blest are the weary.

various-lewds‌:

   “You’ll have plenty of time to check me out. Let me in. It’s cold.” It wasn’t, not for an ice magician, but Benny wasn’t perfect. Even her resolve was dropping. She was used to being objectified; made it easier to work, usually. This should be no different. Hooking a thumb beneath the ridiculous pink collar to show it more obviously, the mage elbowed her way in, only hanging up the coat once she’d heard the door close.

   And yes, the outfit was ridiculous -- a pair of pink-patterned overalls, with little beneath other than a tiny bikini beneath. Her legs, trimmed with frilly thighhighs, were otherwise only hidden by the built-in shorts. Adorned with a frilly ‘babe’ on the chest, it and her collar suggested to Benny that Selene had some weird internet bookmarks. On anyone else, it’d be lurid. On Benny, it was utterly lascivious.

   She licked her lips, took a breath, trying to get into the proper headspace, and turned on a heel, offering her best sultry smile at Selene. God, she must’ve had a foot-and-a-half on her. “So, you’ve got me right where you want me,” she breathed out, trying on her best porn voice. “Show me the phylactery and you can have me wherever you want me.”

  Just a business transaction, nothing more. It was business, and she was a mercenary. No need to make anything weird. (Well. Weirder.) . Everything was a currency, and she’d been invited. No reason to not bind herself with sorcerous protection, though. One doesn’t just walk into a werewolf den in lingerie without making some preparations, even if the ultimate intention was to take it off.

   If it’d been her choice to wear it, it’d have been fine -- not that much more lascivious than the kind of outfit Benny preferred regardless, but that it was a specific request galled her. Selene was enough of a creep to wave aside normal promise of favors for this one. That she had the outfit ready and in the right proportions was its own color of worrysome, but... Whatever. People who usually asked for this kind of shit couldn’t talk the talk. She’d take it off, Selene would lose her nerve, and Benny would walk out with the phylactery. No need to panic.

   Glancing down at her outfit to ensure she was mostly covered as she stepped from the alleyway portal, and adjusting the trench coat when it didn’t, the magician was quick to head up to the brownstone, knocked twice, primly. Better hurry up -- the trench only made it just below her knees, and without anything over her legs, people were gonna notice quick.

   first of all, none of this is my fault.

andreaxharper‌:

   Maybe she was curious about this weird world. That was fine and good, but to be carried out somewhere else and with someone else. No way was Velia going to let herself be reduced to some rutting mess in front of a dog -- a dog that wouldn’t even be able to satisfy this awful breeding itch, and all the more humiliating for it. If she could rob Andrea of her scent entirely, she would have; divine pride was hard to deal with at the best of times. Couldn’t -- couldn’t let it get to her. “Leave me. Now.”

andreaxharper‌:

   She’d have thought that the pistol worn clearly on her belt and the carving mercilessly attacked with a pocket-knife would be enough to ward off any discussion; suffice it to say, trapped in a kitschy bed-and-breakfast with a werewolf was not Velia’s idea of a relaxing evening. Until the storm wore itself off, though, there she was, and there she’d stay, perched upon an exposed building beam and letting wood shavings percolate to the floor below.

   “Great. Thanks.” When the curse hit, it hit bad. Without the comfort of her usual herbal concoctions to mete it to a comfortable level, yeah, no kidding her scent changed. Nothing more than self-control and discipline kept the godling from mounting the couch and rubbing against it in some primal attempt to satiate herself. Even if her pride allowed her to explain, Velia doubted very much that a wolf would be able to help. Need a throat ripped? Call on the pack. Sensitive matters of bloodline curses, less so. “Don’t mind me. I’ll be up here.”

   I need a heckin bigger reason to be on here because I love the characters but effort is hard. So, like this if you wanna talk about ships. reminder that velia is gay and tracy and benny are pan.

hearthgrown‌:

   “It’s the only thing I had that wasn’t ripped or greasy.” Not the sexiest confession, but a true one. Knight-errantry left money pretty tight, at the best of times, so hand-me-downs were worth their weight in gold. Tracy was remarkably tender in scooting into Morgana’s grip, glad that she’d sprung for the fancy shampoo before showing up. She’d been a little nervous about showing up unannounced; that their little fling had been nothing more than that, meaningless to the angel.

   That her reaction had been so positive was heartening, for sure. “I see how it is,” came her return, voice bouncy in teasing, “you don’t look after me if I don’t sleep with you enough, huh? My people have a word for those like you: horn-dog.” So the blonde pulled back, feigning a pout as a hand slipped up her blouse to reveal toned, tattooed belly beneath. “But I guess I don’t have a choice.”

@bcdwclves

   The godling squirmed, taking a few deep breaths. A job was a job, and she needed money. She didn’t need to look it in the eyes, or anything, just...breathe in, breathe out, stroke it off, get her paycheck, be done. Any-and-everything could become routine. Just needed to get through the first day.

   All that was well and good, and then Velia saw it. Gods, that fucking cock. Fist-thick, if not thigh-thick, threatening to rip the sleeve of the milker with the veracity of its twitching alone. She’d so desperately hoped that seeing that obscene length would have helped, would’ve cemented the primality of it, the inhumanity, let her think of it as a creature. Daichi, the tag said.

   It didn’t.

   This one was the strongest, the most virile...that was why she’d been chosen for it. If she could handle this, she could handle any of them. Velia pressed her thighs together, tried to ignore how damp they were. Most of the breeders in the ranch would go into the stockades and know what their duty was, instinctive, and fill it. Not this one. This one needed to be stroked. Double, triple checking that her -- just a moment ago, it had been it -- straps were tight, she nodded once to the attendants, who left, and allowed herself a long exhale. It tapered off into a gasp of primal desire, as she neared that cock. Remembering her job, remembering her girlfriend, Velia dipped her hands in the oil, raised them to that obscene head, and began to stroke.

dexsiress‌: 

   “I don’t think so,” came the definitive response, harsh and firm as she strode for the cabinet. Clearly, she was disgusted by the suggestion -- was this some bizarre infernal version of gaslighting? Implying a relationship where none existed? Taking Velia to some pathetic hovel did not lovemaking entail. It was, in its own way, perhaps marginally effective -- by not arguing further, the godling had accepted some terms of the agreement. “You’ve a twisted perspective; we’ve never met, O Beast. And I like to think I’m not fool enough to bed with a creature like you. You have your eye candy; go and touch yourself to it while I get work done.”