thigh, sending prickles over your flesh. “Lift.” You do, your toes balanced on his knee. He slips that arm under your leg. “Lower, and tuck the toes of both your feet under my knees.” 

You swallow hard at how open this leaves you for him. His thumb caresses your inner thigh almost fondly, which has you breaking out into sensitive shivers. You feel his cheek shift as he smiles. 

“That’s it. Now, pull the hem of your shirt up over your breasts.” 

You do so, taking your bra with it. Your shirt bunches up to your mid-back, and you can feel his belly hair on your skin.

“Mmm, you’re lovely,” he purrs, nuzzling his cheek with yours. His thumb suddenly traces the curve of your breast before his hand cups under it, giving you a soft squeeze, and you shudder hard on his lap and whine his name. “My, my, you are eager aren’t you?” 

He feels your face heat against his cheek. “S-Sorry…it’s been a while,” you whisper.

“Trust me, sweetling, that was not a complaint,” he replies, giving you another soft nuzzle. “I like it. Your desire is as beautiful as you are…” 

He turns his head toward you, and he presses his lips to the side of your neck at the same time the pads of the fingers of his left hand suddenly press between your legs. You gasp loudly, your hips bucking at the touch. “Easy,” he murmurs soothingly against your skin, waiting until you settle. 

You can’t believe how quickly he’s already gotten you dripping. You’ve barely been on his lap a minute, and you’re already desperately turned on. 

His fingers move again, his index and middle fingers parted and rubbing slowly up and down your outer lips. “Fuck,” you gasp out, and he chuckles softly.

“Oh, I didn’t realize you had such a mouth on you,” he teases gently. 

You want to say something clever, something that’ll make him laugh that low, sexy laugh again, maybe even something that’ll have his cock twitching in his pants. But words are a bit beyond you right now, and so you very eloquently say, “Hnng.” 

You feel his jaw shift, as though he was going to speak, but he doesn’t. Instead, his fingers make another pass, nice and slow, up and down your outer lips, before gently parting you open. The cool air of the forest on your overheated, slick core has you stifling another curse under your breath. 

His index finger swipes through your slick as the other hand suddenly gives a pinch to your already hardened nipple, and you have to turn your head to stifle a cry into his neck. “Shh, sweetling, I know,” he murmurs, as though he weren’t the one making you lose your mind. He’s so warm behind you, and he smells so good, like the woods and clean sweat. 

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, all the while slowly, slowly dragging his touch through your dripping folds. You can feel your heartbeat in your clit. 

“You feel so good,” he rasps as he builds your desire. “So warm and wet for me…One day soon, I would like to take you properly, to feel all this around my cock.” As he finishes his words, the middle finger of his left hand slides slowly into you. You inhale sharply, your eyes nearly rolling back into your head at how good it feels to have someone else’s touch inside you. His finger is thick, nearly twice as wide as your own, and the feel of it makes your hips buck. 

He chuckles softly. “I know, sweetling,” he soothes, pressing a line of gentle kisses up the column of your throat. His right hand gives a soft tug to your nipple, before reaching across your chest to give the other the same treatment. The finger that’s inside you starts to move, gently pumping in and out of you, dragging against your walls…

Curses fall from your lips, muffled into the spot where his throat meets his jawline. You can feel him grin, glad to know that he’s doing a good job.

His right hand leaves your breast, tracing calloused fingertips down over your belly. You shiver hard, wrapping your hand around his bicep as you realize where he’s headed. His fingers slip through the soft hair at the apex of your thighs, down over your mound to your leaking slit. 

The first touch to your clit makes you hiss, and he eases up on his touch, brushing a kiss over your cheek in apology for being too harsh. He gently pets at you, testing, watching your reactions carefully to learn what touches are the best, what gives you the most pleasure. But once he figures it out…

“There we go,” he growls as you moan into his skin, unable to stop the sound that rips from your throat as he works you perfectly. His fingers slide wetly over your engorged clit just the way you like, his other hand pumps two fingers now into your drenched hole, rolling them to hit every sensitive spot you’ve got. You shudder and writhe on his lap, feeling yourself begin to sweat. 

You also feel his cock, fully hard now against your ass. He’s rumbling out soft groans next to your ear as your motions rub yourself on him. “P-Please…please, i-if you want, fuck me now,” you gasp out. 

You feel him growl at your words, and his fingers speed up their pace. “No, not now.” He nips at your ear gently. “Tonight is about you. Besides, I know in my heart if I have you now, your sweet body will be the only thing on my mind. I’ll want to do nothing more than take you, day and night…and we have too much to do for that, I’m afraid.” 

You make some sort of choking/wheezing sound in the back of your throat. You’re pretty sure that’s the sexiest thing anyone’s ever said to you. Your soaked walls clench around his fingers, and he growls again at the feeling. “F-Fuck, you…you can’t just say something like that and then deny me!” you gasp out. 

He chuckles, low and dark. “Apologies, sweetling. One day soon I’ll more than make it up to you. We shall be testing the limits of your stamina…but for now…” 

His fingers speed up, rubbing rapidly over your clit. He adds a third finger, stretching you wide around his massive digits, and you shriek his name. Almost as soon as the sound starts to leave your throat, he turns his head and kisses you deeply, muffling your noise. His tongue plunges into your mouth, tasting of the remnants of supper and something uniquely him, and you eagerly twine your tongue with his. 

You feel it, then, the sudden swoop in your lower belly. Your eyes snap open at the same time he feels your walls begin to flutter around his fingers. Your eyes meet his, those intense hazel orbs sharpening. He pulls away from your mouth, grinning in triumph. “There we go, that’s right…come for me!” 

You throw your head back on his shoulder as your pleasure builds and builds, your hips bucking into his hands. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream as, somehow, he speeds up even more, his fingers pounding into your cunt. He growls your name, you choke out his-

-and you nearly arch completely off of him as you explode. You howl your pleasure to the night air, lost completely to the torrent of fire and lightning rushing through your nerves. You barely hear Halsin, whispering encouragements and praise by your ear as he works you through it. “That’s it, sweetling, that’s it, soak my fingers. Oakfather preserve me, you feel so fucking good gripping me like that…” 

So lost you are in the throws of your orgasm you don’t see his eyes flash gold a couple times before he gets himself under control. You just writhe in the circle of his arms as he works you through it. 

When your movements begin to slow, so do his. He floats you gently down, down from the high he’d sent you soaring to just a few moments ago. You shudder and slump against him as he pulls his fingers from you, gasping for breath and shivering as the cool night air caresses over your sweaty skin. 

You hear him grunt suddenly, and you peel your eyes open just in time to watch him begin to lick your juices from his skin. You inhale sharply, your inner walls clenching hard around nothing at the sight of his tongue lapping you from his fingers. You watch, slack-jawed, as he licks every trace of you from his hand, and once he was done he smacks his lips. “You’re delicious,” he purrs, pressing his forehead to yours. “Next time you’d like help, I think I’ll take you apart on my tongue instead.” 

You shudder at his words, thinking about what he could do with that mouth. “K-Keep talking like that and I’ll be ready for round two right now.” 

He chuckles softly, brushing a kiss to your cheek. “Much as I would love to give you another one, we should get you to bed. We depart for the Underdark in the morning-you must get some rest.” He helps you to stand, then from a pocket in his trousers he pulls out a clean rag. 

You blink in surprise as he wipes at you gently, careful not to overstimulate you. “You…brought that with you? How did you know I’d say yes?” you ask, your thighs shaking a bit as he cleans you. 

“I didn’t.” He grins up at you, on his knees before your gently trembling body. “But in my years, I’ve learned that always coming prepared saves a lot of uncomfortable walks.” 

You snort, stifling giggles into your hand as he helps you into your smalls and pants. It’s quiet then as his fingers do up your laces, and then your belt. He gently pulls your shirt back down, tugging it into place, before he smiles softly to you. “If you ever need my help again, don’t hesitate to ask.” 

“Thank you. And I’m sorry for tomorrow morning, when I’ll inevitably be embarrassed that it happened at all,” you say with a soft grin. 

He can’t help but laugh, leaning down and brushing a fond kiss over your forehead. “I hope one day you’ll unlearn the shame. Now, let’s get back to camp.” He sweeps his hand back towards where the rest of your companions are hopefully still slumbering. 

You both walk in silence for a little while, before you pipe up. “Earlier, a little bit before I…finished, I could have sworn you were about to say something.” 

“Hm? Oh, that.” He grins, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’d uh…been having trouble talking through the pleasure. I was going to tease you a little, but the joke I’d settled on may have distracted you from my touch, so I kept it to myself.” 

“Oh?” You couldn’t help the curious, amused look up at him. “What were you going to say?” 

He sighs, looking embarrassed at himself now. “I was going to ask, ‘bear got your tongue’?”

You have to stop to lean against a tree, you're laughing so hard. He huffs at you, but he’s smiling, unable to find it in himself to be upset. You both bicker like old friends as you return to camp, no awkwardness at all between you. 

Of course, when you get back to camp and Astarion is sitting at the fire, obviously waiting for you both, you immediately blush as the vampire smirks knowingly. “Really, Halsin, you were supposed to be on first watch. I didn’t expect dereliction of duty from you.” He stands, languid grace incarnate, and starts to walk back to his tent. “Good thing I was awoken from my trance when something screamed out in the woods. Goodness knows what could have attacked us in our sleep!” 

He sounds of nothing but pure, pleased mischief. You’re left practically steaming in embarrassment, and before Halsin can say anything, you scuttle to your tent and tie yourself in. The huge druid sighs, shaking his head, but he can’t quite get rid of the fond smile on his lips as he settles back in for the rest of his watch. 

[zbase1]

smth spicy w the legal line pls literally anything LOL

i felt that LMAO also i wrote about random scenarios/headcanons for the hyung line, i really hope you like it !!

warnings: MINORS DNI. not smut, but highly suggestive. implied sex in all of them. jiwoong is a teacher, matthew is drunk, angst in taerae's part, there is swearing as always

jiwoong

— okay so i can definitely see jiwoong being a graduate ta (teacher's assisstant) for college

— grad ta!jiwoong gives you several concerned looks from the front of the room (literally 6 ft away from where you were)

— today was a bad day to sit in the front row of the classroom, because you were all hot and bothered

— behind the desk, your legs pressed together, trying to supress any unwanted, inappropriate thoughts about your hot teacher while he talked about the sternocleidomastoid muscle

— you definitely weren't supposed to be thinking about getting railed in your 9am anatomy recitation, yet here you were

— unfortunately for you, it didn't go unnoticed by jiwoong

— after he ended the class, you knew you had to get out of there as soon as possible

— as you're gathering up your supplies and getting ready to go to your next class, you see jiwoong approach you, crossing his arms across his chest

— "are you okay, y/n? you seemed a bit distracted today"

— his eyes show some concern, but mostly a teasing glance

— he KNOWS what he's doing to you

— "um yeah i'm okay, i was just a bit distracted by y- i mean by the temperature in the room i mean it's so hot in here today?? wait i mean-"

— before you could help it, you started rambling on and revealing more than you should

— an amused smile appears on his stupidly handsome face

— "y/n, why don't you stay a bit longer today? i can help you review for the test next week"

— all signs of flusteredness leaves your body at the tantilizing offer

— "well shit okay jiwoong. i'm a hands-on learner by the way" 😳

zhang hao

— you were in the music building of your college campus, fingers flying away on the piano in front of you in the practice room

— being a music major was not an easy task, but it was so rewarding to see your hard work pay off after a performance, and you loved every part about it

— the music department had decided to randomly pair the music students other for the first performance of the year

— out of all the people you could've been paired with, you happened to get assigned to zhang hao. your literal crush.

— it was pretty well-known around the music department that you and zhang hao had the hots for each other, but both of you were too preoccupied with your studies to make a move

— so you and fellow music major!zhang hao had been practicing for hours for the past week, trying to perfect the dynamics and details of the piece you guys were working on

— it was a bit embarrassing at times, since you specialized in the piano only, but zhang hao (who is undoubtedly a professional violinist but also somehow an exceptional pianist as well) would correct your techniques and skills

— you felt a bit belittled, but deep down you know zhang hao was genuinely kind-hearted and didn't have any bad intentions by trying to help you

— it also really didn't help that you had a huge crush on him, because it made you even more flustered and prone to making mistakes

— after working on a section for 20 minutes with no improvement, zhang hao sets his violin down and sits next to you on the piano bench, his body lightly brushing against yours

— as zhang hao places his hands on the piano keys to demonstrate, you try not to think about how pretty his hands are and how long his fingers are, and what they would feel like inside you

— "what did you just say y/n?"

— oh fuck. did you really just say your lewd thoughts out loud?

— you turn around to see a blushing zhang hao, his eyes not meeting yours and his hand awkwardly touching the back of his neck while chuckling

— "i'm really sorry if i made you umcomfortable hao i didn't mean-"

— zhang hao eventually holds a finger to your lips, effectively shutting you up

— he leans in closer until you feel his hot breath against your ear

— "you know, y/n, i can show you a different kind of fingering technique, if you know what i mean"

hanbin

— you and your boyfriend!hanbin had only been dating for three weeks

— it was still very early in your relationship, so when he invited you over to his place for the night, you were ecstatic

— understandably, since it was a milestone in the relationship

— hanbin is such a considerate and thoughtful guy

— he would keep asking you if you were comfortable staying over

— when you arrive at his door, he excitedly greets you and grabs your hand to pull you inside

— "y/n you're here ! i wanna show you everything !!"

— you return a smile and follow hanbin around

— he was so cute when he got excited, eyes sparkling and everything

— he gives you a full tour of the small but cozy apartment

— after the tour, homemade dinner, and cuddling while watching a movie on the sofa, it gets late

— "i dont know about you hanbin but i'm eepy"

— hanbin laughs and agrees, pulling you in for a kiss on the top of your head

— "oh hanbin, where do you want me to sleep?"

— "you can sleep in my bed y/n. we are dating after all."

— he must've seen the gears turning in your head

— "y/n, we don't have to do anything at all, please don't feel pressured to. i won't do anything until you're 100% ready, i promise. you can sleep on the sofa if that makes you feel more comfortable i can get you extra blankets-"

— "hanbin, what if i want to... do something?"

— he stops his sentence and smiles, reaching out to hold both of your hands

— "are you sure y/n?"

— "yes hanbin i want to."

— "you know.... my roommate matthew won't be home until tomorrow morning"

matthew

— frat boy!matthew was five and a half drinks in and starting to feel the alcohol kick in

— maybe it was the vodka cran coursing through his veins, but matthew was feeling bold tonight

— matthew didn't usually do hook ups with strangers, but you were an exception he knew he couldn't pass up on

— his best friend hanbin from besides him, notices how matthew kept looking at you from across the room

— "dude, go talk to them"

— sober matthew would have never even thought about it, but this wasn't sober matthew right now

— you were only two drinks in, fully aware of your surroundings and decisions, and felt your heart rate pick up as you saw the cute boy approach you with a charming smile on his face

— matthew shamelessly eyes you up and down the whole time you guys were talking

— the next thing you know, you're up against a wall in a corner of the frat house's upstairs, secluded from the rest of the drunk, sweaty college students

— matthew has you pinned up against the wall, his hands tangled in your hair while the two of you make out, eventually stumbling into a nearby bedroom

taerae

— having a special relationship with fwb!taerae had its perks but also its limits

— one of the limits being, you couldn't wear his clothes like you would if you had a real, committed s/o

— you know it was silly thing to be sad about, since this was what you signed up for, but it still hurt your heart whenever you think about how real couples share clothes

— it's 6:30am when you wake up in taerae's bed, naked, groggy, and disoriented

— you look over to see taerae soundly asleep, his hair messy and a serene expression on his face

— you knew you probably shouldn't stay any longer, so you quietly get out of bed, pick up your discarded clothes on the floor, and dress yourself

— for some reason you found your shorts and shirt, but couldn't find where your underwear went

— you think about grabbing a thin, white long-sleeved button-up out of taerae's closet to cover yourself up more, but decide against it since you know it was wrong to take something without asking

— "y/n, wait"

— looks like he already woke up

— although his hair is disheleved, he looks as cute as ever

— "i wanna give you something"

— you feel a rush of excitement at his words

— was he gonna give you one of his shirts???

— to your dismay, he hands you your crumpled up underwear from last night, mumbling a half-assed sorry

— "you don't want to keep it, taerae?"

— "no, it's fine y/n. also you don't need to wear underwear next time."

— your face heats up at his words and you nod your head in agreement

— there would for sure be a next time for a night of fun, but he'll never see you as someone he can be in a committed relationship with

[thebigbiwolf]

Starvin', Darlin' - Chapter 1

Pairing: Not quite friends to lovers Astarion x OC/F!Tav

Chapter Summary: Astarion knows his power is waning, and seducing their leader Evelyn has gone poorly at best. If he is to keep himself in the tiefling's good graces, he's left with no other options. He must drink from a thinking creature.

Everything goes according to plan... until it doesn't.

Fic Tags: Minor spoilers for Act 1, The Bite Scene, Emotional slow burn, Angst, Teasing, Frottage (god I'm sorry), Pining, This is my first ever fic so idk how to tag things appropriately but you get the gist.

Fic Warnings: Eventual Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Dubcon (I cannot stress this enough), Bloodlust/Loss of control, Mentions of blood, lmk if you need anything else tagged.

Word Count: 6.1k

Read on Ao3: Here

A/N: I started this as a way to get this fruity fuck out of my head but I think I just made the situation worse. If you know me, no you don't. If you've followed me for a long time, sorry in advance. I may make this a mini-series depending on time and reception, but we'll see! OC is a rogue who seduces men to gain their favor but we'll get to that in later chapters.

Astarion's trance did not come easily that night; his hunger manifesting as a throbbing headache that refused to subside. It had been hours of tossing and turning in his tent, willing his body to settle, forcing himself to ruminate on the past few weeks.

Before he joined this disgustingly merry little group of adventurers, hunting rabbits and the occasional boar had been enough to sustain him. In fact, dining on larger animals had been a significant upgrade from the meager flies and rats he’d become so accustomed to under his master’s rule, but that was before all of this incessant hard labor. 

He could feel his strength waning over the last several days. His senses were dulling, his reflexes numbed. Just this morning, he had failed to gain the upper hand with a particularly nasty kobold. He paid for it dearly when the damned thing all but pummeled him into the ground. 

Luckily, Lae’zel had been there, hammer at the ready to divorce its jaw from its head. Beautifully done, by the way, but his blunder did not go unnoticed. All this sneaking around for barely a nibble during his watch was beginning to take its toll.

Astarion knew he was on thin ice, considering his relationship with their fearless, incomparable leader began with him pulling a knife on her and grappling her to the ground -  in front of the damn wizard, no less. Some friction was to be expected.

But things hadn’t progressed much between the two of them since then. The pair rarely saw eye to eye on anything, and she seemed to have an innate passion for berating him over his unwillingness to stop for every single injured bird or helpless child as they traveled - as if playing the part of a hero was a favorable distraction from the literal time bomb in both their party and their heads. 

“The world is full of potential allies, Astarion,” she had told him, sprinkled with a hint of her usual irritation. “I’m simply expanding our network.” As if a group of starving refugees and mud-slinging tree huggers were going to find them a decent healer any sooner. At this point, he’d heavily considered taking his chances with the goblins. At least they knew how to have fun.

What made matters even more frustrating was that Evelyn was seemingly unaffected by his charms.

Just how exactly was he supposed to secure his place under her protection when the woman barely spared him a second glance? Surely he wasn’t losing his touch. He was a master of seduction. Thousands of others had thrown themselves at his feet for far less effort. He’s had centuries of practice. The mere notion would be ridiculous.

In fact, he couldn’t remember a single moment in the last two hundred years where his advances had been so callously brushed off. Every attempt to make her laugh with his (admittedly morbid) quips was met with her chastising him for being insensitive and making threats to send him back to camp. She dismissed every flirtation, even if her lovely little blush betrayed her. She seemed determined to make him play her little game. He just hasn’t quite figured out what the rules are, yet.

Astarion couldn’t afford to take any more chances. If sleeping his way into her good graces wasn't an option, he was left with little choice. He wanted to make himself indispensable, so he was going to have to take drastic measures to ensure that his strength and physical prowess would never come into question. At least, not again.

He would have to drink from a thinking creature.

The idea of it was as invigorating as it was terrifying. He had spent the last two centuries enduring unimaginable cruelty, starved in ways mortals couldn’t begin to imagine--for years--without any reprieve. 

No, starving doesn’t even scratch the surface. No words could ever describe the tortuous, gnawing, ravenous hunger that consumed his every waking moment under the heavy weight of Cazador’s boot.

Though, Cazador wasn’t here now, was he? 

Curious.

Astarion had spent some time ruminating on who to approach before settling on Evelyn, though his options were limited at best. The githyanki was entirely out of the question; gods forbid he get caught, she would make quick work of him without allowing him so much as a single word of explanation. Shadowheart was…tempting, but that mark on her hand frequently caused her pain, and who knows if that magic would have any affect on him or worse, her taste? And Gale, well, he would rather subsist on a diet of garlic sprinkled with holy water before he put his lips anywhere near that man.

So, Evelyn it was. The tiefling wasn't terrible to look at. She was a younger woman full of vitality, so surely she wouldn’t miss a bit of her blood. He would just have to mind the horns. 

He would be in and out. A quick nibble, then he'd be right as rain. One bite, he tells himself, barely enough to leave a mark. Then, he’ll pass it off and say that they had been attacked by bats during his watch and, not wanting to wake everyone, he quietly dispatched them and saved the day. Unfortunately, not before one of those wretched little beasts managed to puncture their illustrious hero. It was the perfect plan. Infallible. They'll eat it right up.

He continues passing through camp undetected, catlike in his silence, but when he reaches the canvas entrance of her tent ready to pounce, he freezes at the sight of her.

She looked…different while she slept. Softer, gentler, almost; surrounded by a nest of fur blankets, snoozing away instead of attacking his ego. Her hair was puddled beneath her head and horns like dark, red wine; rich and unrestrained by her usual loose bun. 

Another realization hits him: this is the first time Astarion has ever seen her in her sleep clothes, a simple basic black wrapping across her breasts. Practical. Of course.

Her skin is pale enough to rival his own, even with the warmth of the firelight. She’s lying on her side, her uncovered shoulder lightly dusted in freckles, much like her cheeks. Her lips are slightly parted, and in the silence of the night air, he can hear her light, even breaths.

Cute, he thinks to himself. He could almost forgive her for being so maddeningly aloof with a face like that. Almost. 

Astarion leans over to brush her hair away from her neck; the strands softer than he had anticipated. The thrum of her pulse underneath is magnetic. It pulls at his very being, beckoning him closer.

Settling on his knees beside her, his arms form a cage around her body.

He takes in the image of her form one last time and allows himself a moment to savor it. She is toned and lithe, much like himself, but smaller. Perfect. Delectable. 

He bends closer, feeling her gentle puffs of breath on his shoulder; the warmth of her body. His ears ring with anticipation; manicured nails clench the sheets by her head.

She’s going to be so-

Something brushes his leg, hidden beneath the furs.

Her tail. He forgot about her bloody tail.

Evelyn stirs, and fully awakens right as his teeth are at her throat, eyes meeting his. 

Shit.

“Shit.”

With incredible speed, she reflexively reaches for the dagger closest to her pillow, lunging at him. He just barely seizes her arm in time to save himself from being skewered.

“What in the hells are you-” he clasps his palm over her mouth to silence her.

The girl’s eyes are wild with panic, their golden hues burning a hole in his skull. He notices them flit down to where his body hovers over hers before she begins to struggle against him. “No, no, shh,” he whispers. “It’s not what it looks like, I swear.” 

Her expression shifts from panicked to confused. She ceases her squirming. Good. Well, not good, but better. He can work with this.

“When I take my hand away, you have to promise not to scream and wake the whole camp,” he continues, hushed, “unless you’d like for them to find us tangled up in your bedroll. You wouldn’t want to give them the wrong impression now, would you, darling?”

Her eyes widen. Her face flushes deep red, warming his palm against her skin.

There, he thinks, that should-

Her body turns, and suddenly he feels the hard edge of Evelyn’s knee make contact with the corner of his ribs. A direct hit. Pain shoots up his chest as he rolls off of her and onto his side, clutching himself and coughing, heaving air back into his lungs.

She hurriedly covers herself with her sheets, glaring at him as he struggles to collect his breath. He can see her fuming through the tears forming in the corner of his vision. If looks could kill, he’s sure she would have him skinned alive. Maybe use what's left of him to scare away the crows. 

She’s still holding the knife out toward him.

“What the fuck is wrong with you? What do you think you’re doing in here?” 

A fair question, one he was not prepared to answer. Perfect. He’s just going to have to wing this. Possibly with two broken ribs. He can’t believe he expected this to go any smoother.

“I-I wasn’t going to hurt you.” He raises a hand and falls back on his thighs with a grunt, grimacing in pain. His other clutches his side, a bit of sweat forming at his brow. “I just…” 

Okay, this is it. He’s got this.

“I just needed, well,” 

Aaaaand,

“Blood.”

There. Excellent form, Astarion. Good show.

“I - You needed what?”

She blinks at him, whether in disbelief or shock, he cannot say.

It takes a moment before his words start to sink in. She takes that time to scan over his body, purposefully. 

He couldn’t quite tell if she was looking for something or if she was deciding whether or not to believe him, but then again, what other explanation could he give? 

He works over his options in his head, considering just how difficult it would be to pass this all off as a terrible joke, but just as he’s about to open his mouth to start on damage control, he hears Evelyn heave a deep sigh. She lowers her weapon, then tosses it to the side, massaging her eyes in frustration. 

Oh. Well, alright.

After some time, he watches her expression soften into understanding as a few notable things dawn on her. He’s never really eaten any meals with them, has he? Then there was the drained boar, which he so carelessly left out by the road.  The damned beast hadn’t even taken the edge off that night, and he was so desperate to quell the nagging ache in his stomach that it lay there forgotten until she found it the next morning. He admitted to her himself that it had been drained by a vampire, after all…

A bit of silence follows.

Astarion doesn’t say a word, doesn’t dare move a muscle. He just allows her the time to process whatever she’s feeling. What’s important is that he’s still alive, she hasn't run him out of camp, and she hasn’t screamed for help. 

He may be able to salvage this, yet.

She scratches the back of her head, carding her fingers through her hair to ease her irritation before finally meeting his gaze.

“Astarion.” The sound of his name leaving her lips pulls him from his thoughts. He can see the disappointment on her soft features just as plainly as he can feel it humming through their psionic link. 

He didn’t think himself capable of guilt, but there was an emotion akin to it brewing within his chest. Ugh. He breaks eye contact, searching for anything to pull his attention away from his discomfort. The miscellaneous bags of clothing and trinkets she had scattered about her tent were just oh so fascinating. And was that a new hairbrush? Hm. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

He’s taken aback by her question. He expected a more offensive reaction. A few insults, maybe ones pertaining to his sharp teeth or bloodlust, but an olive branch?

After all the lies, the invasion of privacy, and the failed attempt at assault?

She really is just full of surprises.

“Well, we aren’t exactly close, you and I. Though, you must admit, I’ve made several attempts to…” He waves a hand between them for emphasis, “mend the gap, so to speak.”

“Well, have you ever considered maybe not being such an asshole?”

Ouch.

But in fairness, no.

“I…” He thinks carefully about what to say next. The buzzing behind his eye socket acts as a threat, reminding him of the very fragile barrier between their minds. Should she choose to dig her claws in and pry the information out of him, she may find more than he's comfortable sharing, so Astarion makes a decision that surprises even himself. 

He chooses to be genuine.

“At best, I was sure you’d say no. More likely, you’d ram a stake through my ribs.” He gestures towards the dagger at her side. “But believe me, I’m not some monster. I’ve never killed another person.”

Evelyn raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Well, not for food,” he quickly corrects. “I’ve been subsisting on animals. Boars—like the one you found the other day—deer, kobolds, whatever I can get my hands on.”

“And what exactly was the plan here? You were just going to kill me and expect the others not to notice?” 

He recoils at the accusation but fights to keep his expression neutral. “I had no intention of killing you. I would never do such a thing.” He leans in closer to her and lowers his voice, as if letting her in on a secret. “We need each other.” 

Evelyn shifts to lean her weight on her arm as she listens, dark hair falling to the side of her shoulder. With the new level of exposure, he can hear her pulse settling into a more comfortable rhythm. 

He swallows. Hard. His hunger is rearing its ugly head again, just at the sound of her.

Oh well, might as well lay all the cards out on the table while we’re at it.

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself, and continues, “As it stands right now, I’m too slow. Too weak. If I just had a little blood, I could think clearer. Fight better.” There is a question hidden in his words, a favor to be asked.

She seems pensive as she considers him, mulling over everything he’s said in her mind. She lifts a thumb to her mouth and starts nibbling on her nail, no longer looking at him. Nervous too, no doubt. How could she not be with what he’s asking of her, as if he had any right to ask in the first place? 

“I understand you detest me, but-”

Evelyn appears to snap to some conclusion, sitting up straighter and placing her arms to her sides before she responds.

“No, I should detest you, Astarion, but I don’t. You just don’t impress me.”

Wow.

It feels as though he’s been slapped. He barks out a laugh that’s a bit too loud for the intimate setting, trying to mitigate the damage to his ego. “Excuse me?”

She has the nerve to shrug at him. “I’ve seen every trick you’ve used to fill your little black book, probably a thousand items over. I’ve used them all myself. So, frankly, I'm uninspired.”

For the first time in his undead life, he’s totally speechless. His face contorts in indignation, disbelief. This devil.

There is something dangerous in her expression as she leans further forward, neck tilted, exposing herself to him. Her eyes are hooded, with long lashes casting shadows over her cheeks. Her shoulders relax as she lifts her chin to stare down her nose at him, sneering. 

He works his jaw, clenching the muscles unconsciously.

“Astarion, men are idiots. I’ve spent my entire adult life toying with them and robbing them blind. I’ve heard and seen it all. You really believed a few empty praises and mediocre jokes would have me jumping into bed with you? 

Wha- Mediocre?

He opens his mouth with every intention of retaliating, but Evelyn’s palm unexpectedly rests itself on his calf, and the action stuns him into silence. She begins leisurely dragging her nails up towards his thigh. 

His body responds involuntarily; eagerly, frustratingly, the delicate little motion leaving his skin prickling with excitement. 

She regards his chest, admiring the hard planes of muscle. Then, her attention slowly inches down the toned curve of his abs until, finally, they stop at where his cock hardens disobediently beneath his pants.

“Your pretty face doesn’t detract from the fact that you’re still just a man.”

It finally clicks.

She’s baiting him, attempting to get a rise out of him. 

Hm. Impressive.

Normally, at this point in her little game, he assumes most men would take her flirtations at face value. They would likely mistake this performance as an enthusiastic plea to bed her, but Astarion is not like most men. He sees her little game for what it is and recognizes it with ease because he has spent lifetimes playing it himself.

She leans back, satisfied with her little show, and smirks at him.

“So, you admit I have a pretty face?” He teases, his own smile twisting, becoming more mischievous.

She rolls her eyes, but this time she laughs. It’s a soft sound, genuine.

A pinkish hue crawls up her face and paints the tips of her pointed ears, but he can’t discern if that's supposed to be part of the act or, more likely, an unfortunate side-effect of the living experience. He’s finding it hard not to admire her dedication, regardless. 

Well, that’s quite enough of that. Back to business, then.

“It’s settled,” Astarion clasps his hands together, “I’ll just need to impress you with my more eclectic talents if I am to earn your favor. We can start by gracefully slaughtering a few goblins, depending on how the rest of tonight goes. Which is entirely up to you, of course.”

The tiefling squints at him. “Oh no, if you want something from me, darling, you’re going to have to ask politely. With manners. You have those, don’t you? Familiar with them, at least?”

Under normal circumstances, he would find this amusing; nothing like a little role reversal to spice up the evening. But this feels different, heavier, as if her feigning indifference will alleviate the weight of what he's asking of her.

Fine. He supposes relinquishing a little bit of his pride is a fair price to pay.

He takes a deep breath. "Please." 

"Please, what?" She lifts an eyebrow at him expectantly. "Come on, Astarion. Use your words. I know you’re quite fond of them."

He scoffs at her shamelessness, and for a moment, he honestly considers whether this is worth it, but he can't back out now. He'll make it through this, surely. He's been through worse. 

Through gritted teeth, he barely spits out, "Please, may I drink from you?" 

Gods. He's going to be sick.

"Good boy. That wasn't so hard, was it?" 

He’s going to fucking kill her.

There is an uncomfortable silence that follows. So many unspoken questions and a rising suspense that makes Evelyn adjust herself uncomfortably where she sits. Astarion is also musing to himself, still wondering how it's all come to this. Why did he choose her, again? Something about her not killing him right away? Death may have been preferable to this, actually, but he is pulled back to reality when she finally speaks up.

“So," she's picking lint off one of her pillows, avoiding his gaze as she asks, "how exactly should we do this?”

Well, it occurs to him that he doesn’t actually know. He understands the mechanics behind it, of course, but how exactly were they supposed to go about this?

Should he tell her that he’s never actually fed from a person before? Would it make her more or less comfortable to know that he’s just as clueless about this as she is? 

No. He decides against it. Astarion has always done best when he’s playing the role of the confident seductor. This should be no different. He’ll just treat this as if he’s bedding a virgin: guide her, take things slow, and she’ll no doubt be begging him for more soon enough. It’ll be easy. All she has to do is behave.

“Lie back and get comfortable.”

He moves himself closer to her, settling at her side as she does what she’s told. The flap of the tent remains open, letting in the faintest amount of warmth and illuminating Evelyn’s features. With such close proximity, he can see the gold flames within her irises flickering and dancing, a genetic trait attributed to some luckier members of her race, and a feature of her’s that Astarion would have never otherwise noticed. 

He can hear her pulse quickening as he closes the space between them, lifting himself a bit to settle above her, once again caging her between his arms. One of his knees parts her legs, and he can tell in the quietness of her tent that she’s struggling to hide her uneven breaths. Her stare is intense, but he can’t read the meaning behind it.

He decides to give her another out, just in case. Better safe than sorry. 

“We don't have to do this, you know,” his voice is composed, as if his body wasn't currently screaming with anticipation. “I appreciate the consideration, regardless.” 

“I’m fine.” Her response is clipped, dismissive. Her face remains stoic though her fingers fidget with the blankets at her sides. She had moved the furs to give him better access to her body. The darkness inside him preens at the concept.

Best get on with it, then.

He leans down and, unable to help himself, takes in the scent of her: woodsmoke and the faintest hint of vanilla, which he had watched her pick up from a merchant in the grove just the other day. “For Gale’s cooking,” she amended, when he gave her a questioning look.

He gives her one more moment to stop him.

She doesn’t.

A bit of pressure on the skin before it snaps and gives way, his fangs finally sinking into her. He can feel Evelyn’s body tense at the sudden intrusion. She hisses through gritted teeth, her arms involuntarily raising at her sides, reaching for him, but she stops herself before she touches him. He wants to tell her it's fine, expected, even, the need to ground herself, but all of his higher thoughts are plunged into complete chaos when he finally registers her taste. 

Every cell in his body awakens.

The iron flavor of her floods his throat and sets his nerves ablaze. Its heat fills, expands, and splits every crack in his self control into deep, cavernous fissures. 

A groan escapes Astarions throat before he has the chance to quell it. Of course it would be like this - drinking from a thinking creature. Drinking from her. He understands now why Cazador forbade this. Before, he had assumed it was a matter of keeping his spawn weak and compliant, but this was entirely different. This was far more than a method of control. The bastard had been withholding ecstasy greater than he’d ever known.

A feeling swells in him, crashing like waves through his veins. Warmth. It invades him and fills every fiber of his being. He wasn’t naive enough to believe his first time wouldn't have some sort of great, emotional impact, but this? 

This was everything. How was he ever supposed to come back from this?

"Agh - Astarion," he barely registers her pathetic little whine through the haze. She finally allows herself to grab onto him, the loose sleeve of his nightshirt tightening in her fist. For purchase, he tells himself with what little is left of his consciousness, practical. That is until he lowers himself fully onto her in an attempt to relieve the strain on his biceps.

With no space left between their bodies, he doesn’t anticipate the blazing heat of her core on his thigh, even through the several layers of clothing. She gasps at the sudden pressure,  fingers twitching, nails digging little crescent shapes into his skin. What surprises him most, though, is when the taste in his mouth melts into a flavor so much sweeter. 

Something primal within him recognizes it instantly; it twists in his gut and sits there heavily, as if the emotion were his own: arousal.

Oh.

She is burning for him.

Good.

After all of that teasing, the woman he’s spent weeks enduring endless lectures from actually does desire him, or at the very least desires his body. Which is just as favorable, in his opinion. It’s just nice to know all his hard work hasn’t gone to waste. 

If she lets him live, he's going to spend every waking moment tormenting her over this. His lips vibrate against her skin as he chuckles to himself, causing some of her blood to run down his chin in hot rivulets, blooming new stains onto her sheets. 

He knows he’s had enough. He means to let go, he truly does, lest he end up draining their groups' only hope of survival. Surely that wouldn't go over well with their companions. Pitchforks, and all that. 

But her whimpering, her heat, coupled with the ferocity of his hunger, all provoke a feeling that has been building beneath the surface which he’s unable to name; it's desperate and possessive, a predator guarding its kill from hungry scavengers. The monster in him casts a dark shadow over his mind as he feeds. His body no longer feels as though it is his own, betraying him; a slave to the demands of his appetite. 

He needs her, needs all of her, and he cannot will himself to stop, too lost in sensation and the sound of her mewling to bow to his higher thinking. 

He mindlessly rocks his weight into her and grunts—a slow, unintentional grind against her mound. The motion comes easy to him, like breathing - instinctual. The blunt edge of his clothed cock drags deliciously through her parted thighs. Evelyn’s breath hitches at the feeling, her squirming beneath him giving him the sickest form of satisfaction, but the animal within him demands her compliance.

His hand gathers her loose hair and pulls, growling, warning her to keep still. She whines at the force, back arching. The other grabs her arm, pinning it down, and tightens, thumb gently stroking against her wrist.

"Astarion,"

She’s no doubt making a mess in her smallclothes as she quivers beneath him, all flushed cheeks and furrowed brows. She may deny it later, but her taste tells him everything he needs to know.

Her body is burning against his cool skin, and her gasps are only spurring him on. He laps at the wound, dragging his tongue up the length of her throat, indulging himself in her. It's too much. 

He feels her pulse weakening, her rhythm slowing.

It isn't enough. 

He's about to latch on to her again, teeth at the ready and blinded by his eagerness, when he suddenly feels a piercing sensation behind his eye - the tadpole, he assumes, writhing in panic. Screeching at him to open himself to it. The discomfort is just enough to pull him back into his body. Then Evelyn's voice invades his mind. 

‘Astarion, enough!’

He disentangles his limbs from hers, practically jumping off of the poor woman. He’s gasping for breath as he comes to his senses, the mix of her blood and his saliva staining his lips pink. It dribbles down his chin. He wipes his face with the back of his knuckles and licks them clean.

But then, the cold realization of what he’s done is thrust upon him like a bucket of iced water, shocking him back to the present. He’s going to need to come up with one hell of an apology to get himself out of this one. Or maybe he should just run? Baldur’s Gate is really only a few weeks travel at most. 

“Shit,” he whispers, more to himself than to her. "Are you alright, dear?"

Evelyn's eyes meet his. Her pupils are blown, almost entirely overtaking the gold of her irises when she glances away from him to assess the damage.

"Gods damn it," she quietly groans and applies pressure to the wound, thankfully finding that it isn't too deep or particularly painful. She tends to it, wiping the thin sheen of sweat from her brow. She searches for a rag as she avoids his concerned stare

A deep purple bruise spreads across her pale skin. Small red droplets trickle down the length of her nape, dampening her black breast band before soaking into it and disappearing entirely. He collects himself, willing his mind to cease its incessant urge to lick the damned liquid from her neck. She is flushed and sweating, unbalanced, panting from exertion as much as her own embarrassment. Her dark hair is a tangled mess from his attention. She looks ravaged. 

It… suits her.

Astarion clears his throat, trying his best not to get caught admiring his handiwork.

She was right about one thing. He was, at least in some respects, just a man... 

“Here,” he insists, grabbing one of the smaller furs and holding it up to her. She takes it from him without acknowledgement.

“I -” He begins, but he’s at a loss for words. What does one say in this situation? ‘My sincerest apologies. I don’t know what came over me! I must have gotten swept up in the moment!’ as if that pitiful excuse would overshadow the fact that he manhandled and almost devoured her.

He wants to laugh, but the sound dies in his throat.

He begins to worry that she really may not forgive him. He fears she'll wake the whole camp, or maybe finally cast him out like the monster he is. He wouldn't blame her. She took a great leap of faith in trusting him with this, and he rutted against her like some horny bugbear. Or worse, a teenager, he sneers.

Evelyn pulls the rabbit skin away from her neck, examining it. The brown hairs are matted and crimson, but the bleeding has stopped. She runs her fingers over the puncture marks, feeling the skin dip slightly where his fangs pierced her. She sighs with resignation, surely thinking about how the others will approach her with a plethora of questions tomorrow morning, face reddening at the idea.

“You could have warned me, you know.” She rolls her eyes at him. “I didn’t realize I was agreeing to…all of that.” 

His heart sinks. 

Of course she thinks it was on purpose. I mean, look at him. He’s all but thrown himself at her since the moment they met. He’s spent this entire time playing the part of the rake. It's only natural she assumes the worst.

“Evelyn, darling,” speaking her name aloud brings her focus back onto him. 

The gravity of it is suffocating, condensing the already small space they shared. The tension pulls at something undefinable within him that he thought was long dead—a sincerity that betrays the character he’s been crafting for as long as he can remember. 

It sways him.

More truths to forgive more transgressions, then. A fair transaction.

“I’ve had this condition for over two centuries, but, truth be told,” he clears his throat again, because ugh this is awful. And why does she have to stare at him like that, with her earnest, wet eyes? “You were my first. I’ve only ever fed on beasts.” 

The implication is there: how could he have known?

His confession takes her by surprise. “You don’t…” she pauses, taking everything that transpired tonight into consideration. He must be giving her a look akin to pleading, because she takes mercy on him and disregards whatever question she was about to ask. 

“Please tell me you didn’t do that to the boar.”

Seriously, a joke?

He barks out a laugh before he can stifle it. Whether it's from the sheer ridiculousness of the question or the disbelief towards her acceptance of it all, he truly doesn’t know.

“No, my dear. Just you, and you were delectable.”

Her expression is difficult to read. She’s not looking at him; refuses to, when she replies, “So then, did it work?”

Astarion moves to stand, peering down at her form. He exhales in relief, feeling as though he is a century younger. His muscles are lax; all the stress has been drained from his body. A novel experience. “Yes, I would say so. I feel stronger. My mind is clear. I feel…happy.”

He adds the last word in an effort to appease her, but it does ring true. His main source of joy since he contracted this affliction has been causing others pain, ripping out throats and such. This feels distinctly different, less exhilarating, but pleasant all the same.

“Well, I look forward to seeing you fight.” 

He acknowledges her, then stretches his back out, extending his arms to the sky with his hands clasping behind his head. The motion pulls the rest of his nightshirt out of his trousers and tugs it upward, exposing the hard edges of his hips. He can’t confirm it, but he swears he sees her eyes flit quickly towards them before making an expeditious retreat.

“Shouldn’t take long. So many people need killing.” He lifts the flap of her tent to peek outside. No sign of anyone stirring, and the night is still young. Knowing the wildlife in this area, he may still have a chance to sate himself. With his newfound strength, he may even be able to wrangle up a bear. What a feast that would make.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.” He bows his head to her in thanks. 

He’s about to step outside, one foot exits the canvas before the rest of him, when it hits him that he feels…odd, uncomfortable leaving her like this. He can’t place his finger on why. He’s ridden atop many women and left without saying a word.

But, he supposes this is dissimilar.

Evelyn listened to him tonight, heard him out when anyone else would have carved him into pieces without second thought. She let him drink from her, forgave him for getting…carried away. 

The most shocking part of it all is that regardless of her dismissiveness, he now undeniably knows that she’s attracted to him. Yet, she didn’t capitalize on the opportunity when it arose to take advantage of his altered state; of his needs. With that, she’s shown him more kindness in the last hour than he’s experienced in his entire undead life. 

He likely owes her for this, of course, but there are worse fates he could endure.

The elf looks over his shoulder at her and catches her watching him intently, as if she wants to continue this conversation but can’t quite figure out what she wants to say. The intensity of her gaze almost forces him to turn back towards her, drawn to her by an unfamiliar ache; a thrill in his spine, the compulsion pulling at his chest like some sort of spell.

“This is a gift, you know.” The words escape him, hanging in the air between them with raw authenticity. He means to make himself sound more frivolous, but before he can edit them in his head, more truth spills from his lips, “I won’t forget it.”

His throat tightens. He considers her for a moment, wondering what he might find if he does turn to meet her eyes.

But, Astarion resists.

She must be exhausted. He shouldn’t take up any more of her time.

He leaves before she can respond. There wasn’t anything left for them to discuss, and he’s desperate to break free from the uneasy weight of her presence.

The second he steps fully outside, he feels as though he can breathe again, not that he needs to, being undead and all. 

What a strange feeling, that was. 

One he decides he’d rather forget. Best to not burden himself too much with it.

The taste of her lingers on his teeth. He finds himself savoring it for a moment too long before stalking towards the forest, confident. Ready to hunt. 

[decaydanceredacted]

pete fighting uhh pinning him down. and uhh. pussy. yeah. so like. Sorry i went on a rant i’ve been stuck on this specific thought for days and i thought i’d save it to submit it. :-)

to start off, pete’s a good fight, honestly. he’s physically strong and relatively little - so he can move pretty quick and hit pretty hard. so its pretty hard to get him down onto the ground, but not too bad. it’s some deserted parking lot, the van blocks the streetlamp from really lighting us up. so i get him on his back. he’s probably dressed in something skimpy, because he’s a whore, and his hair is probably all messed up. he hasn’t had the chance to fuck with it in a few days, so its curled up at the edges from sweat. he’s grimy. sweaty. probably smells terrible. but he kinda looks pretty like this - sort of grouted at the seams. he’s very pretty, actually. his lips don’t get any less plush just because his teeth are bared (nice teeth too, by the way).

also, he’s got a collar on. because he’s a whore? i mean obviously. it’s simple black leather, a single strap around his throat with a couple studs. he’s been wearing it all day and nobody has even questioned it. so, he’s pinned down. arms under his waist just enough to restrain him, with my knee on his stomach, the other up by his hip. he’s squished in half, his thigh got caught between my legs and is now resting sort of over my hip. i’ve got a hand on his chest to keep him down, the other grabs at his collar before i can think of anything smarter to do. if he wasn’t more aware of his loss, he’d probably have tried to bite at me.

the part of this i’ve really been stuck on all day is telling him something like “down, boy” or “heel” or “don’t bite, hound” or really anything that would remind him he’s a puppy to me. (have you seen the guy? have you heard him talk? he’s a doggy!) and watching how he would sort of melt under it. relax back into the concrete just enough to tell me he’s given up. (usually, people would simply dismount (?) him at this point. but i unfortunately need to fuck him so bad that my head hurts when i think about his pussy so. here we are.) since he’s scrunched in half, his belt is pretty easy to undo, and there’s really no reason to be gentle about it - so i think i’d get his jeans up to about midway on his thigh (i would have to take my knee off his tummy but that isn’t really a problem because he’s not gonna fight back.)

he’s a fucking loser. not only because he’s a nerdy sorta freak, but because he lost the fight and he’s being undressed on perhaps the dirtiest concrete in all of the midwest, several hours after dark. non-losers would be at a party, or maybe asleep. (so, basically, he’s fucking embarrassed. a little guilty. kinda like the face doggies give you when they know they shouldn’t have done something, and they just did it in front of you.)

pete’s teary, flushed, and doing his very best to avoid the embarrassment of eye contact right now. because his pants just came off, and the shitty boxers he’s wearing are absolutely soaked through because his dumb ass can’t even get called a bitch without needing to jerk off after. (he nearly came in his pants the second he was on the ground. it’s loser behavior.)

i’d probably be actively making fun of him for it, too. like “jesus christ, dude, one punch and you’re wet through your panties?” or maybe tugging the collar and making a joke about how he must be in heat. follow it up with quite literally any sentence containing the word breed and he’s out of his mind.

i need to shove his boxers up and spread his cunt open. brush his t-dick as gently as i can just to watch him squirm. start off with one finger, dragging it in and out at a pace that would definitely make him whine. (or, try to get up so he can take over - only to be shoved back down by a hand on his throat.) (i want to feel his insides. he’s gotta be super worked up, so no matter how you’re touching him, he’d be twitching.) while he’s probably yipping up a storm (because he’s a puppy! yip yip woof!) i’d take the opportunity to get a second finger in and start on a moderate pace. two fingers, not even going that fast, and he’s losing his fucking mind. uselessly babbling and trying to shove his hips down onto my hand.

absolutely nothing going through his head, i’m sure. if anything, probably some word-soup that ends up only consisting of “puppy, please, cum” or something of that nature. not a single sentence or complex thought. i wanna watch him cum his dumb puppy brains out. barely able to move but thrashing around anyway. i’d get a hand on his collar and pinch it just a little tighter when i feel his cunt start to seize up. (i think he’d start silently, or maybe just with a mumble (something like “fuck, i’m cumming, m’ gonna cum.” again. no complex thought in that thing!) and then devolve into whining as loud as humanly possible. borderline barking. cause. yeah. you get the gist. woof.) i wanna watch him shaking and trying to compose himself after - eyeliner running down his face, red cheeks, bloody lip from our fight.

i feel like this is already too long so i’ll leave rhis one here and maybe come back later to put another incredibly long psot int he askbox. You know what it’ll be. i’ll be fucking that band guy that barks

-⚙️ gear anon :-)

.

[brighter-by-the-daly]

Millie Bright x Reader

Around If You Need Me

Part of the Beth McCarthy mini series

Omg Did She Call Him Baby?

Did he fuck it up again?

I know that she needs a friend

But I want to be more than that

He's her type, he's a ten

When he messages I bet

Unlike me he doesn't get left unread

“Hey! What ya doing tomorrow, I haven’t seen you in ages?” you asked as soon as Millie answered the phone. “Oh hey (y/n/n), I’m out at the moment, can I call you back later?” her reply full of distraction. “Of course, yeah.. that’s fine, speak soon!” There wasn’t a reply as the line abruptly hung off after that. Flopping back onto the bed disappointed, Millie never has time for you anymore and you’re starting to wonder why you keep trying. Going back to mindlessly scrolling TikTok and playing games on your phone while murder documentaries played out on the TV in front of you. You hadn’t left your bedroom in days and had taken the plunge to ask Millie for a coffee after not hearing from her in weeks. She was your best friend but you felt like you weren’t hers anymore. If she needed anything you’d drop everything just to be there for her but that was rarely reciprocated lately. You pretended to understand, she is an international footballer these days and you just have a boring 9-5 in an office, leaving you loads of spare time to miss her.

Drawing your eyes away from your phone and towards the clock you were shocked to see it was midnight, you’d been so focussed on your phone and waiting for a call back which never happened. Again. Feeling deflated you brushed your teeth and got ready for bed, even though you’ve been laying on it all weekend.

The next morning you still had zero notifications from Millie, you know she can be forgetful so decided to text her. After writing and deleting several messages before settling on “be good to catch up x”, pressing the send button before you changed your mind again. With a mouth full of sandwich on your lunch break you were starting to feel a bit forgotten by your best friend come ex. Oh yeah, you used to date but it was only for a month. She was experimenting and let’s just say that that experiment didn’t go the way you had hoped. It wasn’t an experiment for you, you’d known you liked women from an early age and Millie kinda took advantage of that. No sooner after she called it off she got with her now boyfriend who’s she’s been with for about six months. That’s when she started to distance herself from you. You used to hang out all the time but now your messages get left on read and when they are replied to, it’s always days.. sometimes weeks later and every time it’s - “sorry I forgot”. Fair enough, she’s a busy lady but you don’t just forget your best friend exists do you? Millie is everyone’s friend yet she was your only friend so you’d been clinging on to the threads of the friendship that was left, always over thinking if you were being naggy or possessive or wasting your time, should you just let her go?

Weeks passed and you’d still hadn’t heard from her, you’d started to come to terms with that fact you’ll never be as close as you once were. Every year she always messages on your birthday so when you received a 10 second phone call of “hey, can I come over?” you literally ran home from the restaurant where your family had taken you to celebrate.

Answering the door excitedly to see her face didn’t feel like you’d imagined as she immediately started ranting about what her boyfriend’s done wrong. She wasn’t there to wish you a happy birthday, she was there because she needed someone to moan to. Nevertheless, you made tea and listened to her for hours until she noticed the cards on the window sill. Picking one up to read it was addressed to you and quickly glancing at her watch to look at the date. “Oh my god, I completely forgot!” she gasped clunking her tea cup onto the table and scooping you into a hug. You knew in your head that a hug shouldn’t make up for forgetting your birthday, but it made your heart a little happier.

Millie cleared her schedule to spend the rest of the day with you, it felt nostalgic watching films and playing with the dogs, drinking tea in the garden and listening to her sharing all the gossip. That was until she received a text from her boyfriend apologising for his earlier actions and inviting her on a date. Running to your wardrobe and flying the doors open to look at the clothes you had hanging there she started to unhook the hangers, look at them for two seconds then chuck them onto the bed - making a huge mess you knew she wasn’t going to tidy. That was until she found a dress you’d been saving for a special occasion and before you could say ‘no’, she’d already stripped out of her trackies and slipped the slinky black number over her body.

“This is perfect!” she exclaimed admiring herself in the mirror. Sighing at how good she looked, you didn’t have the heart to tell her that dress was off limits, even though you knew you’d never see it again. “Can I borrow your make up? Can you straighten my hair?” shoving your straighteners into your hands without giving you a choice in the matter. Reluctantly helping her get ready because you just wanted to make her happy, the voice in the back of your head knew she was taking the piss but your heart just didn’t let you stop. Gazing at her through the mirror as she applied your make up to her face, she paid no attention to your wandering eyes as you longed for her to feel the same way you do. The way her hair falls in exactly the right place, the way the dress clings to her curves perfectly, the way the colour makes her skin glow. You knew what her lips taste like and you’d been searching for that flavour in every woman you’ve kissed since.

“Do you have shoes to go with this?” she asked, snapping you out of your daydream. “Mill, you outgrew my shoes in year 7, don’t you remember?” you said putting your size 5s next to her size 8s. “Hmm, that’s annoying… I’ll just have to make these work” slipping her £400 trainers back on to her feet before leaving your bedroom like a bomb site. “Do you think he’ll like it?” she asked admiring herself in the mirror, “of course he will, he’s not blind Millie” you said trying to hide how deflated you were. Following her downstairs she bought you in for one last hug, “thanks (y/n/n), I can always count on you” as she walked out to the car parked up outside your house. “Oh! Happy birthday by the way!” she waved as she was driven away from you.

Watching her leave you knew, things had to change. You can’t carry on being so available and dependable to her every time she calls. A friendship isn’t a friendship if it’s one sided.. but how many times have you told yourself that before?

[cathalbravecog]

Hi! I'm kinda shy but I love your vintage finish on your work. Would you consider offering pointers for how to achieve that vibe?

oh, absolutely!! i love that sort of style and i think more people should be able to achieve it if they want!! shouldn't gatekeep art stuff ^^ i don't really do vintage style stuff a lot, and i take more comic book/print/retro inspo than anything. but, these go hand in hand!! please know i am still learning, too! this is just how i do it.

also, there's a lot of guides for this online and tools... that you have to purchase. i can assure you everything listed here is free! (including my pirated SAI2 copy!) some things have donations available towards the artists that made them, so you can do that if you want to support an artist :D

i'll go over basically everything i know, so this WILL get long! i also spent hours going over several days searching for resources, so i'll list everything so you don't have to ^^

(PART 1/2 BECAUSE OF IMAGE LIMITATIONS!!! PART 2 SHOULD BE WRITTEN SOON AFTER THIS ONE!! reblog THAT once it's done!)

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THE ART ITSELF / INSPIRATIONS:

for the ARTSTYLE and WHAT you draw: you can just draw whatever!! really, do your own thing! twist this style in your own way, it doesn't have to be a 100% accurate!! i literally used these same vintage look effects in a drawing drawn in my usual style of high roller. you can draw anything you want and you don't need to copy comicbook styles or all that!!

or - you CAN take inspo from vintage comic books / artwork or other printed comics! (for me tom and jerry comes to mind as something with a toony style, since it's what i read as a kid. also donald duck comics! no need to follow this but if you wanna be extra you can! ^^ looking at inspo is good.)

however you will need to look at examples aside from just the Artstyle, to achieve the actual Look!!

here's some examples pics i took of some comics i own laying around in a shelf. these are mixed ages, the asterix and ducktales comics being older and the tom and jerry comic being newer. i have some oldies since i got them passed down! czech text + asterix jumpscare, sorry.

to move on from the artstyle talk fully and more to the general style/look part - notice how the tom and jerry has brighter colors, less dirt, and an overall better quality!!

one thing i want you to note, in older prints there's obvious color misprinting and imperfections! you may chose to do this, or don't! depends what kind of era or printing you wanna reference. of course, also keep in mind the veeery limited CYMK colors they had Back In The Day. also note the dirt!!! how some parts are lighter and more chipped and how it isn't a full block of color!!

a lot of this does parrot posessedpasm's own guide, which i HIGHLY recommend! it's where i got a jump-start on things. there's other things listed on their post, which you should give a read! goes over history of some things that will let you have a better understanding of stuff.

speaking of inspo and on the topic of posessedpasm, before we move on - they're one of my biggest inspirations for this! their art is incredible and i think it's important to look at other artists' take on these styles. go out there and look at other artists who draw in a similar style achieving the same retro look!!! (no but genuinely i could look at posessedpasm's art forever... i love just looking at it and studying it!! i want what they have... but i'm not gonna gush now!)

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ACTUAL TECHNICALITIES / HOW THE FUCK DO I DO IT ???:

FIRST, LINEART!!: i choose a brush that's somewhat fluttery and resembles ink at least a little bit, instead of a basic round brush. here's the brush i used, for any sai2 users. i'll show my krita faves after!!

(note brush size, gets fuzzier the bigger it is)

and the krita alternatives! i don't do inking / lineart in krita in 99.9% of my art unless i'm experimenting. but there's some great brushes you can find online to use! here's links to the ones on screen

tomb of null

buck a. brush

ramonm inktober (he just presents it but since it's his post i named it that) (download link is on the video!)

that alone already gets the lineart look just a bit. but it's not all! krita is especially useful for this, as sai doesn't have this function. (but i find my way around it

here's a WIP screenshot i took while drawing that piece VS the final piece!

you may notice the lineart is "chipped" away in some spots. printing always wasn't perfect and created some imperfections, that may smudge and chip away as time goes on.

HERE'S A GUIDE FOR IMITATING THAT!!!!

what i do, is simply create a clipping layer on the lineart. (typically i do the lineart, then color, THEN do lineart effects, but this is just for show) (i also usually have a set, typically orange/yellow background color picked already, but i haven't done that here for Whatever Reason)

set it to "erase" layer mode... (and click the little "a" to actually clip it to the layer. you could also just make a quick clipping group that does it for you!)

and draw over the lineart! (preferably with a highly textured "dirty" brush!) the erase clipping layer will only erase the lineart, and nothing underneath it. you can change the opacity up and down to adjust the erasing... you can add more erase layers to play with the effect a little!

what i then do (sometimes), i ctrl+e the lineart group to one layer. i copy it. i ctrl+z to go back to keep the group if needed. i paste the copied lineart underneath it. i add a blur filter, shift it to be slightly off from the lineart by a few pixels, and set it to "burn". i may change the color to be a very dark orange-ish brownish color. gives an effect of the lineart bleeding a little!

COLORING!!:

color: okay so for this part i just kinda bullshit it and either pick whatever colors i want, or i color pick them from this image below then slightly alter if i need a different color. i do not have the patience to do my own cymk layer management digitally, just adding my effects can take OVER an hour and i have a way that looks nice Without It. i either fake my color misprints later or i just don't do it. still stuff to consider!

(taken from posessedpasm's guide! this is how i colored my sticky lou drawing. usually i will just pick my own colors and yellow them/dim them slightly.)

how do i do it: i color in sai using my usual brush or the one i showed previously. if i color on krita i use a different fuzzy kind of brush...

some colors i do on different layers and i move them slightly to make the misprinted effect. then i may erase small bits of it to make it look a bit better if i want.

if you really want the funky color mixing that may not be Extra Accurate anyway - draw using different colors on different layers. the layer overlapping with the bottom layer... set it to "multiply" and eyedrop the color where the two colors overlap. set the layer effect back to "normal". lock your opacity so you draw only on the Already Colored Parts and color the overlapping area using the eyedropped color! neato !

ONE THING TO NOTE!!! if something is white, you should leave it uncolored/transparent. unless you stylize it to be a different color entirely, if so... go ahead! but if it's WHITE white - just don't color it at all!!!

and now, to my Favorite part - the halftone overlay effect!!! here's where things can get fairly convincing already - plus, i use this effect / similar even in my normal art!

before ANYTHING!! at least, for krita - to achieve the best look i use the newspaper plugin!

newspaper plugin for krita

FIRST, i merge the color layer into one layer and then add it into a clipping group. i then copy the color layer and paste it OUTSIDE the clipping group.

then, select your PASTED color layer (named on the screenshot so u know what i mean) and go to tools>scripts>newspaper (once you install the plugin!)

i then play with the settings a bit. i typically don't touch everything - i just change the mode to Four color (CMY+K Pictures) or Four color (CMYK - Pictures) (this one usually looks better imo)

i also change the size to be smaller, usually around 4.00px.

click OK! it'll generate cymk halftone layers IN a clipping group! don't worry about the black, you can rid of it easily ;]

just close the group and move it to be inside of your color group below! clip the whole cmyk group over the color layer... and BOOM!

but that's not it! set the newspaper group's layer effect to luminosity (or whatever you find works best...!) adjust the opacity to around 50%-30% and BOOM!!

though, that's not all! do the same things we did to erase up the lineart earlier to the coloring, too. same steps! in the same clipping group! just make sure it's above the cmyk newspaper group.

you can then group both lineart groups and color groups into ANOTHER group that will contain them both. with that you can then make an erase layer over them both so they both get affected by it and make it look like both got chipped away, and not like they're separate entities. ^^

you can then use this for backgrounds... text... other things!

one important thing is also getting those papery, dirty effects... which i'll cover in a reblog! (image limit :,]) alongside that, i'll list all my resources for download there!!!

[jasper-pagan-witch]

Hey this might be a super weird question but I recently discovered your blog and you tend to debunk a lot of things. Here I go though. Why is the term empath such a bad term to use? Genuine question. I’ve googled it and looked into it but I don’t see anything too bad about it? Sure there’s the occasional person who identifies as such whos god awful but that’s not everyone. If there is something out there that explains it’s a horrible term PLEASE tell me I’d like to know. Is it genuinely something bad or something that people online view as bad. I don’t want to be associated or associate with a label that’s genuinely toxic if so. It’s good to know what to avoid

*calling out the back door* MAW! MAW, I MADE IT! ANONS ON THE INTERNET ARE ASKING ME QUESTIONS, MAW!

Ahem. Anyway. Here's the thing. The vast majority of people I've interacted with who use the term "empath" are trying to use it for social control - either emotional manipulation or to brush off actual mental health concerns someone might have.

Most of the time, I find that "symptoms" of being an empath are either a) trauma responses created to pick up on minute emotional ticks of those around us to avoid further trauma, or b) literally just being overstimulated. Personally, I have yet to find someone who falls under the label of "empath" who didn't fall under one of these two, and I'm surrounded by people who are "empaths".

(There are also the "empaths" who weaponize it against low-empathy or no-empathy people, which is its own form of fucked up ableism, especially against autistic folks.)

It's not that the term is inherently bad, it's that it's used by people to fulfill their own agendas, ya feel? Empathy, sympathy, and compassion are all normal human things, it doesn't have to be a magical woo-woo thing and a person isn't inherently shitty for not having it.

I'll slam-dunk this onto the dashboard for any and all additions, because I'm several hours late to my shower. If you want other people's insight, you can check the notes/reblogs but also my empath tag, because I've gathered a menagerie of different takes on the subject.

I hope this helps in some way, anon!

~Jasper

[crithaus]

I wanna make some things like very clear to the new Vox Machina fans coming from the animated show to our humble home. Really I wanna settle some of the score about my best girl Vex'ahlia.

Now I know, I know that with so incredibly much source material to try and condense into just 36 22 minute episodes naturally some stuff is gonna be cut out or missed or edited, and TLOVM is it's own canon true, but what with it being Vox Machina but abridged it makes sense to me that it can be directly compared and perhaps found a bit lacking in regards to its source material, and so here I go.

They're not treating Vex with total fairness to be honest. A lot of her best early moments in VM are taken out or given to other people in TLOVM, like her first brush with death with Delilah in the Briarwood arc (it was her that got attacked by Delilah and almost died, not Keyleth, but like this one I get ig. The Twins and Percy held like the campaign record for being down and hurt the most like Sam had to deliberately change that so this wasn't hours of the twins just being near death like I'm not happy but I get it), or season two changing how she found Trinket (Vax was nowhere near her when she ran into those poachers) and mainly the portrayal of Vex as this snippy, mean, jealous, callous, unfeeling bitch without any of the uncertainty inherent in her or the tender moments to flesh her out.

Like in VM proper she's rude and a little snippy sure but that's borne of an established backstory of emotional neglect and the crushing trauma of poverty and Vax literally being the only other person who genuinely loved and cared for her after the mother who's arms she was ripped from was burned alive, (y'know after Syldor the worst dad god ever created literally abandoned them with their mother for 10 years while they were dirt poor (but happy, Elaina is the best mom to live ever), dragged them away from her for 5 in which time he destroyed her and Vax's self esteem, let the whole racist ass town he was ambassador of harass them along with harassing them himself and forced them to be the perfect quiet little doll heirs he only decided he wanted after 10 years of no 'true blooded' kids of his own) and then when they ran away, saw their mother had been murdered in her home by a fucking dragon had to spend the next several years at only like 15ish stealing (in Vex's case haggling and hunting) to survive! Like Vex's hangups around money are from the period in her life where she as controller of her and Vax's meager finances was in charge of making sure they didn't starve to death in the woods somewhere, at 15 she and Vax had to keep themselves alive with no help from anyone but each other, her haggling any and everyone down is a direct response to that.

And oh boy Syldor? Syldor? And his bullshit expectations and neglect are the reason she's so chronically unsure of herself and so desperate to keep being Vax's favorite. You think Keyleth is unsure of herself? Buddy you have seen nothing. Vex's confidence in herself is a facade and literally the longer you know her the more obvious that becomes. She's so slow to let other people in and equally slow to trust cuz she's been hurt so brutally and the few times she relaxes enough to do something for herself (side eyeing the broom incident), she gets narratively punished for it! Bro, the night before meeting with Syldor Percy finds her in tears obsessively polishing her armor cuz she's so desperate even after all this time to prove to Syldor that she is someone, that she isn't the diluted little half-breed Syldor always looked down his nose at (and then Percy, who never again was fooled by her false airs and stepped up to do The Sweetest thing god ever created), like...she's fucked up! And lonely! And wants nothing more than a stable home and people who genuinely like her.

Them leaving their home in when the conclave first attacked Emon drove her to tears because it was the first home she'd had in so long and now they had to leave it. She's got so much depth and she is so endlessly kind too. Every time she sees someone whose circumstances mirror her own she doesn't hesitate to open her purse for it. (her freeing those kids??? Anyone???) She's no Keyleth or even Pike to be sure but she's so sweet. Keyleth goes tearing off up the Sun Tree, Vex follows. Grog gets swindled by some punkass merchant? Vex goes tearing off after him, all her interactions with Vax to be honest she might have Little Sister disease but still, she is so endlessly kind and good and it's not as overt as Pike's genuine goodness or Keyleth's earnestness, it's slightly more subtle but always present. She's the beating heart of Vox Machina, she encourages them all, (just look at what they tell Pelor I mean.... And and I could go on and on about how the fact that she's the champion of the god of Life, Light and the Sun means so much narratively but I mean I doubt I need to I mean it's Pelor), They all look to her and Vax for guidance, look at what they do to fucking Saundor for him merely taunting her, (yes it's more deep than that I know), they literally get stuck in hell and wait there, in the middle of HELL for her cuz they can't/won't move on without her.

She's brilliant, and clever, and broken and 'greedy' and a bitch yes true, but she's so much more than that, and I'm not even gonna tell you to watch the podcast cuz fuck Orion tbh and y'know I am a hater and a gatekeeper both and am totally fine being in the little niche of of vox machina likers, but if you want substance, if you want all of her because god is she compelling, then take your cues from the podcast and not the show.

The show is new, and still ongoing, and I hope they start letting her shine as she was always meant too in later episodes, but she is the heart and soul of Vox Machina and y'all better put some respect on the name of Lady Vex'ahlia De Rolo, Champion of Pelor, Baroness of the First House of Whitestone and Grandmistress of the Grey Hunt, Coinmistress and Treasurer of the Tal'dorei Council.