Rereading The Lord Of The Rings Series Recently, And It's So Fascinating To Me How Much The Series Is

Title: [Untitled fantasy smut project]

Genre: Fantasy, Smut

Chapter: 1

Next Chapter

Chapter Rating: NSFW 18+

Series Summary: Lawrence Viscara, an aristocrat vampire from a famous noble family, is afflicted with a hex that causes him to go into heat. To help him recover and keep him from embarrassing the Viscara name he sent away from prying eyes to live with Syrath, a high class Incubus escort, who is hired to tend to his needs.

Chapter Content Warnings: Mentions of Alcohol, Explicit smut, Male masturbation, M/F smut scene, Oral (F receiving), Foreplay, F Edging

A/N: This is a story that began with the idea of two characters starting with an intense physical relationship but then developing into an emotional one. I'm hoping that the longer this story continues the more it will go from smut to fluff. I'm hoping this prologue will introduce the two leads well, and I know I'm not the best at writing and I would appreciate any feedback. Anyways without any further ado, I hope you enjoy!

Also special shoutout to @g00-d0mens for giving me encouragement and feedback while writing. Love ya hen.

— Chapter 1 —

Lawrence blinked in confusion. His ruby coloured eyes wide with disbelief. Hexed. He, a vampire aristocrat, hexed. That couldn’t be right. He was above the tricks of human sorcery. He was Lawrence Viscara, pure blooded vampire royalty. There must have been some other explanation. Perhaps his family’s physicians had missed something. Yet the same pride that drove such thoughts also told him that all who served the Viscara house were second-to-none, his blood would tolerate nothing less. 

“It’s quite a peculiar affliction.” the physician chimed, “It’s a tailored variation of the Amor’s Arrow Hex.”

“I don’t care what it is. Merde!” Lawrence snapped, “Why, or better yet, HOW is it that a mere love charm is affecting me?!” he spat. 

“Well I did say it was tailored…” the physician murmured.

Lawrence pinched his brow and let out a frustrated sigh, “And what exactly does ‘tailored’ mean in this sense?”

“Well,” the physician began, his eyes lighting up, “much like curses, hexes are stronger when their target is better defined or, as I mentioned, tailored. In a case like this for something a simple as an Amor’s Arrow hex to affect a pure blood such as yourself means-”

“-that someone is targeting you specifically.” a woman interrupted. 

“Tati!” Lawrence exclaimed, uncrossing his legs and straightening his posture. 

“Madame Viscara,” the physician uttered, standing to bow. 

Eleanor Viscara flowed into Lawrence’s bedroom as if she were the very embodiment of ancient lineage, her stride a living testament to generations of power and prestige. Each step she took was measured, each stride of her majestic gait deliberate, as to invoke a sovereign majesty, born not of mere descent, but of a sacred, violent heritage. Her hair, the same pale blonde as her nephew’s, was neatly fashioned in a traditional braided updo. She wore a purple brocade dress, hand woven with an intricate design, telling the stories of bloodsoaked battles and fallen kings. The various jewels, necklaces and rings that adorned her whispered to the preferences of previous heads of the Viscara bloodline. 

“Laurie, ma poupée, you look haggard.” Eleanor stated, a hint of affection in her tone, as she took the seat the physician stood from. 

“Tati, I-”

“Don’t fret, you’re not the first of our blood to fall victim to a curse or two,” she jested, “just a handful of millenia ago, before you were born, your cousin got on the wrong side of a Djinn. For a decade the blood he drank tasted of what he could only describe as wood chips and pencil shavings. Although he seemed to have acquired the taste, even today he’ll often drink blood with a vile accompanied bottle of Malört.”

“But why would someone hex me?” Laurie implored, “And why with… This?”

“You,” Eleanor began, stroking Lawrence’s cheek,  “are too beautiful for your own good, and I would imagine that whoever did this had… rather perverse intentions. Rassure-toi, ma poupée, our blood is strong and will fight this with time, during which I will have to keep you out of sight.”

“Out of sight?” Lawrence questioned, “for how long?”

“Until this affliction subsides, Laurie. You know how important it is for us to maintain our public perception, we cannot allow any hint of weakness to show, and unlike with your cousin this isn’t something you’d be able to bear with and hide.”

“I-” Lawrence hesitated. He wrestles with the idea of trying to hide it, but memories of the previous night when he experienced it for the first time told him otherwise. The unforgiving heat that welled up inside him. His futile attempts to quench the fire that burned at him from within. His whole body flushed, sensitive to every touch, even the smallest brushing against his bedsheets sending shocks to coursing through his body. By the time sunlight began creeping through his curtains and the effects subsided he was left breathless in sheets soaked through with sweat and cum.

He had to submit to the truth. She was right. 

“If I may,” the physician offered respectfully, “although there is no ‘cure’ to an amor’s arrow hex there are recommended treatments. The method with the most studied benefits is-” the physician paused, reading their gazes and trying to come up with the best words as not to insult. 

“Well, go on?” Lawrence huffed, “If there’s any way to speed up the process just spit it out already.”

“Physical intimacy-” the physician muttered before clearing their throat, “Physical intimacy has been noted as the fastest method of causing the effects to subside.”

“Ah… oui. There is always the chance that the caster will try to approach you, or worse this could be a planned attack on our standing. I’ll make arrangements.”

—

Syrath was busy when his agent called him. His tongue buried deep within a woman he’d met only a few hours prior. 

“Sy… please… ” the woman begged.

Syrath let his teeth scrape softly against her, a silent warning. He was enjoying every moment of her frustration, relished every whimper, every jolt she couldn’t control. Her thighs clenched around his head and her fingers gripped the pitch black wisps of his hair. He instinctually knew exactly where to lick, where to poke and prod to take her right to her limits, and when to stop to keep her from going over the edge. He gripped one of her thighs and pushed it aside, freeing his lips to wander up her body, against her abdomen, brushing her ribs, over her breasts, against her neck, along her jaw, nipping gently at her earlobes. He pulled back and licked his lips, darkened and wet with saliva, a satisfied smirk on his face. His sunset coloured eyes met hers, and he savoured every drip of her ecstasy. 

“I told you, I’d make you beg.” Syrath purred, his voice smoother than silk. He ran his hand along her thigh, teased his thumb on her clit and spread her with his fingers, his tip pressed against her opening. He loved it, seeing his partners laid bare before him, a thin sheen of perspiration coating their body. It filled him with dark and wanton desires.

— End of Chapter 1—

Next chapter

A/N: I just want to give a massive thank you for reading this all the way to the end. I know I left it on quite the tease, but I think it makes sense for introducing a character like Syrath lol. I'll hopefully be posting a new chapter once a month as long I can keep myself from procrastinating and life doesn't get too hectic. Again any bit of feedback would be greatly appreciated and I hope you'll continue this story with me. Who knows where this'll end up?

Edit:

Chapter 2 Teaser

“Do you have any qualms with any of our terms or any other questions?”

“I’ve got the gist. But there is one thing,” Syrath turned his attention to Lawrence, “So, are you a virgin?”

TVTropes gets made fun of a lot but it is a little astonishing how consistent that wiki's voice is. It's a great wiki to go to if you want to simulate having one specific autistic fifteen-year-old computer nerd infodump to you about any piece of media that exists. To be clear I am saying this as an overwhelmingly positive thing

I swear my the shift key must have some sort of gravitational field because when I'm reading back stuff I've written the most random words will have their first letter capitalised.

Title: [Untitled fantasy smut project]

Genre: Fantasy, Smut

Chapter: 2

Previous chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter Rating: NSFW

Series Summary: Lawrence Viscara, an aristocrat vampire from a famous noble family, is afflicted with a hex that causes him to go into heat. To help him recover and keep him from embarrassing the Viscara name he sent away from prying eyes to live with Syrath, a high class Incubus escort, who is hired to tend to his needs.

Chapter Content Warnings: Sexual Themes, Sexual Innuendo, Non-explicit chapter

A/N: Had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and am looking forwards to how to next one turns out :)

— Chapter 2 —

Syrath sipped his evening chai, scrolling through the details his agent emailed over one last time. This job intrigued him more than usual. He perched neatly on the black woven chair on his balcony as he continued to scroll. An NDA? He was used to being asked to keep his relations discrete, that wasn’t what piqued his interest. A male client? He had no qualms about his client’s gender or genitalia, he knew how to get them off either way. Bloodletting? Again not a first, a few of his Fae clients have even taken a liking to his blood. No, it was who his client was this time. A vampire. An aristocrat at that. They were usually an old fashioned bunch who looked down upon most of the pleasures his ilk had to offer. However, here was one hiring him, with an additional clause for extended cohabitation. Sure, he’d had clients ask to stay at his place before, but not usually for longer than a night or two. Something was definitely odd. It seemed very out of character from everything he knew of vampires. 

Syrath looked down from his balcony as a black car, polished to a mirror finish, pulled up at the apartment complex. The driver was the first to leave the vehicle, an older woman in a suit. She walked around to the passenger door and opened it allowing Eleanor Viscara to emerge in all her pristine ruthless splendour. The woman then opened the rear door. Out emerged a young man. His pale blonde hair and ruby eyes a clear indication of his relation to the head of the Viscara blood. His body was adorned in a beautiful midnight blouse, tucked in at his waist, paired with shorts a shade darker, held with burgundy suspenders, that came to his mid thigh. Although his outfit was simple, it was carefully tailored to show off his svelte frame. The shorts emphasised his slender porcelain legs. The suspenders, intricately detailed with a floral pattern. The blouse, open-collared, framed his delicate neck. 

That, Syrath thought to himself, is definitely a vampire.

—

Lawrence checked his reflection in the elevator. Checked his hair which, although usually went down to his shoulders, was now kept in a low ponytail. He checked his makeup, puckering to check his lipgloss, a natural shade of pink that added sheen to his velvety lips, fluttered his lashes to check his eyeliner, a subtle charcoal ring that made the pale blonde strands pop even more than they already did. 

“I will never understand your incessant use of cosmetics.” Eleanor said with a sigh, “You are already one of the most beautiful of our blood.”

“I’m too proud to be simply ‘one’ of the most beautiful.” Lawrence quipped, tucking some loose hairs behind his slightly pointed ear. 

“Your vanity is unquestionably why you were hexed, ma poupée” she joked. 

The elevator chimed as they reached their floor, 6. They walked through the well decorated hallway, the driver first, scanning the doors for potential threats to her masters. They then reached an apartment with roman numerals on the door LXIX.

“Oh, c'est mignon," the driver remarked, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk playing on her lips, as she knocked on the door. 

A man answered. He was slightly taller than Lawrence imagined, and looked impossibly more handsome than he did in photos. His midnight hair was artfully disheveled, his sharp features sculpted, reminiscent of classical statues and paintings. His eyes were framed by dark lashes, long and thick, that contrasted the bright sunset colour of his irises. He wore a long sleeved t-shirt with the shoulders cut out, exposing his umber skin and causing butterflies in Lawrence’s stomach. 

Syrath invited them in. The driver took Eleanor's jacket, holding it gently folded over her arm so as not to leave any creases. Syrath guided them through his well kept home. They walked past the coat hooks and entryway bench by the entrance, where jackets, shoes and keys were neatly hung, to a large open-plan space that served as both living and dining area. The gleaming dark wood floors stretched, flawless beneath their steps, leading to a kitchen anchored by black marble counters streaked with elegant gold veins. He led them to the living room area, where a large TV sat in a sleek media cabinet, the shelves thoughtfully arranged with various trinkets and books. Opposite the cabinet sat a charcoal-grey sofa that looked invitingly deep and comfortable.

“Please, have a seat” he said, indicating to the couch, his voice smooth as velvet.

Eleanor and Lawrence sat, the driver choosing to remain standing at Eleanor’s side. Syrath grabbed himself a chair from the dining table and pulled it over to sit opposite them. 

“Am I safe to assume you’ve read through our terms?” Eleanor started.

“You are.” Syrath answered. 

“I suppose you have questions”

“I do,” He responded, crossing his legs, “Like why would someone of noble blood such as yourself be seeking my services, have you come seeking forbidden pleasures not found amongst the elites?” He mocked.

“Show some respect!” Lawrence exclaimed, shooting forwards. Eleanor caught him by the collar and pulled him back to his seat. 

“Tiens-toi bien, ma poupée”

“But Tati-”

“No buts, we are here under his roof, asking for his assistance, you should be the one showing respect.” Eleanor turned her attention back to Syrath, “Apologies for my nephew’s rude outburst.”

“No need.” Syrath said with a smirk.

“The reason we need your services is because my nephew here has been hexed.”

“I thought your blood was immune to such sorcery?”

“So did I!” Lawrence chimed. 

Eleanor sighed, “Yes, but it seems that this one has managed to bypass our natural defences. As such we need to keep him safe and out of the public eye for a time.”

“You realise that I am no bodyguard.”

“Obviously” Lawrence huffed, crossing his arms.

“And I am no one's servant.”

“We need you because of the kind of sorcery he is afflicted with. An Amor’s Arrow hex.”

“The love spell?”

“A variation of it, our physician seems to believe. He’s mentioned physical intimacy as the best treatment.”

“I see.” Syrath answered, tapping his chin.

“Of course, we included a bloodletting clause for obvious reasons. And I trust the importance of discretion in the matter is understood” Eleanor said, the implicit threat clear.

Syrath nodded, the unspoken warning understood.

“As for the details of how you two cohabitate, we can leave that for the two of you to discuss in private.”

“Sounds fair.”

“Do you have any qualms with any of our terms or any other questions?”

“I’ve got the gist. But there is one thing,” Syrath turned his attention to Lawrence, “So, are you a virgin?”

“Excuse me!” Lawrence’s face flushed, “W-What does that have to do with-”

“For me to properly do my role I need to know your level of experience. I would like to keep things safe and fun for the both of us, so I don’t want anything like this to come as a surprise later.”

“That seems reasonable,” Eleanor chimed, “Ma poupée?”

“N-No, I am not.” Lawrence stuttered, turning his face away in embarrassment, 

“Je vois…” Eleanor smirked. The driver also smirking, though barely.

“Tati!” Lawrence exclaimed. 

Eleanor giggled a little, “Je rigole, of course I already knew Laurie. You are terrible at keeping secrets.”

Lawrence huffed and folded his arms in protest. 

“I believe you should discuss the rest my nephew’s ‘level of experience’ in private.” Eleanor said, turning her attention back to Syrath, “Can I take it you accept?”

“I do.” Syrath said, with a hint of amusement. 

“Très bien!” Eleanor exclaimed, as she stood, “Then I shall take my leave for the night.” 

“Allow me to see you out.” Syrath stood as well. 

“I will have your bags here by the morning.” Eleanor said to Lawrence, with a light kiss on his forehead, before following Syrath to the door, the driver alongside her.

“One last thing before you go.” 

“Go on” Eleanor enquired, the driver helping to put on her jacket.

“Why did you decide on me?” Syrath queried quietly, opening the door for them.

“Oh that’s simple.” Eleanor smiled, “Lawrence chose you.”

“He did?”

“Oui, out of the list of candidates we had, you must have appealed to him the most.”

“His attitude surely doesn’t indicate that.”

“Mais non, he’s simply being bashful. Ma poupée can be… Abrasive at first. But he will warm to you,” Eleanor stepped out of the apartment, followed by the driver, “as I’m sure, you will to him.” 

“I see.” Syrath said, skeptically.

“Well then, I bid you adieu.” Eleanor said amused. 

“Au revoir, bonne soirée” The driver said, closing the door behind them with a curt nod.

Lawrence jolted a little at the sound of the door closing. He resisted the urge to fidget, acutely aware of Syrath's presence now that they were alone. 

“Come,” Syrath instructed, “I’ll show you the bedroom.” He said, opening a door beside the media cabinet.

Lawrence stood, felt a lump in his throat. 

The bedroom was even more decadent than the rest of Syrath’s home. The dark wood flooring was decorated with a thick luxurious black fur carpet. The walls, a deep indigo the same shade as the midnight sky, were dimly lit by the cove lights in the ceiling. The bed, king sized, had a golden frame and sheets of the finest silk that shimmered, like an ocean. 

“I expect you must be nervous.” Syrath said.

“What for? I am of the Viscara blood. A mere incubus could never intimidate me.” Lawrence deflected.

“And yet,” Syrath leaned in close, gently tilting Lawrence’s chin up to meet his gaze. “You’ve been blushing this whole time.”

“I-” Lawrence faltered, “That’s because you embarrassed me in front of Tati.” He finally said, slapping Syrath’s hand away.

“Sure.” Syrath said smirking, “For tonight I will leave you to rest. Acclimate yourself. I’ll take the couch for tonight. We’ll have plenty of chances to share the bed later.”

— End of Chapter 2 —

Next Chapter

A/N: Decided here I'll put a translation of the french used just in case it wasn't clear based on context: ma poupée - My Doll (Common in french as a term of endearment from an older relative)

Oh, c'est mignon - That's cute (In this sense used ironically at Syrath's door number being 69)

Tiens-toi bien - Behave yourself

Je vois - I see

Je rigole - I'm kidding

Très bien - Very good/Excellent

Oui - yes (surely you knew this one?)

adieu - goodby/farewell

Au revoir - goodbye/see you again

bonne soirée - have a good evening

Chapter 3 teaser

Lawrence glanced up, his gaze catching Syrath smirking and placing a hand on his cheek in amusement. Lawrence furrowed his brow and stopped. 

“Something funny?” He said annoyed.

“No,” Syrath replied nonchalantly, “I simply enjoy watching when someone sucks me off.”

reblog if people r allowed to send u asks as if theyre ur friend. wanna tell me how ur day went? do it!!! ask me for advice? sure! ask a personal question? go right on ahead!

Very first kudo!!!!

once again:

I WROTE THAT??????????? ME??????????? I WROTE THAT WITH MY OWN TWO HANDS???????????? NO FUCKING WAY. I WOULD NOT WRITE SOMETHING THIS DISGUSTINGLY HOMOSEXUAL.

"I didn't comment on a fic I liked because I don't think the author would care or remember my comment anyway". fanfic writer here, I still remember comments I got on my fics from seven years ago. I still think about them and they still make me smile. your kind comments are what motivates us and what helps us keep writing.

I personally know writers who take screenshot and print out comments they got from their readers.

TL;DR comments matter to us writers more than you think. if you like a fanfic, never be shy to let the author know ♡