2.2k rook/harding with vaguely kinky oral in the edging/overstimulation/lyrium intoxication area
AO3 and kudos click here
(on account of being unable to copy everything here)
“I just wish I could touch you.” They were in the greenhouse, Lace’s room, once bare, now full of flowers. It’s like they’ve just bloomed from being around Lace, but Rook knew she’s put as much attention into the plants as she put into every part of what she did. “It’s just not fair. I mean…” Rook could almost hear her thoughts, replaying what she said, recalibrating. “Not unfair, necessarily, but just, I wish we could…”
“You know, I bet we could.” There had been training sessions, but still Emmrich had cautioned the both of them for reasons that Rook, in all honesty, did understand, but they did have some points of criticism; first item, they wanted to touch Lace. They understood, academically, the caution, but there had been some practice without Emmrich’s supervision. Stolen kisses in moments they could afford the possible distraction a sudden rush of lyrium to the system would pose. And Lace had gotten better at controlling herself. Even Emmrich had said as much, last time they’d sat down to go over the data.
Lace hadn’t seemed to hear what they had said, muttering to herself, so Rook tried again, a little bit louder. “We could. Touch.” They pushed up on one elbow, looking up at Lace, over by the windows, perpetual afternoon light lining her in gold. Her back was still towards them, but she’d put down the heavy watering can (Rook knew just how heavy that watering can was from experience, and the fact that Lace seemed to have no trouble with it despite how small she was compared to Nel did things to them they would not discuss in polite company).
Lace frowned before she asked, almost hesitating, “you mean…” She shook her head, mouth twisting in disappointment, “I don’t mean touching you for science, I mean just…” Another pause, recalibrating her words. “Not that I don’t love that you’re wi—” It proved something about the depths of Lace’s distractions that Rook was able to creep up on her, their hand on the small on her back pulling her closer as they knelt to kiss her.
It was the element of surprise. They knew Lace wouldn’t have been prepared, and were willing to take the risk. There was nothing imminently present that anyone else wouldn’t be able to handle just as well, and they knew what they were getting themself into. Still, the flash of lyrium from Lace’s lips pressed against their own took their breath away, a tingling in every extremity that sat on the edge between pleasant and pins and needles.
Oh my god Tulip it’s SO ridiculous I can’t even with myself. Here’s the opener:
—
“One more story!”
Eddie rolls his eyes, but doesn’t move to get up. The sparkle in Chris’ eyes says he already knows Eddie is going to give in. There’s no point pretending otherwise, and to be honest, he doesn’t want to. Sure, he should probably enforce a stricter bedtime, but he’s hard pressed to say ‘no’ to Chris wanting to spend more time together. “Okay, okay, one more. What story do you want? We could do the one about the snow queen, or the forty thieves, or–”
“The story of the missing prince!” Chris says, just like he always does. And just like always, Eddie sighs dramatically to make Chris laugh.
“Again, really? I think you could tell it better than me by now, buddy.”
“No, you tell it the best!” Chris insists, and even though he says it every time, it still lights a pleasant, warm glow in Eddie’s chest.
“Alright, alright.” Eddie settles back against the headboard and pulls Chris a little more firmly against him. “Let’s see, how does it start…”
“Daaaaad,” Chris moans. “You know it starts with–”
“Once upon a time,” they chorus together, and Eddie laughs and presses a kiss to his son’s hair. “That’s right, how could I forget? Once upon a time…”
Rating: General Audiences
Characters: Pike Trickfoot, Vax, Vex, Keyleth, Percy, Grog
Relationships: Implied Polymachina, Pike and Grog as adopted siblings
Wordcount: 568
http://archiveofourown.org/works/10722198
“Thanks Pickle.”
The words were paired with a warm hand covering her shoulder and a kiss to the top of her head. Pike smiled at that, as she watched Vax walk away, more of a spring in his step then there had been in a long time, even if it was just for this moment where they all seemed to be floating aimlessly, at peace. She did her best to help, her friend, in his struggles with faith and himself and everything. She was glad she could help, sometimes. Vax could be so sad, he deserved a little happiness now and again.
*
Keyleth, in her cups, hair a mess, is in the middle of gesturing with her hands to a story Pike, not entirely sober herself either, has only been half listening to, lost in the colours of Keyleth’s hair, when Keyleth drops her hands and kisses Pike on the cheek, unblushing, a dopey grin on her face. Her words are slurred, though she seems in awe, and Pike can’t help but laugh a little.
“You’re so awesome. I love you, Pike.”
“I love you too, Keyleth.”
And with that, she leans against her friend, resting her eyes for a moment.
*
Percy is most of the time her friend, sometimes a gentleman, even if he rather didn’t, when his sister forces him to be one, at balls, at functions, at things Pike could only have dreamt of as a child. He, as now the overwhelming majority of their little band of adventurers, was “raised right”, something Wilhand had tried with Pike, but really, just because the Trickfoots weren’t as bad anymore didn’t mean she hadn’t been terrible when she was little. Little-er. And Wilhand’s lessons paled in comparison to real lords’ and ladies’ lessons. So when Pike steps out in a dress, alongside Vex and Keyleth, no matter how low he has to sweep, Percy kisses her hand as well as those of the other two women.
“You look magnificent, all of you.”
*
Vex is always a flirt, or pretends to be, just a hint of saucy in her actions, the mask only falling in times where they’re all safe, fully safe, which isn’t often. Sometimes the mask drops just before sleep, everybody’s slow breathing a calming influence, maybe, Pike’s not sure, she’s usually the last one awake anyway. She likes it, listening to her friends, her family, quiet and at rest, close enough to touch even with her reach. She’d thought Vex was asleep, but two large brown eyes look at Pike as she rolls over, and Vex scoots a little closer, planting a soft kiss on Pike’s forehead, before closing her eyes, her breathing slowing. Pike closes her eyes as well, and smiles.
*
Grog is above all things not the sentimental type. She had learnt that pretty fast when she had patched him up, both still half children, suddenly a Goliath part of her family, a brother. But him not being the sentimental type didn’t mean he didn’t care, which was something she knew well enough too. He just tended to show it differently.
“Hey Pike?”
She could feel the rumbling of Grog’s voice more than hear it, relaxing against Grog’s chest as they both basked in the sun. She hummed a reply, not wanting to open her eyes to the sunlight.
“You know that I, like… You know. You’re my buddy, right?”
double drabble (200 words) of post calling dwarf warden!rook/veilstone distraction!harding, because i love angst and pain
spoiler warning: post Isle of the Gods
The darkness saps everything the Blight doesn’t steal. It seems only fair that it takes everything she is. After all, she made a promise. She would give anything, do whatever it takes. It’s what had made her so efficient. It’s what had led her to… Shreds of memory are the only thing that remain. It had been important, once, the one thing she held on to in the dark, amid the overwhelming anger, the madness of Blight and ancient wounds still unscarred. The details have gotten lost, all she knows is she can feel it coming. And so she sings.
It takes time to wander the Deep Roads, following a song of madness that only draws you deeper and deeper, time for the Blight to warp who you once were into something much more adept at darkness. By the time you find her, neither of you are what you once were. Once upon a time you would have wept for what she’d become, what you have become, would have taken your sword and honoured your oath. Now all you can do is kneel at her feet, head heavy with a crown of horns, and pledge yourself to your lost Paragon.
thank you to @laszlocravensworth for playing words with me :3c
or: more Neve/Bellara t4t sister smut! in which Neve's having trouble sleeping, and after some blasphemous suggestions (less caffeine, chamomile tea) from the team, Bellara comes with a solution
read imperial radch in a week (back in march), took four months to finish a fic, bon appetit.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
Relevant tags: consent play, glove kink, (vaginal) fisting, oral fixation, choking, title play, power exchange, power play, verbal humiliation, first person pov, seivarden's praise/humiliation kink, breq is a stone butch to me.
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“Lieutenant.” There was a spike of adrenaline, Seivarden’s chin lifting slightly. I considered what came next, watching as Seivarden’s jaw clenched. Let a sneer ring through my next words. “I’d have thought you would want to improve your station. ” She didn’t respond, and I didn’t reach for other data, tilted my head an increment, enough that only Seivarden would’ve noticed.
Her face was impeccably calm as she took a breath, a fraction longer than usual. “Sir.” Her eyes went to my gloved hands for only a moment, but I caught the movement regardless. Seivarden acted as if she didn’t know I had. “All I’m saying is—“
“I don’t recall asking.” Elevated heartbeat, as I leaned forward, over the table that held my chipped enamel tea set. “I told you to kneel for me.” That got a reaction, surprise and a certain sense of resignation, and finally, like an afterthought, anticipation. Seivarden set her shoulders, a moment of defiance, and I raised one eyebrow. “Don’t act like you can afford to say no. Even when Vendaai still meant something, you couldn’t have resisted kneeling to a Mianaai.” As much as I loathed being foisted with the name Mianaai, it had its advantages, like the way it made Seivarden’s chin drop almost imperceptibly, sending something vibrating in my chest.
“As you say, Fleet Captain.” The crew thought she was kneeling for me anyway, she might as well actually do so, was my reasoning. A reasoning Seivarden could scarcely refute. She sat almost ancillary-still, a turmoil of emotions behind the unperturbed façade.
I waited, resisting the urge to reach for data until she stood, abruptly, heartbeat fast, breathing shallower than usual. She closed the distance between us in three paces, coming to a halt in front of where I was sitting. The motion with which she kneeled was almost fluid, if not for her hands, gloved, balling for a moment on her thighs, before relaxing.
Seivarden wasn’t looking at me, tension speaking from the lines of her body. I considered her for a moment, the set of her jaw, the lines of her face betraying where she would have stood, if Vendaai hadn’t dissolved. “Look at me.” Her attention was on me now, even if her eyes weren’t. I waited for her to raise her eyes, dark and not as unreadable as she thought they were, the simmer of anticipation mixed with trepidation boiling over into them. Her obedience sent a thrill through me, warm and tense.
When she finally looked at me, it was after a deep breath, steadying herself. I waited for her to speak, try and argue with me. She didn’t. “Better.” I said it tonelessly, a neutral observation that would win Seivarden little. “At least you still have your manners.” Or what passed for them. “It will have to do.”
As Seivarden sat there, I took a sip of the tea, in my chipped enamel bowl, placing it on the small table in front of me, every move slow, designed to test patience. Seivarden just watched my hands, following them with her eyes. My gloves were handmade, thin enough to feel through without being obscene. I reached out, finally, to grab her chin between my fingers.
She was warm and solid between my fingers, and I could feel her jaw working as I moved my hand, pulling her chin along with the movement. “Ornamental.” Like I’d been handed a piece of bractware. Some might care for it, but it was never my favourite. Seivarden had always been beautiful, with her strong nose and dark skin, the set of her eyes in her face, now half lidded. I switched my grip, fingers gliding over skin, my palm resting on Seivarden’s throat, using my thumb to turn Seivarden’s head. Enough to spike Seivarden’s heart rate, lips parting as she breathed out.
The moment she started to lean in, an attempt to increase the pressure on her neck, I pulled away. Seivarden caught herself before she reacted to the absence, but I’d still seen that twitch of her lips. I looked at her, one eyebrow raised. “What’s the matter, Lieutenant?” She took a moment, swallowed hard, and looked up at me. I didn’t need the data to know she wouldn’t be coming up with a clever retort. “At a loss for words?”
I let the lack of response drag out longer, enough for Seivarden to sag a little, still on her knees. Finally, I got up from where I’d been sitting, rolling my shoulders. Seivarden was looking at me again, alert on my movements as I flexed my hands. When I caught her eye, I halted. “Were you going to answer me?” I slid a gloved thumb under the cuff of the other glove, waiting for an answer as I tugged on the cuff.
As I pulled, the glove turned, showing the back of the material, the neat small stitches along the seam where the thumb met the rest of the glove. It rolled back further, the fingers pulling slightly as I took it off. Seivarden was transfixed, eyes not leaving the inside out glove until I grabbed her chin again, fingers spread out against her cheek, and she moaned. Her eyes were locked on mine, pupils blown, and when I ran my thumb over her bottom lip her eyes fluttered closed.
I raised my eyebrows, looking at Seivarden like I was observing her. “See, isn’t it easier like this?” Another pass of my thumb, and her lips parted, her gasp almost musical. The inside of her lip was warm, smooth, and when I hooked the top phalange of my thumb over her bottom teeth, pulling, Seivarden’s eyes shot open. She made an incomprehensible sound. Her breath came loudly, warm on my skin. I stayed there, held her mouth open, until Seivarden started shifting.
“Stay still.” The reaction was instantaneous, an increase in pulse, a rush of hormones. I slipped my thumb out of her mouth, replacing it with two fingers, probing gentle but relentless, sliding over her tongue, warm and wet. Her breathing was coming fast now, turned to panting, almost, as I swept the tips of my fingers over the slick inside of her cheek, the edge of teeth, mapping the sensations of her mouth.
I slowly pulled my hand back, trailing the inside of Seivarden’s bottom lip, and to her credit, she didn’t lean after it, staying in place carefully. I smiled, indulging her. “Adequate job, lieutenant.” As I spoke, I wiped my fingers on her uniform jacket, not acknowledging what I was doing. “Now, what do you say? Will you kneel for me?”
Seivarden’s eyes were unfocused, her mouth still open. She spoke in fragments, her efforts to regain her composure visible, blinking like she was trying to clear her head. She was breathing fast, and I could feel her shame mix with frustration and need. “Breq—“
A motion of my hand cut her off, eyes on me. I leaned back in my seat, away from her, and relished in the wave of emotion coming from her. “Mind your manners, lieutenant.”
She made a sound halfway between a whine and frustrated grunt. I just watched her as she shifted where she was kneeling, unspeaking as she seemed to struggle with the words. Usually she was so charming, always ready with an answer. To see her like this, needy, struggling with her words sent a thrill up and down my spine.
Finally Seivarden’s chin dropped. I could see her swallow, the movement heavy, and she took a long breath. “Yes, Fleet Captain.” The words came with difficulty, and she nodded. “I will kneel for you.”
I smiled again, watching as Seivarden sat there. I let her wait, considering her. “Good. I think we can both agree that would benefit us both.” I let the implication hover between us. If it was beneficial, then it must be just. It must be proper .
Proper or not, Seivarden seemed to be shaking herself apart holding still, and I raised my eyebrows, leaning forward. It would be beneficial for us both. “What do you want, lieutenant?” I had some idea, of course, but that didn’t stop me from asking. Just to see Seivarden’s reaction.
Her eyes widened, and for a moment she just sat there, mouthing something, the only sound coming out short, heavy breaths. When she finally found her voice, cleared her throat, it was almost as good as a song. “Please. Please, Fleet Captain, I want…” She was talking fast, barely making sense, and my smile turned condescending. “Please. Just…”
I let her talk, a distant whine creeping into her voice as she begged. Finally, I grabbed Seivarden’s face again, skin against skin. “So very eager. Unbecoming of a Vendaai. ” She leaned into my hand, breathing shallow and fast. When I pulled away, she whined, and the sound travelled down my spine like a shiver.
The fabric of her uniform was stiff, and I set about pulling the closures open. They snapped open one by one, until Seivarden was kneeling there, shirt undone, a long line of bared skin, a trail of soft hair running down to her waistband. “Up.”
Seivarden’s obedience was almost instant, scrambling to get up, at attention in front of me. I was slower to rise, watching as Seivarden restrained herself, trying so hard to be good enough. I set my hand in the middle of her chest, eyeing her. When she didn’t move, another credit to her, I ran my fingers down, following the trail of hair to her waistband. Her breathing picked up, and I could feel the tension she held in her body.
I didn’t bother undoing the closure of her trousers, instead choosing to dip my fingers lower and lower, under the waistband. Seivarden was making noises in the back of her throat, coming out despite her closed mouth.
I’d had a good idea of how wet Seivarden would be before I touched her, hand shoved unceremoniously down her trousers. Still. She breathed out, short and sharp as I dragged a finger through her wetness, stopping on her clit, not moving any further. She almost succeeded in keeping her hips still.
“Might’ve known you would like this.” I smiled, pressing down. Seivarden made an unintelligible sound and slowly she started rocking her hips, her eyes heavy lidded. To steady her, I put my gloved hand on her throat, her pulse thrumming under my fingers. I pushed her, hand still on her throat, until she hit the edge of the desk, hard enough to make her catch herself on her hands.
Seivarden’s eyes were wide, and when I pulled away, she cried out, the sound cut short as I tightened the hand on her throat. The closure on her trousers came loose easily, and I pulled at the fabric, letting it fall around her knees. Before she responded, I pushed closer, forcing her knees apart, fingers back on her clit, dipping lower.
She was wet enough to take two fingers with ease, and when I crooked them, Seivarden clenched hard, mouth open and eyes screwed shut, head thrown back. The sound cut off by my hand on her throat, reduced to a gasp. I didn’t relent, didn’t stop moving. “I think you can take more, Lieutenant.”
It was all the warning I gave her, pushing another finger into her, and then another, my palm pressing against her clit. She was muttering something, choked, and I tilted my head. “Speak up.” Seivarden shook her head, still mouthing, and I gave another hard thrust, punching the sound out of her.
“Please, Fleet Captain, I—” I pushed deeper, thumb tucking into my palm, and as I ground the wide part of my hand against her cunt, she faltered, panting. I could feel her stretch around me, slowly. “Please, Fleet Captain, please, your hand, I—”
Not quite military protocol, but she had done a good job. As Fleet Captain it was as much my job to reward as to punish, so I pushed again, Seivarden keening as my knuckles slid in. I could feel her heartbeat around me, the stretch of my hand inside of her, and for a moment, I simply let her feelings wash over me, a feedback loop growing louder and louder. Just a moment, following the ebb and flow of Seivarden’s hormones, letting myself be swept along.
Finally, a while later, Seivarden found her voice again. She sounded rough, quiet. “Breq?” I hummed a response, and she smiled. “Thank you.”
feeling so so normal about Isobel and Aylin and i love introspective short fic so. you know.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
The adventurers return from the mausoleum, and Isobel isn't sure she can trust the bright green hope they bring.
The adventurers leave Last Light and all she can do is sit down, heavily, on the edge of the dried out fountain, eyes on the sky. Of course she had seen the radiant light in the sky, silver like the moon. It would have been unmissable even if she didn’t spend all her time looking at the skies, praying to the Moonmaiden to keep the darkness at bay. For the briefest moment it had reminded her of everything she had lost. A century of darkness, stillness, only to be brought by her father in an act of perversion, death seated deep within her lungs. Brought back to a curse, Aylin long gone.
The grief lingered like the ichor of death in her lungs. She could breathe around it, had to, until she couldn’t. It always took her by surprise, no matter if she believed she’d gotten used to it. It crawled up her throat when they told her the source of her father’s immortality had been a woman, trapped under the mausoleum, set free to aid in the battle to come.
She could feel it bubbling with every breath now, threatening to choke her. One deep breath follows another, shaking hands balled into fists. She didn’t dare to hope, not really. Not after everything, all the grief and darkness, her home fallen to a curse of her father’s doing. And yet…
She pushes the bright green of hope back under, no room for it here. Perhaps it would have to be enough that these adventurers set out for Moonrise, no matter who the woman they’d set free was. And still, she can’t shake the feeling, no matter how the darkness around her chokes anything that dared dream of better.
The Harpers have long since left for Moonrise, when she finally rises again, Last Light quiet as the grave, and she steels herself, wiping her hands on her robes. Soon there would be nothing left to ward here. Either the adventurers dethrone her father, and her wards are no longer needed, or they fail, and sooner or later the wards would fall, snuffing out the last light in these shadow-cursed lands.
Whichever way the coin lands, the ward will hold without her for these final hours. The least she can do is see the conclusion of it all for herself, and perhaps she’ll allow herself a sliver of hope.
