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essentiallyleaf · 1 year ago

Text

day 07. public sex. with. soojin, zoa.

2388 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x idol x male reader, reader has the tiniest hint of rizz, but is still a loser at heart, public sex, double blowjob, standing doggy, pussy eating, fingering, stand & carry, 1mg of rimming, very smut heavy, basically unedited, complete mess.

notes.

horny + tired sounds like a recipe for terrible writing. and i don’t really know if it is, since i basically haven’t read this back :] generically, leaf.

“I need this now” and “Take me here” might be the exact and only two sentences that could get you to do anything, anytime, anywhere. But that’s a hypothetical, and despite the inhibition of three Manhattans and a couple beers, castles in the sky crumble when you hear those exact words come out of those two’s sweetly curled and devilishly full and luscious lips in the middle of the dance floor.

You didn’t really know them that well. They go to the stationery shop you work at fairly frequently (every other Friday between 3 and 5 p.m., they usually hover around the notebook and colored pens sections, try a bunch of them out - like, sooo many, can they not recite the entire color palette by heart yet? - while laughing you can’t really tell at what, then come to the checkout with about exactly one sharpie and two big smiles, and then leave. What? No, you don’t remember them particularly more than any other customer. Why would you?), but you’d never really talked. That’s why you’re surprised when they approach you on a random Saturday night at the club, talking about which their favorite drinks solely based on color are and how, if bonsai are a thing, there must be a way to make humans exist in tiny, and what if they’re out there now, going around untying shoelaces and stealing any small item that falls to the ground? They don’t look drunk, they look happy, which is a different thing. Aren’t they just talking about gnomes, anyway (which, by the way, definitely exist)?

It’s not how they wear those good girl smiles a second before sandwiching you while dancing, their bodies pressed against yours. Soojin from behind, pawing at your pecs and slowly kissing your neck up to the back of your ear, Hyewon in front of you but facing away, her ass literally rubbing against your now visible erection while she takes your hands and moves them from her hips, to her exposed belly, up to her boobs.

It’s not how she turns her head to kiss you and that smile is still there, like she’s playing a game, like this is just harmless fun between friends. Yeah, friends, you think, until the deer eyed girl turns around to face the two of you, her hands reaching around you and landing on Soojin’s ass and switches from your mouth to hers. What made you think they were just friends again? You’d think of an answer, but you’re distracted by the older girl’s hand venture lower towards your dick, which she starts stroking through your pants.

It’s not even how the three of you (and you in particular) now look like a complete mess right in the middle of the club, your bodies rubbing on each other’s in feral hunger, your tongues entangling with burning lust. It’s really not that.

It’s how pairs of eyes turn towards that filthy scene. Initially just a couple passing peeks, then a few more, longer gazes, mixing aversion with slight arousal, until the whole club is aware of the tonguing, the groping and the humping. And while some of them walk away, the people who stay seem turned on by the scene, as if intoxicated by the scent of your libido.

It really should just be embarrassing for you. And at the start, it was. To be left open-mouthed in front of a live audience like a comically fat dead trout in a fishing contest while two, admittedly gorgeous, girls alternately brush, squeeze and hump your dick wasn’t exactly your proudest moment. But somehow, that embarrassment coexisted with a sense of excitement. And as the two keep making a toy for their pleasure out of you, the latter only grows stronger and ends up completely overpowering the former.

That’s why when Soojin asks “Wanna go to the bathroom?”, the only possible answer is “Why not here~?”

“There’s not enough space”

The crowd was in fact big and quite cramped around the three of you. You are left without choice as she takes you and Hyewon by the arm and leads you towards a small black door right by the bar.

The girls throw you into the wall and kneel in front of you before the door even closes. Four hands take your belt off, or rather attempt to for a while before getting it (it probably would have been easier if only one person did it, but you don’t dare suggest it), then pull your pants and your boxers down. You can still hear clearly not only the music, but every scream coming from the room you were just in (these walls suck, even for club bathroom standards).

Your cock, already erect thanks to the scene you three made back there, falls right in the middle of their expecting faces, and all they have to do is stretch their necks a little further to start sprinkling it with wet kisses and short licks and already causing you to shed some precum. They more or less intentionally happen to move towards your base and take a longer lick up to the tip of your dick, where they collect your nectar and meet in a French kiss. Actually, that’s not even a kiss, more like their tongues messily exchanging three people’s fluids while completely outside either’s mouths, and it looks fucking filthy.

Soojin is the first to wrap her lips around your head and start slowly but steadily bobbing, taking a slightly larger portion of you in her mouth each time. Hyewon, leaving no time wasted, travels further towards your balls, first getting them wet with her saliva, then alternatively taking one in her mouth and sucking it hungrily, seemingly having the time of her life. The older girl, despite the small size of her mouth, fits almost three quarters of your length in her cavern, even managing to keep herself there and brush the underside of your cock while sucking.

“Unnie, leave some for me!”

Soojin makes way for her friend/tongue buddy, who seems immediately much more feisty, though likely less experienced, sacrificing technique for power and a much faster pace. The older gathers Hyewon’s hair together in a makeshift ponytail and starts licking from her jaw and cheek to around her ear, while the younger, gifted with a bigger mouth, is basically already deepthroating you. You hold your hands around her head and push the last bit in, her eyes watering a little as you hold position for a good fifteen seconds. And, cut.

“You okay?”

“Fuck, that was fun!”

This deer eyed slut just deepthroated you without you batting an eye (well, you were quite lost in pleasure yourself, your eyes quite literally rolling to the back of your hair, but you know), and you’re surprised that she swears?

People could literally step into the bathroom at any point, but honestly, the thought is not even passing your mind. Actually, some might have even walked beside you while you were filling their mouths with your hardness, it’s honestly just too hard to pay attention to anything else, with these two. That’s why you can’t even fathom worrying about the rest of the people in the club, even with what happens next.

Soojin drops her jeans along with her light blue panties and sits on the long counter that connects all the sinks together, running along the entire length of the bathroom below the mirror, while Hyewon bends over in front of her, glancing at the other girl with a playful smile before feasting on her gorgeous pink pussy. You only need to get behind her, bunch her white tennis skirt up on her waist and pull her black panties down and to the floor. Her lips are fat, her slit clean and shiny. You look back at her underwear, and notice a wet patch in the center, not particularly small, either.

“Did you cum just by humping me back there?”

“Maybee~”

You hold your tongue out and take one long lick across her womanhood as she lets a moan out and into the older girl’s crotch. Her sweet scent, her soft texture, her perfect taste are- fuck it, you need your dick in that pussy. So stand up again, align yourself to her, and push it in.

Hyewon is tight, but even moreso, she’s warm. Her hole welcomes you like that’s all she was waiting for all night, like you’re her guest and she wants to make sure you know she prepared. And as you slowly thrust into her, making sure to use your hips to hit every little spot, every patch of her pussy, she lets a constant stream of guttural groans into the one she’s eating herself. Soojin can’t help but push the younger’s face into her crotch, stimulated not only by her tongue, taking trips now on her lips, now in her slit, now on top of her pink clit, but also by the vibrations of her lewd sounds, resonating in her cavern and expanding all over her body.

As you grip the girl’s asscheeks tightly, you start picking up the pace, but she immediately reaches a hand behind her and on your wrist. You slow down again, and her whimpers tell you that this is the rhythm she wants you to hold. In fact, her lower abdomen starts tensing up as a sign that her peak is near. She wants something else. She detaches from the older’s pussy, leaving her disappointed and cutely pouting, and takes small quick steps forward towards the counter, until her face is almost reaching the Soojin’s. She then zips her white top fully down. The older, in a better position to take care of it, gets the hint and rids herself of her top as well as her white strapless bra, leaving them beside one of the sinks. Hyewon takes a millisecond after that to attack her friend’s perfectly sized soft tits with her mouth and left hand, and her hole with her right.

The older is completely thrown off by the sudden initiative and the resulting pleasure it brings to her erogenous zones, and she starts moaning uncontrollably. The younger can’t hold it much longer. Her mouth leaves her friend’s boobs to meet her lips in another tongue filled spectacle. Two fingers from her right hand slide in and out of Soojin’s slit, while her thumb circles around her clit. The older’s also so close. But you’re the one who will make the final move.

You bend down towards Hyewon’s body, reach around and under her black one-shoulder top to feel and fondle her big fluffy mounds as you keep pumping your girth into her, and that ends her.

She washes your cock with the whirlwind of her juices while she contracts repeatedly around you and releases the lowest moan of the night. That in turn triggers her friend’s peak, in her case the liquid sprays on the younger’s hand and wrist and her hips buckle as she reaches to the mirror behind her for support.

Hyewon falls to her knees. Both girls are panting for oxygen, but the one you just fucked seems particularly spent from it.

“You good?”

She nods, and shows you her index finger: “One second”

You turn your head back up.

“Can you do it?”

“Can you~?”

This bitch. You step closer to the counter and wrap your hands around the underside of Soojin’s milky, meaty thighs to spread them open even more. You share a glance with her, and she looks fucking obscene. Her hair has lost its parting, her forehead covered in sweat. That lower lip always just kind of hanging there, like she needs something to fill her mouth at all times. So you kiss her hungrily, and she lets your tongue in her mouth like she’s craving it, like she’s begging for it.

Meanwhile, you guide your head to her slit and part it, slowly entering her cavern. She is so tight. She whines softly into your mouth as you get deeper and deeper. Once you’re fully in, you give her a second to get used to your girth.

“My neck. Your arms around my neck”

She obeys as you immediately raise her from the counter and carry her towards the center of the bathroom as you start pumping into her tight heaven.

Who fucking cares at this point, people could walk in on you and you would thank them. They’d love to have a cock big like yours, to have a girl as beautiful as yours, and to fuck the former into the latter like you’re doing right now. No. They’d just have to watch, like some pathetic frat boys peeping at an older girl they couldn’t even pray to get.

Your hands grab onto Soojin’s ass so you can bounce her pelvis on yours while pushing up, accentuating the movement, as she keeps kissing you like her life depends on it. You feel your orgasm building up.

Then, you feel something below you. Hyewon, revitalized after her orgasm, is now kneeling below you, open-mouth kissing your dick, your balls, her friend’s slit and, you guess, anything else she might find in the way. This girl can truly never be idle. Meanwhile, as you get closer and closer, you switch to quick, single, powerful thrusts. One. Two. And-

You feel Hyewon’s tongue brush your asshole. It’s a sensation you never felt before, it kind of tickles, but it almost stings, at the same time. What it surely does, is to make you cum on the spot. You fire multiple shots of white liquid into Soojin’s pussy, the sensation making her scream (they definitely heard this one outside) and triggering her waterfall a second time, and as only so much matter can fill such a tight space, all of her squirt and probably most of your cum end up dripping down and coating Hyewon’s face. Her mouth is promptly open, so she gets to taste your combined fluids.

She shuffles them around her cheeks for a while, then one big swallow.

“Yummy~”

“Fuck, Hyewon. Was that on purpose?”

“Huh?”

“Your tongue”

“Oh! Well, did you like iiit?”

“He fucking came as soon as you touched him! What do you think?”

“Well, let’s see if it happens a second time, then”

footnotes.

it’s 4am. god. finally, leaf.

608 notes · View notes

wongyuseokie · 1 year ago

Text

Sharing Is Caring | l.s.m, k.m.g, x.m.h

☆ 18+ minors dni | ♕ smut | ♥︎ completed

Summary: You and Mingyu have always fooled around, and no one really caught on, but today, Mingyu was feeling rather bold, and so not only do you now have an audience, but you also have two new joiners. Word Count: 4213 words

Pairing: Female Reader x Kim Mingyu | Fe. You’dader x Lee Seokmin | Female Reader x Xu Minghao

Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Smut, PWP. Content Warnings: None. It’s a PWP, and honestly, I just wanted to rewrite this for Seventeen’s 97 line.

Smut Warnings: Dom! Mingyu, Dom! Minghao, Dom! Seokmin. Overstimulation, breast & nipple play. Oral (m & f receiving), face riding, squirting. Mentions of public sex. Pet names (good boy, baby boy, pretty girl), praise kink. Mingyu has a daddy kink. Pussy slapping. Spanking. Cum play. Biting, it’s mild. Hao uses cuffs. OC is a ragdoll. Pray for her. She isn’t walking for a while. They’re kind of competing? I don't know it’s just smutty. Name-calling (slut, cum slut). I don't know y’all. Choking. Kitten.

Authors Note 1: Also, if you’ve seen this fic before, it’s because it was something I’d published once for a different group, but I wanted to revisit and rework it. Authors Note 2: Thank you so much to @wooahaeproductions and @gyupremacy for beta'ing this very long horny mess. Tagging: @aaniag 💕

Cross Posted to AO3

“Mingyu, don’t. He’ll kill you,” you whispered, watching your best friend being an absolute idiot. You watched him lean over the couch where Minghao was sleeping peacefully. You knew Minghao had insomnia issues, so when he did manage to sleep, you didn’t want anyone to disturb him.

“Make me Y/N,” Mingyu sassed back at you. You know the saying desperate times call for desperate measures? This was one. You walked over to Mingyu and wrapped your arms around his waist, halting his movements. Mingyu melted into your embrace but chuckled.

“Aww, cute Y/N, but that’s not going to do shit,” Mingyu said with a grin as he resumed his position to pounce on Minghao and wake him up. You put your hands under Mingyu’s shirt, sighing at his toned physique.

“Baby, please,” you whispered.

You’d known him since you were kids and saw him through the rough trainee days to the present, where he and his other members were now selling out stadiums worldwide. To anyone else, it might have seemed like you and Mingyu were dating, but you weren’t. You just fucked.

This whole arrangement happened one night because you were rooming with Mingyu while visiting him on tour, and you walked in on him pleasuring himself in the shower. He didn’t even look shocked or anything.

“I have needs; if you are uncomfortable, I apologise. Please close the door, but if not, feel free to join me.” From the adorable young boy that you knew, Mingyu had grown into one of the most handsome men you had known and a man whose duality sometimes got you wet, if you must admit. You pondered over his proposal for a second and joined him. From that night, you both became fuck buddies, and it was probably the best decision ever.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Mingyu’s resolve at waking up his member dissolved when he felt your arms wrap around his waist. “You’re not playing fair,” he mumbled, and you could feel him pout.

“Mingyu, look at me,” you pleaded. He turned around so you were pressed into his firm chest, his arms around your waist now.

“What?” he pouted; he could be an absolute baby when required. You didn’t answer him. You stood on your tiptoes and pulled his head down to reach your lips, capturing them with yours.

“What if I kept you busy instead? Let Minghao sleep,” you suggested. Mingyu sighed, never being able to refuse you for anything, and sex was his weak spot.

“Fine,” he bent down and hoisted you up, legs wrapping around his tiny waist. He walked over to the same sofa where Minghao was sleeping, sat you down with you straddling his lap, and continued kissing you.

“Mingyu!” you hissed.

“Let’s go to the bedroom, he’ll wake up!” you pleaded, but it seemed like Mingyu couldn’t be bothered. After four years of being your fuck buddy, he knew your body like the back of his hand. He moved his lips to your neck and started sucking, making you suppress a moan.

“So let him. I can assure you Minghao will enjoy what he wakes up to,” Mingyu said as he smirked against your neck. The thought of someone else watching made you grow wetter, especially if that someone was Minghao.

You’d grown considerably closer to all Seventeen, especially the 97’s. Minghao was kind, funny and sweet, and Seokmin was an absolute angel, always there no matter what. Mingyu, well, he was your best friend, but these three together were trouble with a capital “T.”

You were interrupted from your thoughts of your extremely attractive friends by Mingyu’s hands reaching the bottom of your hoodie and tugging at it. You couldn’t deny how unfairly handsome they were; it sometimes got annoying. You lifted your arms, and Mingyu removed your hoodie. His eyes widened with lust, seeing that you had chosen to forego a bra.

“Fuck, pretty baby, no bra? Were you hoping to get fucked?” He smirked, his voice low, and you could feel his breath on your nipples.

“Did it work?” you asked, feigning innocence. Mingyu groaned and rubbed his now hard length against your clothed pussy.

“Can you feel that, Y/N? Of course, it did.”

You moved your hands to reach Mingyu’s flannel shirt and unbuttoned it, helping him out of it. His bare torso, toned body, and arms were enough to make you drool, and there was nothing to soothe the pain in your now aching cunt.

“Y/N, stop. I want to taste you, baby; I can tell you're probably a dripping mess,” Mingyu said. You blushed, which only confirmed his assumption.

Mingyu moved you and placed you on the sofa. His hands went straight to your trousers, and he wasted no time ridding them of you before taking your underwear along with it. He was greeted with a sight he could never get tired of; your wet pussy, clit swollen, begging for attention. Just as Mingyu was about to place his tongue on your clit, you heard a gruff voice interrupt your state of bliss.

“Seriously, guys? If you’ll have sex, can you at least ask if I want to join?” Minghao smirked as he boldly asked to join you and Mingyu. You tried to cover yourself with a pillow in embarrassment, but Minghao still crawled over to your side of the sofa.

“Don’t be shy, Y/N. I’ve heard you and Mingyu so many times, and Y/N, you have no idea how many times I imagined your pretty lips on my cock. Fuck, do you both know how many bedsheets I’ve ruined because both of you won’t keep it down?” His voice was low and teasing. You shifted your gaze to Mingyu, who looked fucked out at Minghao’s words, but he recovered quicker than you.

“You want her lips, Hao?” Mingyu asked, not a hint of humour in his voice, and Minghao nodded.

“Oh, interesting. A possible proposition, and I wasn’t invited?” A voice interrupted, and you turned around to be greeted by a shirtless Seokmin, and he was smirking at you. You were practically drooling because of the exchange between Minghao and Mingyu, and now seeing Seokmin shirtless just made you whine. Seokmin laughed at your misery, but not for long; he walked around to the sofa and bent down so his mouth was in line with your pussy.

“Shall I eat you out, princess? Your cunt looks like it’s begging for some love,” he commented. You felt his hot breath fan against your pussy; you squirmed.

“Please, Seokmin, please,” you begged, desperate to feel Seokmin’s lips and tongue on your pussy.

“Okay, princess, don’t hold back. I want to taste you on my tongue.” With that, Seokmin dove straight into your cunt. He didn’t tease; he pushed his thick tongue inside your cunt. He started moving his mouth so that his tongue was thrusting in and out of your pussy. He moved his arm and placed it over your waist, rendering you immobile. You were squirming too much, and Seokmin wanted you at his mercy.

He moved his tongue to your clit, which was now red and swollen, and begging for attention. He wrapped his plump lips around your clit and sucked while his tongue flicked your nub; his flicks were harsh and unrelenting. You felt him insert two fingers into your cunt, his mouth never-ceasing their actions while his fingers thrust in and out of your cunt at a brutal pace. You thought you would come apart right then and there; his mouth felt so good.

You were so close, and Seokmin knew. He stopped flicking at your clit and gently nibbled it, pushing his fingers deeper into your cunt. Thrusting them upwards, he hit your g-spot. You fell apart on his tongue and let out a slight scream.

Seokmin didn’t stop; he kept lapping at your release and fingering you. The oversensitivity of his actions caused something to snap in you, making you shake violently. You grabbed Seokmin’s hair for support, and your vision faded; you were in utter euphoria.

“Hey, Y/N You okay, pretty girl?” Seokmin asked you, his voice breaking you from your lust-bound spell. You nodded. He smiled and leaned in, pecking your lips. You tasted yourself on him.

“Wait, Seokmin, why are you all we—,” you stopped mid-speech because you realised why he was dripping wet.

“I didn’t know I could do that,” you whispered. Seokmin smiled and leaned over to where Mingyu and Minghao were.

“Hear that, Mingyu? I made her squirt. You still can’t do much to your baby girl,” Seokmin teased and shot a wink at you. You heard a growl from Mingyu. as he moved over to you, pushing Seokmin away.

While Mingyu grabbed you by the waist and repositioned you so you were now lying with your back down on the sofa, Seokmin moved over to Minghao and curled up by his side.

Mingyu glared at you. “Do you see what you’ve done, princess? Now I’m going to fuck you, and I won’t stop until you squirt again. You are in for a long night,” Mingyu teased as he leaned above and kissed you.

“Safeword Y/N?” Mingyu asked.

“Peaches.”

Seokmin had bruised Mingyu’s ego, and he was unhappy.

Millions of questions ran through his mind. Were you not satisfied? Did you fake your orgasms?

How did Seokmin, for the first time, make you squirt? He was pissed, and he was going to take it out on you. He would make you cum, squirt and beg.

“Y/n, on your hands and knees right now,” Mingyu demanded, and you knew not to disobey, but you were a brat, and you loved to get him worked up so he’d punish you.

“Baby boy, I’m tired. Seokmin just did a number on me,” you cooed and winked at Seokmin, who smiled and winked back at you.

“Y/N, don’t fucking test my patience,” Mingyu warned. His voice was now louder and caught the attention of the two other boys, who were sat on the sofa to make their way to your side. Seokmin and Minghao were now sitting on either side.

You froze in place, not that it took much. Your legs were jelly, thanks to Seokmin. Minghao started peppering kisses to your neck and started sucking, earning a moan from you.

“Y/N,” Minghao spoke, his deep voice making you dizzy.

“Yes?” you answered.

“Listen to the big baby; get on your hands and knees, pretty girl. I’ll make it worthwhile,” he spoke and kissed your lips softly enough, leaving you wanting more.

Once you were on all fours, you realised that you were facing Minghao, and you felt a dip in the sofa, noticing Seokmin once again move back to sit next to Minghao. You felt Seokmin’s hands on your ass; he was turning you around onto your hands and knees. Simply staring at them, you felt yourself getting wetter. A sharp slap to your ass broke you free of your daydream.

“Fuck, Mingyu!” Another slap.

“Fuck Mingyu, baby, I—” One more slap. Mingyu leaned over your body, and you felt his thick, hard length on your back. His large hand went around your neck.

He bit your earlobe gently and said, “You call me anything but Daddy, Y/N, and you won’t fucking walk for a week. Now I will have my way with you. You squirted for Seokmin. You are a filthy little slut. Only whores squirt like you did,” Mingyu whispered in your ear, and his words shot straight to your pussy. If you thought you could, you would cum at that moment.

“Mingyu, please fuck me,” You heard him telling you to call him Daddy, but you wanted to be a brat; you wanted him to fuck you hard. There was another slap to your ass.

“You want to play it like that, Y/N? Okay, princess, you do that. Just know I’m going to use your pussy to store my cum, and you better keep it in there. When I’m done, Minghao can lick it out of your cunt.”

“Gladly, Mingyu. I want that sweet little pussy on my mouth,” Minghao said in agreement.

Mingyu pushed his cock into your cunt without warning, resulting in a loud moan from you. You’d been sleeping with him for four years, yet his length would always stretch you out, and you welcomed that burn. He started pounding into your cunt, showing no mercy. He wrapped his arm around your waist and snaked his fingers to your clit. starting to rub.

“Fuck Daddy,” you moaned.

“So fucking good,” you praised. You were on the precipice of your second orgasm of the night. Mingyu knew and just fucked you harder as he worked his fingers quickly against your clit. You felt something snap another word.., and you came. Mingyu let out a loud groan at your cunt clenching around his cock. He didn’t stop; he just kept pounding into your wet and now sensitive cunt.

“Daddy, please, too much,” you whined, but you didn’t actually mind.

“What did I tell you, Y/N?” Mingyu asked.

“That I’m your little cum slut, Daddy,” you replied, moaning. Your words did something to Mingyu because he let out a growl and started rutting his hips into your cunt even harder, at a pace you didn’t think was possible. He wrapped his hands around your neck, choking you.

“Daddy is pretty close, baby,” Mingyu told you in a low voice; you could tell he was. His breathing was getting more uneven. He suddenly pulled out of your cunt, making you whine at the loss of the contact, only to push back in and continue fucking you. You felt your legs shake, your limbs gave way, and your vision faded for the second time tonight. You were panting and crying tears of pleasure.

Mingyu was satisfied, he had made you cum twice, and now you had just squirted all over him. He thrust into you a few more times until he reached release and filled your pussy with his cum.

“Princess, you okay?” Mingyu asked as he softly turned you over and kissed your forehead.

“Yes, I am.” You were exhausted, and yet you wanted more.

“Good, pretty baby. Now walk over to Minghao and sit on his face.” You did as you were told, and the minute you placed your cum filled cunt on Minghao’s lips, you felt his arms wrap around your waist. “Don’t you dare let my cum drip out of your pussy. Let him lick you clean.”

“Ready for me, baby?”

You did not understand how one man’s tongue could bring you so much pleasure. You fisted your hands into Minghao’s hair, and he licked and sucked Mingyu’s cum out of your pussy. Long strokes of his tongue collected the cum that threatened to spill out of your pussy as he sucked at your cunt, cleaning it of Mingyu’s cum.

Minghao mumbled something. The vibration shot straight to your now extremely sensitive pussy, and caused you to barrel into your fourth orgasm of the night. Your grip on his hair tightened, and you screamed because Minghao would not stop.

His arm around your waist meant that he had you at his mercy. He kept flicking your clit, and sucking at it. Alternating between sucking and licking, you were so close. You felt two pairs of lips, one on your neck and one on your breasts.

You opened your eyes—previously screwed shut in pleasure—to find Seokmin’s plump lips on your nipple, sucking and gently using his teeth to tug at your swollen nipples.

While Mingyu was the one at your neck, he was not kind about it. He was sucking and biting your neck, leaving no part of it untouched. You’d be purple and hiding your neck in a turtleneck for a while, but you didn’t care right now.

The combined pleasure of all three men on your body had you seeing stars, and you came again, even harder and shook. Minghao licked a couple more times, making you shiver with overstimulation, and he loosened his grip around your waist.

Seokmin and Mingyu helped to lay you down on the sofa. You sighed in relief as you finally let your body relax on the couch.

You noticed Minghao getting up off the sofa and walking away.

“Hao,” you whined. You didn’t get to fuck him, and you were so desperate to feel his cock inside you. Mingyu chuckled as they slid two fingers into your wet pussy.

“Sssh, Y/N. If I know Minghao, he’s just coming back with something to keep you in place,” he smirked as he fingered your pussy. While Mingyu fingered you, Seokmin leaned down to bring his mouth down to your cunt, and licked your now extremely oversensitive clit.

He sucked and grazed his teeth on your cunt, pushing you straight into your sixth fifth? orgasm of the night. You noticed Mingyu lifting his fingers soaked in your cum to Seokmin’s mouth, who sucked his fingers clean.

“Fuck, Y/N; you taste so good.” You thought you would not live through what these boys were doing to you. “God, I could honestly eat you out forever.”

Minghao came back with two scarves and a pair of handcuffs. You scoffed.

“Hao? Seriously, Gucci scarves and Chanel-encrusted handcuffs?” He smirked at your comment.

“You deserve the best, and might as well use something designer when I fuck you so hard that you can’t walk straight when I’m done.” That shut you up quickly.

“Boys, hold the pretty slut down.” You shivered at his words; besides Mingyu, all the boys were shocking you tonight. They were grown men, but the filth coming out of their mouths was new—not that you minded in the slightest bit.

Mingyu and Seokmin grabbed your legs and spread them as wide as possible. You’re now dripping, with your aching cunt on full display. Both men let out a groan at the sight.

“Hands Y/N”, Minghao spoke as he walked around to the sofa, and he was now standing in front of you as well. You held out both hands to him, and he tied them together with a scarf. Kissing your wrists gently, he then snapped the handcuffs over the scarf.

“Hao, isn’t that a bit much?”

Minghao smirked, his eyes dark with lust. “Baby, when I’m done with you, you’ll be glad these scarves provided relief.” With that, he grabbed you by your waist and flipped you over and onto your knees. You were struggling to balance on your knees now that your hands were bound.

You felt your ankles being tied together, too. “Minghao, how the fuck will I move?” You protested.

“Exactly, baby girl. You won’t. I will fuck you and use your little cunt until I cum understood?” You were stunned into silence. Minghao took your silence as disobedience, and you were punished immediately with a sharp slap to your ass.

“Yes, I understand, sir.” Minghao moaned at the mention of sir.

He positioned himself behind you and grabbed your bound wrists so your back was pressed into his chest. You were on your knees, ankles bound. Minghao slid his hard, thick and long length into your cunt.

“Ah, Ha—Sir, too much,” you choked out.

Minghao kept pushing into your cunt, until he fully bottomed you out.

“Sssh baby, deep breaths, relax. I’ll make you feel good. Okay?”

You nodded, letting out a hum of acceptance. “Please move,” you begged. Minghao placed a kiss on your back in between your shoulder blades.

Minghao started pushing into your cunt; he began his thrusts slowly and growled at how tight you were. The pain from the stretch subsided and was now pleasurable; the position he had you in had his cock filling you up and hitting your g-spot each time.

Minghao, on the other hand, was in absolute bliss. His eyes were screwed shut in pleasure. You were so fucking tight, and you were like a vice grip around his cock.

Minghao bit down on your exposed shoulder and started sucking it. He kept going while he thrust his hard cock inside your pussy. You were in absolute pleasure until you felt something soft at your pussy. You looked down to see Mingyu snaking his tongue along your clit.

“Mingyu, fuck, so fucking good,” you moaned, had it not been for Minghao’s vice grip across your waist, you would have fallen over. You were drowning in pleasure as Mingyu kept licking your pussy.

“Fuck,” A loud groan came from Minghao as he thrust into you harder and faster.

You felt a hand caress your cheek softly, and you looked to your right to find Seokmin staring at you sweetly. His cock was red, hard and swollen and begging for attention.

“Seokmin, please fuck my mouth,” you begged. You wanted them all at once and in one go.

Seokmin walked closer to you and put his hands into your hair, making a makeshift ponytail, as he guided his thick length into your mouth. He let out a loud moan as he felt your warm mouth enclose his cock.

You tapped Seokmin’s thigh to let him know you were ready for him, and he slowly started thrusting into your mouth. Fucking your throat, you so badly wanted to cup his balls and make him beg and cum for you, but your hands were bound. That being said, the rate at which Seokmin was fucking your throat, you know he wasn’t far off. Mingyu’s tongue was still playing with your clit.

Minghao kept pounding into you and biting your exposed back and shoulder. You were close to cumming, and so was Minghao. You needed to cum. Mingyu knew your body, and he could see it; he replaced his tongue with his fingers and rubbed at your clit. You shook and froze for a moment as you came, making Minghao moan and bite down harder on your shoulder as you tightened even further around his dick.

You knew Seokmin was close, his thrusts were getting sloppy, and he stilled his hips with one final thrust into your mouth. He gently pulled out of your mouth and kissed your lips. His hot cum spilling down your throat.

“Good girl, Y/N,” Mingyu sat before you and kissed you, his tongue snaking into your mouth, tasting Minghao’s cum and yours.

“Seriously, yY/N. You’ve been a very good girl.” Mingyu snaked his fingers down to your clit again and fingered your clit harder, and you shook and came again. You had lost count of how many times you came tonight. Minghao pushed into you one last time and stilled his moving hips, his cum painting your walls. He kissed all the spots he bit and undid the ties around your ankle.

Just when you thought you’d get relief of some sort—as you felt Minghao undoing the scarves around your ankles lightly, massaging the area. You were immediately carried and placed on to Mingyu, sitting, his dick hard and waiting for you.

Minghao carried you onto Mingyu and put you down onto Mingyu’s cock. You let out a strangled cry, you were so sensitive and yet you wanted so much more. Mingyu wasted no time and started thrusting his hips upwards. He set a brutal pace, and you were so fucking close to cumming again.

“Mingyu, please. Daddy, I need to cum,” you begged, and Mingyu’s eyes softened.

“You will, with me,” and with that, he pounded into your cunt hard as he could. You still needed to finish, and Mingyu immediately put his fingers on your clit and rubbed the swollen nub, making you squirt all over him. You felt him getting close just from how shallow his breaths were. He still his hips and held you close, and came inside you.

You were a sobbing and moaning mess. You felt so good, so worn out, yet you wanted more. You felt Mingyu lift you off his lap and place you on the sofa. He undid your bound wrists, kissing them. He pulled you into his side and started kissing you; his kisses were soft and gentle. Before you could melt into his tenderness, you felt two tongues on your pussy. You tried to squirm away, but Mingyu gripped you harder. He knew he wrecked you.

You looked down to see Minghao and Seokmin at your cunt, lapping up your release and Mingyu’s release. You noticed how both tongues would meet, and the sight had you so close to cumming.

It didn’t take long for Mingyu to kiss you, all while Seokmin’s lips were sucking on your clit, and Minghaos’s long tongue collected the release in your pussy as you fell apart on their tongues.

The two boys lapped up your release, kissed your forehead, and sat next to you on the couch when they cleaned you up. You were practically curled up in Mingyu’s lap.

“You’re right, Gyu; maybe a fuck buddy isn’t such a bad idea,” Seokmin said with a chuckle.

“This doesn’t just have to be a one-time thing, right?” You mumbled, loud enough for the others to hear you.

“No, kitten, it doesn’t,” Mingyu agreed, kissing your forehead.

#seventeen #mingyu #seokmin #minghao #svthub #kvanity #seventeen smut

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librababe99 · 1 month ago

Note

hi!! can i request enemies to lovers w sexual tension with young charles xavier?? <33

Hi Anon!! I had about three different ideas on how to take this request and I think I found the one that will work the best🤭I hope you enjoy!

A Heated Debate

Tags: MDNI, 18+ ONLY, Young! Charles Xavier, Female Reader, Enemies to lovers, sexual tensions

Summary: In the high-stakes world of mutant politics, You and Charles are bitter rivals. You’re, a fierce advocate for an aggressive approach to mutant rights, constantly clashes with Charles’ pacifist ideals during public debates. Their verbal sparring is intense, charged with both political conflict and unspoken desire.

Word count: 1.5K

| Masterlist |

The room buzzed with the aftermath of the debate, the murmurs of the audience still echoing as people began to file out of the grand hall. You stood on the stage, arms crossed, seething beneath the carefully crafted mask you wore for the public. Another debate with Charles, another frustrating round of endless philosophical differences that seemed to lead nowhere but further entrenchment in your views.

Your fingers curled tightly around the notes in your hand, the paper crumpling slightly as you glanced toward him. Charles Xavier. Brilliant, articulate, annoyingly calm in the face of your fiery arguments. His peaceful rhetoric grated on you, especially in times like these when the world seemed to be falling apart for mutants.

"Mutual understanding," "humanity will come to accept us in time," "we must be patient." How could he still believe that? With anti-mutant violence rising, governments around the world pushing for mutant registration, and so many of your people living in fear—how could he remain so naively idealistic? Worse, how could he make it sound so convincing?

You had to admit it—he was good. Too good.

The crowd had loved him tonight, responding to his polished arguments with the kind of enthusiasm that made your stomach turn. And yet, beneath your frustration, there was something else. Something that made your pulse quicken every time you locked eyes with him during these debates. Something you despised acknowledging.

You heard the quiet click of his shoes as he approached from the other side of the stage, his posture as effortless as his argument had been.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” Charles said, his voice that smooth, infuriating calm you had come to know all too well.

Your eyes snapped to him, a fire igniting behind them. “I don’t need your compliments, Charles. I’m not here to be handled.”

His lips quirked slightly, that maddening half-smile playing at the corners of his mouth as if he enjoyed needling you. As if your frustration was amusing to him. “That’s not what I meant,” he replied, tilting his head ever so slightly, his blue eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that felt as though he were trying to read deeper into you than you were willing to show.

“You always mean something,” you shot back, stepping down from the stage, heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. “Some noble little phrase to make everyone believe that you’re the reasonable one, and I’m just the reckless, angry woman.”

Charles sighed, running a hand through his hair as he followed you offstage. “That’s not how I see you.”

“Well, it’s how you come across,” you said, pivoting to face him when you reached backstage, your voice lowering, but the fire was still there, crackling between the two of you. “You don’t listen, Charles. You talk about peace and patience as if you’re the only one with a real solution, as if my stance—our need to fight for our rights—is just noise.”

“You think I don’t understand the urgency?” he asked, his own frustration starting to show through his calm exterior. “I know what’s happening out there. I see the pain. I feel it every day, but—”

“But nothing! You’re not fighting hard enough!” Your words came out sharper than you intended, but you were too angry to care. The pent-up frustration you’d carried for months, perhaps years, finally spilling over. “Every day, mutants are targeted. We can’t sit around and wait for humanity to wake up and suddenly decide we’re equals.”

Charles closed the distance between you, his eyes narrowing slightly as he leaned closer. “And you think war is the answer? That more violence will somehow win us the respect we deserve?”

“Sometimes, force is the only language they understand,” you shot back, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. You could feel the heat between you, both figuratively and literally, the air between you charged with something far more intense than simple disagreement. “You’re too soft, Charles. Too idealistic.”

“And you’re too angry,” he countered, his voice low, the calm veneer slipping away to reveal the passion underneath. “You’re letting your emotions dictate everything, and that will only lead to more destruction.”

“You don’t get to tell me how to feel,” you snapped, stepping forward until you were inches away from him, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body. The proximity sent a shiver down your spine, though you refused to let it show. You couldn’t show weakness. Not to him.

“I’m not telling you how to feel,” Charles said, his voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper. “I’m asking you to see that there’s more at stake here than your anger.”

You stared up at him, your breathing shallow, chest rising and falling rapidly as the tension between you became almost unbearable. You could feel it now, the pull that had been lurking beneath the surface of every debate, every heated argument. The attraction that neither of you had dared to acknowledge.

And at this moment, the debate wasn’t just about politics anymore. It wasn’t about mutant rights or the philosophical differences that had driven a wedge between you and Charles for so long.

It was about the two of you. The crackling, undeniable heat that had been building with every word spoken, every glance exchanged.

“Why do you care so much about what I think?” you asked, your voice quiet but intense, eyes locking onto his. “Why does it matter so much to you?”

For a moment, Charles didn’t respond. His jaw clenched, his eyes searching yours as though he was weighing whether to say what he really wanted to say. The moment stretched on, thick with unspoken desire and frustration, until finally, he answered, his voice so low it sent a shiver through you.

“Because you matter to me. More than you know.”

His words hung in the air between you, and for a second, you weren’t sure if you had heard him right. But the look in his eyes—the way they darkened with something far more primal than political disagreement—told you everything you needed to know.

Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you closed the final inch of space between you, your body pressing against his as your lips crashed into his.

The kiss was fierce, driven by months of unresolved tension and anger. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, fisting your hands in his shirt as if to anchor yourself to the intensity of the moment.

You shouldn’t be doing this. Everything about this was wrong. But you couldn’t stop. The fire that had fueled your arguments had turned into something much more dangerous—something neither of you could control.

His mouth moved against yours with a desperation that matched your own, his fingers digging into your hips as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. You could feel the heat of his breath, the way his chest heaved as the kiss deepened, as if all the arguments, all the frustrations of the past, had boiled down to this singular moment of passion.

But then, just as suddenly as it had started, you pulled away, breathless, your heart pounding in your chest.

“What are we doing?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the quiet backstage room.

Charles’ forehead rested against yours, his breathing just as ragged as yours. He didn’t answer for a moment, his fingers still gripping your waist as though he wasn’t ready to let go.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice low, filled with the same uncertainty you felt. “But I can’t pretend this isn’t happening.”

You swallowed, your mind racing as you tried to process the fact that you had just kissed Charles Xavier—your rival, your ideological opposite, the man who represented everything you were fighting against.

But he wasn’t just that. Not anymore. Not after this.

“I can’t…” you began, but the words faltered as you felt his thumb brush lightly against your side, the smallest of touches that sent electricity through you all over again.

“I know,” Charles murmured, his lips hovering just over yours. “But we don’t have to figure this out right now.”

You stood there for a moment longer, your breaths mingling as you struggled to regain your composure. The weight of everything that had just happened hung between you, but for the first time, it wasn’t oppressive.

It was electric.

Finally, you stepped back, creating a small but necessary distance between the two of you. You had crossed a line tonight, and while you weren’t sure what it meant, you knew that things would never be the same.

Neither of you spoke as you gathered your things, the silence thick with the knowledge of what had just passed between you. As you turned to leave, you cast one last glance at Charles, who was watching you with an expression you couldn’t quite read—part desire, part regret.

“Until next time, Charles,” you said, your voice steadier than you felt.

He gave you a small, knowing smile, his eyes still dark with the remnants of the fire that had burned between you.

“Until next time.”

You walked out of the room, your heart still racing, your mind spinning with the weight of what had just happened. The debate wasn’t over. Far from it. But the battle between you and Charles had just changed—forever.

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 22 days ago

Text

Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 27: Sin and Shadow

Summary: After embracing eternity as a vampire spawn under Astarion's wing, the Crimson Palace becomes a haunting symbol of the man he once was. As his personality unravels into a dark abyss, you flee. A year of hardship unveils the harsh reality of existence as a vampire spawn.

Just as all hope seems lost, a twist of fate reunites you with Astarion, revealing a glimmer of hope amidst the shadows. As you navigate the complexities of your relationship, you must confront the unsettling truth behind the Rite of Profane Ascension and the devilish secrets it holds.

In a race against time, you embark on a daring quest to save Astarion from his descent into darkness. With each choice you make, the stakes grow higher, testing the limits of your courage and determination.

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.8k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events. Mentions of Astarion's Trauma.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

Your laughter resounds through the rotten ruins, sharp and brittle. Astarion’s smug expression falters, taken aback by the sound. You can see his confusion in the way his brow furrows and his mouth pulls into a tight line, unsure of what to make of your reaction. It’s amusing how he expects fear or despair, but rather, you shower him with decisive derision.

“Of course, you would do something like this.” There’s a venomous lilt to your tone, a challenge that burns with each word. “It’s so predictable, really.”

You take a step closer, circling him with measured movements, like a prowling predator. It’s a risky game, but the rabid acrimony gives you strength. Astarion’s scarlet eyes track your every move, his stance rigid.

“Go on then,” you taunt in a deadly whisper. “Do it. Erase me. Free yourself. Take everything I am, everything I could ever be, and twist it into whatever sick fantasy you have. You’ve already taken everything else—my trust, my love, my life. It all belongs to you, doesn’t it? So why haven’t you done it?”

“You think I haven’t done it because I can’t? I could unravel you in a heartbeat if I wished. It’s just—” He sputters, searching for the right words. “It’s more... satisfying to let you cling to that desperate hope, to dangle the possibility of your freedom just out of reach.”

But the way he says it, the way his words tumble out with a rushed sharpness—it doesn’t add up. He’s grasping at straws, trying to convince himself as much as you, and you see it for what it is.

A lie. A thin, flimsy excuse swaddled in cruelty.

“Is that what you’re telling yourself? That it’s about satisfaction? That it’s about keeping me on the edge, trapped in your little game?” You shake your head, your eyes narrowing as you take a step closer. “No, I don’t think so. I think, despite all this—despite your cruelty, your desperate yearning for power—you loathe yourself. Because you know you could do it. You have the power to erase me completely, to make me nothing. But you can’t, can you?”

He flinches, the reaction so quick it’s nearly imperceptible, but you catch it. His expression hardens into a snarl, but the anger doesn’t mask the underlying turmoil in his eyes. “You know nothing about what I want!” he spits, but there’s no conviction behind it, no real strength.

You press on, each word a blade dipped in poison. “I know enough. You hate that you can’t bring yourself to do it. That somewhere, buried beneath all this darkness, is the man who would rather sever his own limb than harm me. That’s why you keep making excuses, why you haven’t turned me into the hollow, broken thing you threaten. Part of you, no matter how small, still cares.”

Astarion’s jaw clenches, his hands curling into fists at his sides, but he doesn’t strike. He stands there, trembling with rage—or perhaps something deeper, something he doesn’t want to face. His eyes flicker again, that scarlet brightening for a heartbeat, revealing a flash of something pained, something lost.

“Shut up. You think you understand me? You think you can pick me apart like some... some puzzle? You are nothing, and I—” He cuts himself off, biting back whatever admission threatens to spill out.

You take another step closer, your voice softening, but not with pity—no, it’s still a razor-sharp rebellion. “If I’m nothing, then why not finish it? Prove that I’m wrong, Astarion. Prove that you’re really as heartless as you claim to be.”

He stares at you, caught between outrage and confusion, and in that silence, you see it—the fissures, the war he’s waging with himself, the struggle that he so stubbornly refuses to pay any credence to. A war he’s losing, bit by bit.

Astarion’s face twists as he struggles for words, his lips curling back in a snarl. “You think I would hesitate for a moment if I thought you were truly a threat to me? You are my spawn! I own you!”

You laugh again, the sound caustic. “You keep telling yourself that you’re doing all of this to be strong, to be untouchable, but it’s a lie. You can’t even fool yourself, can you?”

He glares at you, stepping closer. “You think you can read me so well, do you? You think you can waltz in, make assumptions about what I am, what I want?”

“Why not?” You meet his eyes with a defiant fire of your own. “I’ve been by your side long enough to know when you’re lying—to yourself, and to me. If you truly wanted to erase me, to take everything that makes me me and twist it into your perfectly obedient puppet, you would have done it by now. But you haven’t. Why is that, Astarion?”

He bares his fangs at you, taking a deep, shuddering breath as he struggles to maintain his composure. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Maybe I just haven’t gotten around to it yet. Maybe I enjoy watching you suffer—knowing that I could take everything from you at any moment.”

You scoff, refusing to flinch under his intense gaze. “Oh, please. Drop the act. The truth is much simpler, isn’t it? You don’t want to admit that there’s still a part of you that cares, clinging to some shred of what we had.”

He steps back as if struck, his expression ripping little a disturbed pond. For a moment, he looks like he’s been laid bare, stripped of his defences. Then his face hardens again, but there’s wild desperation in his eyes. “You think I need you?” he growls with a ragged edge to his voice, a strain that betrays the struggle within him. “I do not need anyone. Least of all, you. You’re the one who can’t let go.”

“You’re right. I haven’t let go, and maybe that makes me a fool. But it’s because I see something in you worth saving, even if you’ve forgotten how to see it yourself.”

His breath catches, just barely, but you see it, a moment of hesitation. He turns away, his shoulders trembling. “You think you’re so godsdamned noble,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a rasp. “But if you knew... if you understood what it means to hold this power, you would see why I won’t let go of it. Even for you.”

You take a step closer, closing the distance between you, your voice an urging whisper. “Then prove it, Astarion. Prove that you can let go. Or keep lying to yourself and let it consume you until there’s nothing left. But know this—I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.”

He whirls back around, his face contorted with a mix of choler and something more fragile—anguish, maybe. “You should be,” he snarls, his voice breaking on the last word, as though the admission costs him something precious.

For a moment, you think he might strike you, compel you, or something far more insidious, but then he just stands there trembling, breathing hard.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he says, his voice rough and unsteady, each word a struggle to get out. “To have everything you ever wanted, everything you thought would make you invincible, and realize it’s not enough. It’s never enough. There’s a hunger in me now—a darkness that won’t be sated. It’s... it’s eating me from the inside out, and it’s telling me that if I just hold on a little longer, if I just take a little more...”

He trails off, his voice breaking, and his shoulders slump. For a heartbeat, he looks like the man you remember—the man who used to smile, who used to hold you close, who whispered soft promises in the dark. The man who fought so hard to survive, who dreamed of freedom, who loved fiercely and deeply, even when he didn’t know how to show it.

But then the moment passes, and the cruel visage slips back into place, his expression hardening with renewed bitterness. He steps away from you, as if trying to rebuild the distance between you, to put up the walls that have kept you apart.

You follow his movement, refusing to let him retreat into his self-imposed isolation. “You think I don’t understand? I understand more than you realize,” you say firmly, even as your shrivelled heart aches. “I know what it’s like to feel that hunger, that darkness that whispers lies in your ear, telling you that you need more, that you’re nothing without it. But you’re wrong, Astarion. You are something without it. You always have been.”

He glares at you, his eyes flashing with fury, but there’s a wetness in his gaze that he can’t quite hide. “That’s rich coming from you. My favourite little toy who still clings to your precious hope, who thinks there’s some happy ending waiting for us if we just try hard enough? You’re deluded.”

“Maybe I am,” you admit, a bitter smile tugging at your lips. “But at least I still feel something. At least I’m still fighting for something more than power. And you hate that, don’t you? You hate that I still care, that I still believe in you, because it means you have to face the part of yourself that you’ve buried so deep you’re scared to dig it back up.”

He lets out a strangled, humourless laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “Gods, you’re insufferable,” he mutters, but the words lack the venom they held before. He looks askance, as if he can’t bear to meet your glare. “You always did know how to get under my skin.”

“And I always will, because I know you, Astarion. I know the man beneath all of this,” you gesture toward him, “and I refuse to give up on him. Even if you already have.”

For a moment, he just stares at you, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, as if the possibility of redemption is something he’s forgotten how to hope for.

“You think it’s that simple?” He says, his intonation harsh but fraying at the edges.

You shake your head, sadness twisting in your chest. “No. I know it’s not simple. But I also know that the man I love is worth fighting for, even if he’s forgotten how to fight for himself.”

Astarion’s expression twists, anger and longing blending into a storm. For a moment, you think he might lash out again, that the fight is still burning too hot inside him to let anything else through. But then, with a rough, unsteady breath, he steps closer, closing the space between you with a suddenness that steals the air from your lungs.

He seizes you by the shoulders, his grip firm, fingers digging into your skin just enough to blur the line between a caress and something that might bruise. His breath ghosts over your lips, his proximity heady and dangerous. Astarion’s eyes are still sharp, still filled with the darkness that’s taken root in him, but there’s something else there now too—a hunger, raw and unfiltered, that pulses through him like a beating heart.

He dips his head closer, his mouth less than a breath away from yours. “You think your love is enough to bring me back from this?” he whispers harshly, his voice trembling with unrestrained intensity.

His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond—a kiss that’s all teeth and desperation. It’s wild—nigh on punishing. His hands slide down your back, pulling you flush against him, as if he can fuse your bodies together and somehow make himself whole again through the sheer force of contact.

You gasp into the kiss, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you match his intensity, meeting every bite and graze of his lips with your own fierce resolve. There’s pain in it, yes, but there’s also a heat that ignites your blood, a need that burns just as bright as his. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer even as his hands roam over you with a possessiveness that borders on frantic.

Astarion’s breath comes in ragged gasps as he tears himself away from your lips, his mouth skimming down the curve of your jaw, leaving bruising kisses along the line of your neck. He nips at the delicate skin there, the sharp edge of his fangs a perilous promise, but he doesn’t sink them in, and he groans against your skin.

His voice is rough, barely more than a growl. “You think this is what I want? To let myself be vulnerable, to let you get close enough to tear me apart again?”

“You want to be seen,” you reply, your voice steady. “You want someone to know the real you, the one buried beneath all that power and pain. And I see you, Astarion. All of you.”

Astarion’s grip tightens on your waist, and for a moment, you think he might break again, retreat behind the walls he’s so carefully constructed.

“I hate you for that,” he mutters, but the words sound broken, almost pleading, as if he’s confessing a truth he can’t bear to face. He cups the back of your head, his fingers threading through your hair with a gentleness that belies the desperation in his touch. “You make me feel... gods, I can’t stand how much you make me feel.”

The admission sends a shiver through you, a flash of hope and desire mingling in your chest. You lean into his touch, your own hands softening their grip, sliding down to rest over the frantic thud of his heartbeat. “Then let yourself feel it,” you murmur against his lips. “Let yourself feel me.”

Astarion's breath hitches, and for a moment, he holds you so tightly it’s as though he’s afraid you might dissolve into nothing. He kisses you again, fiercer this time, but there's a thread of something else woven into it—a hint of surrender, of a desperation that has nothing to do with dominance and everything to do with the way he clings to you.

It’s messy, it’s frantic, and it’s far from gentle, but there’s a need there that neither of you can deny—a mutual hunger that pulls you closer even as it threatens to tear you apart.

Astarion’s fingers are rough as they tug at the clasps and fastenings of your clothes, the fabric falling away beneath his touch with haste. There’s a rawness to his movements, a barely restrained violence that makes your breath catch as you let him strip away the layers between you, both literal and otherwise.

You don’t bother being gentle either as you yank at the hem of his torn shirt, fingers skimming over the bloodied skin underneath. He snarls against your mouth, a low, dangerous sound. He catches your wrist, twisting it behind you as he pushes you against the cold stone, the roughness of it scraping against your bare skin.

His breath comes out in harsh gasps as he presses against you, pinning you with his hips, his need for you hot and hard straining against the fabric of his trousers. “You think you can save him?” he whispers, his voice ragged and raw. “You think this means anything more than a distraction?”

You bite back a sharp retort, tilting your head to meet his lustily hooded eyes. You can see the anger there, the frustration, but also something else—something like a plea. It’s ridiculous, this twisted game you play, this dance between hatred and desire.

You roll your hips and press your body closer to his, relishing the way he shudders against you. “Maybe I just want to forget for a little while. Maybe you do too.”

Astarion’s grip tightens on your wrist, his breath hot against your neck as he bites down, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to send a jolt of pleasurable pain through you. He trails his lips down your throat, sharp teeth grazing your skin, and you shudder at the sensation, a gasp slipping past your lips despite yourself. His hands move over you with a kind of frantic need, his touch leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

It’s a messy, brutal dance, each of you trying to gain the upper hand even as you both know there’s no real victory to be had here. You twist out of his grip and catch his shirt, yanking it open with enough force to send buttons scattering across the dusty floor. He laughs, a dark, bitter sound that rumbles through his chest as he allows you to push him back against the wall, his hands tangling in your hair as he pulls you in for another kiss.

For a moment, it’s almost tender, the way he cradles the back of your head, the way his lips brush yours with something like reverence. But then his nails dig into your scalp, and you return the favour, biting down on his bottom lip, hard. He growls low in his throat, a sound that sends a thrill down your spine.

And yet, beneath the frantic hunger, you can feel the tension simmering between you, the sense that this is more than just bodies colliding. It’s the only way either of you knows how to touch each other, through fire and force, through pain that twists into pleasure until you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.

Astarion’s hands skim down your sides. Your clothes have been discarded completely now, like so much meaningless debris, and his hands map every inch of you, tracing old scars and new bruises, as if trying to memorize you in this moment.

You let yourself lean into it, let yourself give in to the heat that flares between you, if only because it’s better than the haunting loneliness. His mouth crashes against yours again, rough and demanding, and you respond with equal fervour, your hands roaming over the hard planes of his chest, digging your nails into his skin.

Astarion’s touch is electric, each brush of his fingers sending jolts of sensation through you that blur the lines between pleasure and pain. He’s always known exactly how to wield desire like a weapon, but this time, you refuse to let yourself be shattered by it. You grip his shoulders, tearing off his shirt and throwing it off to the side.

It’s impossible to ignore how your body responds to him—how the ache that’s settled deep in your bones is temporarily numbed by his closeness. For a moment, you let yourself forget the lies and the betrayals, the shadow of your true husband trapped somewhere behind the darkness in his eyes.

A part of you knows that this is wrong—that you are grasping at a ghost. It feels like betrayal, a twisted mockery of the love you once shared, but you can’t stop yourself from leaning into it, from taking the solace his body offers, no matter how fleeting it might be.

His gaze is filled with a dark satisfaction. His fingers press harder, his grip possessive, as if he can hold onto your body even as he keeps you at arm’s length in every other way. It’s raw and violent, more a clash of wills than anything else, and you’re both losing.

He pivots, pushing you harder against the crumbling wall, the stone biting into your back, and you let him, drinking in the way his breath hitches, the way his hands shake against your skin with rage or lust or something else entirely. You do not care at this point.

I should stop this, pull away, and refuse to let him turn this into just another power struggle. But you don’t. You cling to him as if he is the last solid thing in a world that’s falling apart because if you let him go, you’re afraid there will be nothing left of the man you love.

So you let yourself burn, knowing that you’re playing with fire. And even if it leaves you scalded and scarred, even if it’s a mistake, for this moment, you’ll take the heat over the cold emptiness that waits beyond.

Astarion's fingers intertwine with yours as he pins your hands above your head. His body presses flush against yours. His hips roll in a tantalizing rhythm. The friction sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you. Your hips jerk involuntarily, desperate for more contact, more of him.

"Tell me you want this," he barks.

"I want this," you breathe, your voice husky with need. "All of you."

A wicked grin spreads across Astarion's face, his crimson eyes blazing with unholy hunger. "Then allow me to indulge you, my treasure."

Astarion's lips lavish attention to your neck, your collarbone, proceeding lower. He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, suckling and teasing until you're gasping his name. Astarion chuckles, clearly relishing the effect he has on you. His fingers slide between your thighs, finding you already slick with arousal.

Astarion groans appreciatively as he strokes your sensitive flesh, his skilled touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. "So wet for me already," he murmurs against your skin.

He works your clit, circling and sweeping in the practice, precise pace that left you addicted to him in the first place. He builds your pleasure higher and higher, increasing the pressure, his touch more insistent as your shuddering moans fill the space. He slips two long fingers inside you, curling them to hit that perfect spot. You cry out, clutching at his shoulders as he works you expertly. His thumb continues to tease your clit as his fingers thrust in and out at an ever-increasing pace.

"That's it, darling," Astarion croons. "Let me hear those beautiful sounds."

Your climax builds rapidly under his ministrations. Just as you're about to tumble over the edge, he withdraws. You cannot stifle the whimper resounding at the back of your throat at the loss.

”Eager little thing, aren’t you?“ he tuts, nipping at your lower lip. "Patience, my dear. I intend to savour every... last... drop.”

Breathing heavily, he lifts you up, wrapping your legs around his waist. He slams you into the wall, hard enough to make your vision splinter, as if to remind you who your creator is, who you belong to, and bucks his hips into you with a growl, his cock straining against his trousers. “Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth.

Astarion eases you down to the floor with feline grace, and slides down your body, leaving a trail of burning kisses in his wake. His breath ghosts over your flesh, making you tremor with anticipation.

When his mouth finally reaches your aching center, you cry out, overwhelmed by the velvety sensation. He licks a long, slow stripe up your folds, making you gasp. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he sucks gently on your clit. The dual stimulation of his tongue and the slight graze of fangs against your sensitive flesh leave you trembling. Astarion grips your hips, holding you steady as he devours you with single-minded focus.

Astarion's ministrations intensify. His fingers curl inside you, stroking that perfect spot with relentless precision. He applies steady pressure, matching the rhythm of his tongue, and you feel yourself climbing higher and higher towards your peak.

With his free hand, he grips your thigh, holding you open and exposed to his ravenous appetite. His tongue dances in intricate patterns, alternating between broad strokes and precise flicks that leave you gasping, creating a delicious tension that coils tighter with each passing moment. Your thighs begin to tremble, and Astarion responds by tightening his grip, holding you firmly in place as he redoubles his efforts.

Your fingers tangle tighter in his hair as he works you relentlessly with lips and tongue. Astarion's skilled ministrations build the pressure inside you to a fever pitch. Just when you think you can't take any more, he sucks hard on your swollen bud. Pure, raw ecstasy floods your body, and you cry out his name as a swell of bliss crashes into you.

But Astarion doesn't relent. He laps up your release greedily, prolonging your climax until you're trembling and oversensitive. Only then does he raise his head, lips, and chin, glistening. His crimson eyes burn with hunger as he crawls up your body.

"Delicious," he purrs, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue as he ravishes your mouth.

The kiss deepens, his fingers desperately working at the buttons of his trousers, and freeing his cock. The kiss grows more urgent as Astarion positions himself between your thighs, muscles rippling under his skin. You feel him pressing against your entrance, teasing you, hot and insistent. He breaks the kiss to gaze into your eyes, a wicked smirk playing on his lips. Slowly, torturously, he rubs the head of his cock along your slick folds.

With a low growl, he sheaths himself inside you in one powerful thrust. You cry out at the exquisite stretch. Astarion sets a relentless pace, his hips snapping against yours with vampiric strength and speed. Each thrust sends soul-crushing pleasure spiderwebbing through your body, making you pant and whine. Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him even deeper into you. The feel of him dragging against your walls is almost overwhelming, filling you completely, and every nerve in your body hums.

Astarion's mouth moves from your lips down to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin. You arch into him, your hands running over his back as he marks you with his bites.

He moves one hand to cup your breast, squeezing and teasing the hardened nipple between his fingers. The other hand trails down between your bodies, finding that sweet spot between your thighs once again. His fingers dance over it expertly, adding to the pleasure building inside you. You can feel yourself getting closer to another release, but Astarion seems determined to draw it out.

He pulls back slightly, changing the angle of his thrusts and hitting a spot inside you that makes your vision blur. He smirks down at you before picking up his pace even more. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoes through the room as Astarion drives into you with a fierce hunger.

“Come for me, pet,” he barks, raspy and breathless.

His words send you over the edge, your body convulsing in ecstasy, pleasure crashing over you with an intensity that narrows your world down to only him. Your body arcs against Astarion as unadulterated ecstasy ripples through you, each one more powerful than the last. You cry out his name, clinging to him desperately as your inner walls clench around him.

Astarion growls, a primal sound of satisfaction as he feels your release. He doesn't slow his pace, plunging into you relentlessly as he chases his own climax. His lips find yours, swallowing your moans as the overstimulation borders on painful rapture.

"You're mine," he snarls, but his words carry less bite than usual, said more as if he's trying to convince himself.

"Yes," you sigh.

"You're going to take all of me, aren't you?" He growls in your ear. "My very good girl."

You moan in response, unable to form any coherent words as pleasure consumes you once again. As if sensing this change in you, Astarion starts moving faster and harder than before. His fingers dig into your hips as he sets a brutal pace, his own need driving him to push you to your limits until your body convulses once again.

You feel the shift in him, the way his muscles tense and his thrusts become erratic. With a final thrust, he buries himself deep inside you and lets out a guttural groan. You feel his release, his cock pulsing and spilling his seed into you, hot and intense. As the pleasure begins to ebb, Astarion's movements slow to a gentle rocking. He peppers your neck and collarbone with feather-light kisses, a stark contrast to the fierce passion of moments before. His body covers yours completely, pinning you beneath him. You can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest against yours as he catches his breath.

For a few minutes, you’re granted a blissful reprieve of thought. Astarion pulls out slowly, and the sensation makes your whimper because you once again feel so very empty. He rolls onto his back on the floor, his cock still glistening with the evidence of your betrayal.

In a movement you don’t quite perceive, he gathers you up, and places you atop his chest. His skin cools within moments, reminding you of a time long ago, and cutting through the searing heat of Avernus like a winter breeze. Your eyes begin to drift shut, but you force them open when Astarion shifts, bending his arm, and slipping his hand behind his head. He opens one eye lazily to glance at you.

“Rest,” he murmurs, his voice husky with the aftermath of your passion.

You shake your head slightly, stubbornness still flaring despite the exhaustion that tugs at your bones. “I can’t... if anything sneaks up on us.”

He cuts you off with a sharp, exasperated huff. “For once in your life, will you stop being so bloody insufferable? Rest. Nothing’s going to sneak up on us, not with me here.” The words are edged, but there’s a faint echo of something less venomous, less cruel.

His eyes slide shut, and eventually, you feel the pull of your trance calling to you. Just a few minutes. Just enough to regain some strength. You let yourself slip into that familiar meditative state, your breathing evening out, your mind beginning to drift.

But just before you fall completely into the quiet embrace, a sharp realization hits you like a dagger to the chest. This didn’t bring him back. The Astarion you love, your husband—the one who has always softened under your touch, who has always let you anchor him—remains locked away. This time, the intimacy didn’t break through. It didn’t bring him home.

A cold dread curls through your gut as your mind slips deeper into the trance, a single, terrible question echoing in the recesses of your thoughts: What if he’s truly lost to you now?

You rise slowly, pushing back the soreness in your muscles as you reach for your scattered clothes. The air is stifling, thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood and the charred remnants of this crumbling ruin that serves as your shelter. Astarion’s presence looms behind you, a shadow that refuses to recede.

He leans casually against the fractured wall, arms crossed, watching you with unsettling glee. “You know, darling, I could still taste you on my tongue when I woke up,” he mocks. “You were... surprisingly sweet for someone who likes to play so very hard to get.”

You stiffen, but refuse to give him the satisfaction of turning around. You keep your hands steady, forcing yourself to finish each button as if his words don’t touch you.

“And do not try to tell me you didn’t enjoy it,” he continues, his tone slipping into a near purr. He steps closer until you can feel the whisper of his breath against the back of your neck. “I could taste your enjoyment on your lips, in your cries.” He leans in even closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks. “Tell me, did you enjoy it as much as I did?”

“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to stroke your ego about this,” you snap.

He chuckles, a sound that reverberates through you. “Oh, come now. No need to lie to yourself. We both know there was something deliciously twisted about it, wasn’t there? The way you writhed under me, the way our bodies fit together.” His fingers trail along your shoulder, down the line of your spine, light but maddeningly possessive. “I wonder... how long will it take before you crave it again? Before you beg me to make you feel like that again?”

You jerk away from his touch, turning to face him with a glare that’s meant to cut through his bravado, but all he does is tilt his head, a wicked glint in his eyes. He’s studying you, drinking in your reactions like the desert drinks a mirage, savouring every hint of anger, every sign of defiance.

“You’re trying too hard, Astarion,” you bite out, hating the way your voice sounds—hoarse, shaken.

His smirk softens at the edges, but it doesn’t lose its sharpness. He reaches out, tracing a knuckle along your jaw, his touch deceptively gentle. “I think you’re afraid... afraid that you enjoyed it too much. Afraid that you might find yourself wanting me again, even knowing that I am not him.”

You step closer, closing the distance between you until you’re nearly nose to nose, and you let a small, defiant smile curl at your lips. “Enjoy this while you can, Ascendant,” you whisper, your voice like a blade. “Because this power trip of yours won’t last forever.”

He laughs softly, but it’s a brittle sound, like the crackle of a fire on the verge of dying. “Maybe it won’t,” he concedes, his expression darkening. “But I think we both know that you and I? We’re far from done.”

You hold his gaze a moment longer before turning away, grabbing what’s left of your belongings, and walking out into the harsh light of Avernus. Astarion’s silhouette leads the way across the blistered ground. He moves with the confidence of someone who expects to be obeyed, and you follow, your mind restless even as you try to keep your senses sharp, wary of any lurking dangers. It’s not easy—your attention keeps snagging on the memory of the man he used to be, the one you long to bring back from the recesses of his fractured soul.

But that man is not the one in front of you now. This version of Astarion walks as if he owns the Hells themselves, his chin lifted, crimson eyes sweeping the broken landscape with a predator’s calm. He glances back at you occasionally, his gaze cool and assessing, as though measuring how far he can push before you break.

“You’re awfully quiet, darling,” he remarks, his voice carrying over the infernal wind, mocking and sharp. “What’s on your mind? Plotting another romantic gesture, perhaps? Or are you already planning your next betrayal?”

“Some of us prefer to focus on survival rather than listening to our own voices,” you reply, tone as dry as the scorched earth beneath your feet.

He chuckles, a low, indulgent sound. “Yes, yes. Survival. But you’re not exactly thriving, are you? No sun to warm your skin, no prey to hunt, no adoring husband to cling to. I imagine it’s rather dismal, even for you.”

Despite the barbs, you can’t help but notice that he’s talking more. The silence that used to stretch between you has given way to a stream of biting commentary. It’s a small thing, but you cling to it, wondering if it means that some part of him is still trying to reach out.

The path leads you towards the river Styx, its crimson waters churning sluggishly, a scarlet serpent winding its way through the hellish terrain. You duck beneath a twisted tree, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky, just as a fireball streaks overhead, sizzling as it hits the river’s surface.

Your mind wanders. Time hasn’t brought your Astarion back. Blood nor intimacy have, either. You’ve tried every approach you can think of, every small act that might stir a glimmer. But there is one option left, a last-ditch effort that could either save him or doom you both—the psychic bond that ties you to your husband, the thread that you’ve kept hidden, shut tight like a vault.

It’s your last secret, and one that you’ve guarded fiercely. What will happen if it fails? If you open yourself to him, let him see everything you’ve kept hidden—your desperation, your love, your belief that there’s still something left to save—and he remains unchanged, you’ll have nothing left. No hope. No leverage. Just a door flung open to darkness.

“Careful,” he croons, gesturing toward the crimson river that slithers alongside your path, its surface rippling like molten blood. “You know, the Styx has quite the reputation. One touch of its lovely ichor, and you might find yourself... forgetful. Sometimes it’s temporary, a few memories lost like leaves on the wind. Other times... well, let’s just say it can wipe a mind clean, leave you a blank slate.”

“I must admit, the thought is rather entertaining. Just imagine—me, throwing you into those waters, watching as every piece of who you are slips away, until there’s nothing left but a frightened, lost little girl.”

He leans closer, the mockery clear in every syllable. “You would have to rely on me for everything. I could be anything I wanted to you—a hero, a protector, the only one you could trust. You would hang on my every word, wouldn’t you? And would never know just how much danger you’re truly in.”

You keep your expression neutral, refusing to let the threat find purchase in your mind. It’s true, the Styx’s waters are a danger—one that could very easily strip away everything you’ve fought to hold on to. But Astarion’s taunts ring hollow, a game to try and get under your skin. You know, deep down, that if he truly wanted to reduce you to nothing, he wouldn’t need the river to do it.

You tilt your head, letting a faint smirk tug at your lips. “Oh, how thoughtful of you, but perhaps you should consider going for a swim yourself. After all, isn’t forgetting me your deepest, darkest desire? Didn’t the hag say as much?”

The change in him is slight—an almost imperceptible pause, the faintest twitch of irritation behind his eyes—but it’s enough. For a heartbeat, the mask slips, just a crack, and you seize the opportunity to press further.

“Why, Astarion, you almost seem bothered by the idea. Is it because it’s true? Is that what you really want?” You prod, your voice taking on a mocking lilt.

“You think you’re so clever,” he says, his timbre low and dangerous. “I needn't explain myself to you.”

“You’re so quick to dismiss it all, aren’t you?” you press. “So eager to pretend that none of this matters. But you’re lying—to me, to yourself. Maybe if you drown out the truth with enough threats, you’ll start to believe it.”

The shift is instantaneous. His eyes flash with a wild light, and before you can draw your next breath, he’s on you, one hand clamping around your throat. He moves faster than you can process, lifting you off your feet as if you weigh nothing at all.

Your nails scrabble against his wrist, but he doesn’t even flinch, his grip iron and unyielding. He holds you there, suspended in the air above the roiling edge of the Styx, the river’s crimson waters churning just inches below your dangling feet.

His laughter rings out—maniacal, jagged. “You think you can provoke me, that your little words matter?” he sneers, his lips pulling back to reveal a gleaming edge of fangs. “Look at you, dangling here like a broken doll. So fragile. So pathetic.”

He loosens his grip a fraction, just enough for you to suck in a ragged breath, and for a moment, your body drops, slipping toward the writhing red of the river below. Panic claws at you as you feel the heat of the Styx’s surface, the promise of obliteration in its depths. But just before your feet touch the water, his fingers tighten again, hauling you back from the brink with effortless strength. He holds you there, hovering over the edge of oblivion, letting you feel the danger, the power he wields over you.

“Go on then,” you manage to rasp out, voice hoarse with the strain of his grip on your windpipe. “Do it. Drop me. Erase me. Kill me. Just fucking do something.”

It’s a gamble—one that might cost you everything. But you can’t stand the game, the way he toys with you like a cat with a wounded bird, drawing out the agony with every mocking word.

“You think I won’t do it?” He hisses, and for a moment, you feel the tension in his grip shift, as if he’s testing your weight, deciding whether to let you fall. “You really are a fool. You’re so eager for death, aren’t you?”

“You don’t have the spine for it, do you?” you hiss out, fighting to keep your voice steady even as his fingers tighten and loosen again.

His grip slackens further, his expression shifting, something cold and vicious overtaking that momentary uncertainty. You feel the weightlessness beneath your feet, the rush of air as his grip slips—

And you realize, with a jolt of terror, that this time, he might truly mean it.

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things.

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes: - Did she push him too far? - I cannot tell if I feel like this is a betrayal. It's still technically him... right?

#ascended astarion #astarion x reader #bg3 #astarion fanfic #bg3 astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion x you #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts #pallidmoon #astarion x oc #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion ascended

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rip-quizilla · 4 months ago

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We're a Metal Band

@corrodedcoffinfest Day 22: Alternate Universe

A/N: This story is a collaboration between @the-unforgivenn and myself! If you enjoyed this work, go visit her page and show her some love :) You can find her masterlist here.

WC: 996

Summary: Eddie's shift at The Hideout gets interesting when four presumptuous twerps walk in.

Tags: Bartender!Eddie Munson, Dustin, Will, Lucas and Mike are all in a band together, Eddie has a soft spot for these kids in every AU

Divider was created by @strangergraphics

“For the last time, we’re not children,” the cantankerous, curly-headed demon with the lisp bullied himself into Eddie’s space like there isn’t a foot and a half height difference between the two. “We have just as much of a right to perform here as anyone.”

“Actually, you don’t,” Eddie countered, fighting his emerging smirk with a withering glare. “This is a bar. Not a daycare. And no one performs here, Justin, the audience would be, like, five drunks at most.”

“My name is Dustin. I know it’s not a daycare, as I have stated before, we are not –”

“I think what my friend is trying to say-” the soft-spoken one with the unfortunate bowl-cut interjected, “-is that we want to play here. And I think you’d be smart to hire us.”

Eddie snorted, wiping lazy circles across the surface of the bartop with a damp, tattered rag. These kids were annoyingly persistent, but it was better than being bored at work during the dead hours of a Tuesday evening. “And why is that, kid?”

Panic flashed briefly behind bowl cut’s eyes, but right as he opened his mouth to reply he was interrupted by the tall one behind him.

“Because we’re a metal band!”

Eddie’s eyes flicked over to him, followed by the wide eyes of the other three band members.

“Mike, we don’t know any-”

“Shut up, Lucas!” The tall kid- Mike- muttered to the fourth kid with an elbow to his ribs. Mike’s eyes were trained on what seemed to be Eddie’s chest, so Eddie curiously followed his line of sight… right to his Black Sabbath T-shirt.

A wry smile took up residence on Eddie’s lips as he decided that maybe these kids could make his boring shift a little more entertaining.

“A metal band, huh?” He asked, pitching his voice high with interest. “What’s the name of the band?”

“Sign us. Then we’ll tell you.”

“What do you think I am, a producer? I’m a bartender, kid! I don’t sign shit, I pour beer.”

“Okay, let us perform then.” The kid amended- practically whined. Jesus, how old are these twerps? “We don’t need a stage or anything, we’ll just set up in that corner! You won’t even know we’re here!”

Eddie leveled an eyebrow at him. “You’re a metal band and you’re telling me I won’t even know you’re here?” Mike cringed while Eddie smirked, shrugging before he turned to dry some pint glasses waiting behind him. “Must not be a very good metal band, then.”

“Next Tuesday.”

The obstinate demand came from the curly headed one who’d started this whole debacle. Argumentative, this one. A regular Dave Mustaine. Maybe these kids were metal after all.

“Next Tuesday, what?” Eddie paused, waited. He knew where this was going, but he wanted to test their metal; wanted them to sell him on it. It was the least they could do, since he’d already made up his mind about what his answer was going to be.

Curly Top steeled himself, squaring his shoulders and standing tall as his height would allow. “Let us perform next Tuesday night, and if we suck then you tell us to fuck off and we never bother you again.” Then he stuck out his hand, arm straight with rigid resolve. He looked ready to make a business deal- which, if you asked this kid, was exactly what he was doing.

Eddie studied that hand, making a show of contemplating his options before reaching out his own and sealing the deal.

“Next Tuesday.” he agreed, hiding the grin that threatened to emerge from the corner of his lips. “And you better have settled on a name by then.”

They were all giddy at this point, already glancing at each other with shining eyes and smiles that stretched from ear to ear. “We will! We promise!” one of them piped up as they began shuffling out of the sunset-lit bar. Eddie sighed, cursing his own sense of charity. Explaining all this to Bev would be interesting, to say the least.

“You kids better not let me down!” he called just before they reached the door.

“We won’t, sir!” Dustin shot a gap-toothed grin his way, the golden hour sunlight dappling a halo through his brown curls before the door shut behind him.

Eddie cringed at the sir that punctuated the end of that sentence. He wasn’t sure anyone had called him sir…ever. He chuckled, shaking his head. He might be going soft in his old age. That, or maybe those kids just reminded him of the boy he used to be- eager and hopeful, full of that fire stoked by dreams of making something of himself.

He still had those dreams- kept them in a drawer, admired them from time to time. Kept them in good condition, just in case he decided to pass them down to someone who had what it took to turn them into something more.

Maybe these kids had what it takes.

Eddie isn’t sure what went on in the week following their signing (Christ, that still made him grin), but when the group showed up that following Tuesday night, they were transformed.

Dressed head to toe in black, adorned in chains and leather boots. Mike boasted a denim vest that looked two sizes too big. The drummer secured a black bandana around his brow, and he was pretty certain Will was wearing eyeliner.

Good for him.

Eddie cocked his head, watching as they struggled with what looked like a homemade sheet crudely painted in reds and blacks behind the makeshift stage. Curiosity simmered behind dark chocolate eyes, straining against the dim light of the bar as the final tack was placed.

He scoffed, a bemused sort of sound as he read the name - their name - that proudly proclaimed to him and all five drunks exactly who they were.

Corroded Coffin.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Eddie muttered as something akin to pride wormed its way into his chest.

#eddie munson #corroded coffin #corroded coffin fest #bartender!eddie

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november-rayne · 1 year ago

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Chapter Seven: Meeting Sigyn

A/N: The King and Queen have returned to the capital with Loki's fiance and her parents in tow. The citezens gather in droves to get the first look at the future princess.

We find out Frigga has been busy setting some ground rules for the staff while she was away. And Loki garners some knowledge that he wishes he hadn't.

Word Count: 3400

Rating: Mature

*This story is for mature audiences only.* 18+

*Minors DNI*

Tags: Loki being a mama's boy, Frigga being a badass, the Brodinsons having a moment

Chapter Index

The inner palace gates opened, and the carriages rolled in, starting down the long thoroughfare toward the palace. The sound of cheering and screams erupted from the crowd. The royal coaches were first, large gold and gleaming in the sun. They were followed by the carriages of Lord Anderson and his entourage. Less extravagant than the princes were used to seeing. Plain black wood with silver, scrolling hardware. It reminded Loki of the hearses he had seen on Midgard.

‘Fitting,’ Loki thought. ‘A funeral procession. This is surely a sign from the Norns.’

Loki’s head was pounding. The sun was too bright. The crowd was too loud. His collar was too tight. He reached up to tug it down for the hundredth time when Thor’s meaty hand intercepted and smacked him back down again.

“Settle yourself!” Thor whispered to Loki through his tight smile. Thor masked the action by waving to the crowd just beyond the courtyard.

“Have some sympathy, Brother,” Loki whispered through the same forced smile Thor wore.

“You get no more sympathy from me, Brother. This suffering is by your own hand. You are our parents’ problem now. Once I settle your debts from your little excursions, I’m washing my hands of this whole ordeal and forgetting it ever happened.”

“Fair enough.” Loki went to pull at his collar again but thought better of it, lacing his fingers behind his back instead.

As Loki watched the carriages make their way down the long thoroughfare toward the palace, his chest started feeling heavier and heavier. Guilt tugged at his insides. “Thank you, by the way.”

“What?” Loki saw Thor’s composure break for half a second before he affixed the fake smile again.

“I must express my gratitude to you for returning me to the land of the living again. However, living is a loose term in this instance. My guts feel like they are trying to free themselves from my body and my head,” Loki shook his head, “Norns! My head pains something dreadful.”

Thor pulled a genuine smile. “You owe me one. And, it should be noted, for as bad as you feel in this moment, you look a hundred times worse.”

A burst of laughter escaped from Loki’s lips. Thor joined in and slapped a hand on his back. Loki barely kept himself upright under the bulk of Thor’s weighty hand. “Norns,” he whispered. The coaches were near the roundabout at the end of the thoroughfare.

‘Norns, please don’t let me retch again,’

“Thor?”

“I’m here, Loki.” He looked his brother in the eye and left his hand on his back. His fake smile was gone; his blue eyes were soft. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, baby brother.”

Loki let out a shaky breath. He felt tears prick his eyes and quickly blinked them away. A lump formed in his throat, and he swallowed hard. Thor rubbed a small circle on his back, then returned to his regal posture. Loki took a few deep breaths and then mimicked his posture.

The most opulent coach pulled up to the base of the palace steps. The King emerged first. The roar of the crowd almost brought Loki to his knees. Searing white pain exploded in his skull. He forced his eyes to stay open and took quick, shallow breaths waiting for the pain to ebb.

“You’ve got this, Loki. We will be back inside the palace walls in no time now.” Thor whispered as he watched their father help the Queen from the carriage. Another roar as Frigga beamed up at her sons, her relief to finally be home written all over her face.

The royal couple smiled and waved at the crowd as they made their way up the stone steps to the large courtyard where the princes were waiting.

Frigga broke protocol and pulled both of her boys into a firm embrace. “My, how I have missed the two of you!” She pulled back slightly and asked, “Please tell me why you look like you’ve just crawled out of Hel, Loki?”

Loki exhaled slowly through his fake smile. “It is so good to have you back, Mother. I’m just a bit under the weather.”

“I can smell the ale in you, boy! It has saturated you to the bone and escapes from your pores! The oils you bathed in scarcely mask the smell. You dare embarrass yourself and your mother on the day of your betrothal?” Odin’s face was red, and the vein on the side of his head looked fit to burst.

“In my defense, I only learned of your return a few hours ago.”

“Silence! Not another word! If you value your life, you will charm this family to your side.”

“But of course! Why would I not charm this gold-digging shrew of a bride that I do not even want…to…” Loki’s voice trailed off. He had been prepared to unleash all his vitriol regarding the surprise betrothal until he glanced down.

Time came to a screeching halt. The crowd disappeared. The world shrank and collapsed to one point: the woman who stepped out of the coach at the bottom of the stairs. She was exquisite. She was tall, toned, and beautiful. Loki’s breath hitched in his throat.

“Norns…” Thor whispered under his breath.

“You were saying?” Frigga elbowed Loki in his side, and he immediately corrected his posture.

Loki could not respond. He could not think. He could only stare at Sigyn as she waited for her parents at the base of the stairs. She was dressed in forest green silk, a high-neck halter dress that fluttered in layers down her ankles. She wore a copper belt and matching jewelry. Her deep brown hair hung in thick curls down to her waist. Her skin was smooth and sun kissed.

Loki felt his heart thundering in his chest. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain his composure, until she lifted her face to him and gave him the slyest of little smiles, stealing a look at him from under her lashes. Heat pooled in his chest and rose to his cheeks.

Her face was perfect. Large, emerald-green eyes, thick black lashes, high cheekbones, and the most perfectly shaped, pillowy lips Loki had ever seen. Her face, there was beauty there, no question, but there was also something else Loki recognized immediately: mischief.

His breath came out in a whoosh, and he swayed where he stood. His knees became weak and threatened to give out at any moment. Mischief radiated from her. The little smirk on her lips and the glittering glint in her eyes took his breath away. He had never seen the virtue emanate from anyone other than himself.

“She is a gift to you, my son, but I hardly think you deserve her after how you have behaved.” Odin’s voice was faint behind the pounding of Loki’s pulse in his ears. He could not respond. His mouth was dry; his tongue was thick.

‘Mine.’ Loki replied in his mind. Heat pooled in his lower belly. She was a gift for him. He could not wait to touch her. To taste her. He wanted to fall to his knees and worship her right there on the stones in front of the palace.

She smiled a genuine wide smile at the people while she waved. The realm seemed just as enamored with her as Loki. The crowd cheered, shouted, and screamed louder for her than the King and Queen.

‘Mine,’ he thought again as she climbed the stony staircase to meet them.

Odin clasped his hands behind his back as Lord Anderson and his family bowed to the King. “Welcome to my home. Please let me introduce my sons.” As was customary, Thor stepped forward first. “My firstborn and heir to the throne, Thor.” He shook hands with Lord Anderson. “Thor, Lord and Lady Anderson, with their lovely daughter, Sigyn.”

“Your Lordship,” Thor nodded, “My Lady and Lady Sigyn.” Thor took each of the ladies’ hands in turn and kissed the back of each one. “Welcome to the palace. And welcome to the family,” he winked at Sigyn.

“It is an honor to see you again, My Prince. You’ve grown into quite the strapping lad, haven’t you?” Sigyn’s mother patted his bicep through his tunic.

“We’ve met before, Lady Anderson?” Thor raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I do not expect you to remember me. We had a diplomatic visit hundreds of years ago. You were only yea high.” She held her hand out below her hip. “And your brother was still wearing his nappies.” She leaned around Thor to look at Loki, and her smile quickly slipped. “Oh, my. Are you ill, dear?” Sigyn sniggered behind her mother and her maid pinched her elbow to quiet her.

“Please excuse Loki, My Lady.” Frigga stepped up before he could retort. “He-”

“Ah, no need to explain, My Queen.” Lord Anderson interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I know a hangover when I see one. It appears even princes get pre-wedding jitters.” His belly bounced in amusement. “You see, dearest, the royals are real people. Just like us.” He gave Sigyn a little prod with his elbow. Lady Anderson clutched her pearls.

“Loki, my second son.” Odin presented him to the family, his face a hard mask.

Loki forced his eyes off Sigyn to meet her parents. He shook hands with Lord Anderson, “My Lord.” He kissed Lady Anderson’s hand, “My Lady.” He eagerly turned to Sigyn, “My Lady.” He took her hand slowly in his. The gathered crowd cheered.

“It is an honor to meet you, My Prince.” Sigyn bowed into a deep curtsey. Her voice was sultry but feminine. Her warm skin felt like silk on Loki’s fingers as he kissed the back of her hand. Lingering a tad longer than was appropriate, he relished the scent of her skin. She smelled like sunshine and citrus, and he had to force himself to release her. A slight nod was all he could respond to her. He did not yet trust himself to say more.

Odin stepped in between the couple. “Good people of Asgard,” a hush fell over the crowd. “It is my honor to announce the betrothal of our dear Prince Loki,” he took Loki’s hand, “to the Lady Sigyn of Smaragdberg” He took Sigyn’s hand and placed it in Loki’s. “We make this match for the good of the realm and for the good of our family. Please join me in welcoming my future daughter and future Princess of Asgard!”

The people cheered and applauded. The extreme noise would have done Loki in if he were not fixated on the woman beside him.

‘Mine.’ His mind reminded him.

He could not take his eyes off her as she smiled and waved to the crowd with her free hand. She turned to wave to the other side of the thoroughfare and caught Loki’s eyes on hers.

“Smile and wave, Your Highness,” she whispered through her teeth. She gave Loki’s hand a firm squeeze.

“Pardon?” he asked dumbly, still staring.

“Your people…” she motioned with her eyebrows, “are trying to get your attention.”

“My people?” Loki’s reverie was broken when he heard the chants of his name. “Oh, right.”

He turned on his most dashing smile and started waving to the people with his free hand. Sigyn giggled, and Loki thought he might melt right into the stone.

“I promise I’m not a moron,” he said to her through his smile.

“Is that so? You could have fooled me.” She gave his hand another playful squeeze. “Besides, moron or not, it seems that I am stuck with you. I can only pray to the Norns that our children inherit my intellect.”

Loki turned back to see the sly smile that played on her lips. ‘Oh, she is funny,’ Loki thought.

“When I decide to bless you with my heirs, I promise you they will be the cleverest, most handsome children. Just like their father.” Loki watched as her smile widened on her face, and he forgot how to breathe.

“Hmm. We will have to wait and see, I suppose. I hear drinking to excess is not good for virility.”

Loki huffed, “My Lady, I can assure you my-”

“Come! We have had a long journey. Let us get our guests settled in their chambers.” Frigga said as she clapped her hands, signaling the guards that they were making their way into the palace.

Loki offered Sigyn his arm as they turned and made their way inside. There was a frenzy of people inside the palace. Porters moving trunks, courtiers scrabbling for the King’s attention, servants bustling back and forth.

“We will retire to our chambers and meet for a private dinner in the small dining room. Saving the feast for tomorrow night will give all a chance to recover from the stress of our journey.” Frigga gave Loki a pointed look as she said this, but he did not notice. He did not want to leave Sigyn’s side, yet he did need to get out of his tunic and lay down.

“Until dinner, then?” Loki asked Sigyn as her maids collected her.

She curtsied with a nod, then followed her mother up the marble stairs. Her maids trailed so close behind her that Loki was robbed of the chance to steal a peek at her body from the back.

“Loki will escort me to my chamber.” Frigga motioned for him to follow her. “Thor, you will escort me to dinner. Eight o’clock sharp.”

“Yes, Mother.” Thor kissed Frigga’s cheek and then threw a wistful look at Loki. “Good luck.” He whispered to his brother as he headed toward his chamber.

Frigga whispered something to the maid at her side. The woman glanced at Loki before she bowed and quickly headed off down the hall. Frigga held her elegant hand out to Loki, and he placed it in the crook of his arm. They walked silently for a moment before Frigga asked, “Do you want to tell me the truth, or do I have to find out on my own?”

Loki drew in a deep breath. “I guess you could say I did not take the news of my betrothal very well. I panicked. I fled from the palace, and I... did not behave in a manner befitting my status.” Loki dared a glance at his mother, expecting disappointment but finding only a stern resolve.

He continued, “If Thor had not found me and dragged me back here…” He shook his head. “I cannot summon my seiðr… Mother, I am sorry. I behaved foolishly.” He stopped and turned to look Frigga in her eyes. “Mother, please, say something.”

“What is done is done. There is only one chance to make a first impression.” Frigga sighed. “I had hoped for a better reception, but part of me had expected some resistance. I can only assume, after seeing your reaction, that you approve of this match?”

“Sigyn is… perfect. She is lovely…” Loki could finally think clearly now that Sigyn was out of his sight.

“But?” Frigga raised her eyebrows.

“…but I do not wish to marry her.” Frigga resumed their walk, a knowing smile on her lips.

“And why is that?”

“Because I do not wish to marry anyone.”

“And why is that?”

“I... I cannot be a good and faithful husband.”

“And why is that?”

Loki sighed, “She did stir feelings in me, Mother, but not the kind you were hoping for. How do I know my interest in her will last beyond the physical?”

“Get to know her, Loki. Give this a fair chance. Make me a promise?”

“What’s that?”

“Promise me you will court her and get to know her. Promise me you will not bed her until you love her, really love her, not just her body. Promise me you will save it for your wedding night.”

“Mother…I…” Loki thought about that for a long moment. “What if I never love her? What if she never loves me?” Loki let out a shaky breath. ‘Could anyone like her love someone like me?’

“Oh, my sweet prince. You are deserving of love.” Frigga replied. Knowing her son so well, she could almost read his mind. “I can call off the wedding if needed.” Loki looked at her, stunned. “Am I not still Queen of Asgard? Promise me that you will be a perfect gentleman, and truly try and get to know her for one month. At the end of the month, if you honestly feel that I was mistaken, that this is a bad match, I will cancel the wedding and manage fallout.”

“You would do that for me?”

“Of course, my darling boy. If you keep your promise to me.”

Loki contemplated the proposal for several moments. On the one hand, what could it hurt to humor her? He could try courting the girl. After all, she seemed witty and funny from the few minutes spent with her. A month is a short time. At the end of the month, he could bid her farewell and resume the life he was used to.

On the other hand, did he want to spend all that time with her and not be able to seduce her? To taste her? To see her glorious body lazing on his bed sheets? Loki’s heart sank.

“I cannot seduce her?”

“Loki…”

“What if she seduces me?”

Frigga laughed, “I guess you will have to find some way to resist. Anticipation is part of the thrill.” She wagged her eyebrows at him.

“Mother!”

“What? How do you think you and your brother came into this world? I did not grow you in my vegetable garden.”

“I understand the process, Mother.” Loki shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Your father is an amazing lover. I still find it exceedingly difficult to keep my hands off him.”

“Norns, Mother! Still?” Loki felt his stomach threatening to betray him again.

“Naturally! I am not dead yet. But there is a time and a place for such things. Treat the girl like the Lady that she is. Earn her love and respect. The benefits will far outweigh a few weeks of going without.”

“Wait. Do you want me to abstain, not just from Sigyn, but from anyone? Mother…I-”

Frigga rolled her eyes, “Yes, dear boy, I am asking you to abstain. I assure you that you will survive. I have taken it upon myself to select your new chambermaid, a very devout married woman who will clean your rooms, launder your clothes, and prepare your baths. And that is all she will do. I have warned the staff that anyone caught engaging with you will be escorted from the palace.”

“Mother!”

“Loki, it is only one month. Please spare me your grumblings on the matter. How can you truly get to know the girl if your pursuits are elsewhere?”

Loki thought about this for a moment. “Okay, fine. I promise to keep my hands to myself. I promise to give her a chance. I promise to get to know her as a person.”

“And?”

“And I promise to be as pious as a priest. Now, can we please change the subject?” Loki shuddered.

“Okay. I promise to call off the wedding if you truly feel she is not the one for you.” She smiled at him like she did when she knew something he did not. “Now, what else did you want to talk about?”

“My seiðr. Why can’t I summon my seiðr?” They stopped directly in front of the double doors to the royal apartment. Two guards were waiting on either side. The maid from earlier was also there holding a small bottle.

“You must have been on the brink, my dear. Your body is using every drop of its energy to keep you alive. Lay off the drink and rest. And here,” she took the bottle from the woman, “drink this.” Loki took the bottle and eyed it suspiciously.

“What is this?”

“A little something to help you feel better. A hangover remedy I used to make for your father. I always keep a bottle on hand, just in case. Drink this and go lie down.”

Loki removed the stopper and downed the whole bottle in two swallows. “That is a good boy.” Frigga took the bottle and gave him a big hug. “Do not be late for dinner!”

“Eight o’clock sharp. I will be there.” He kissed her cheek and made his way back to his chambers. The heat of the potion was already spreading warmth through his body.

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#loki #loki fanfic #loki smut #a gift for loki #agfl #loki odinson #brodinsons #loki x sigyn #logyn #god of mischief #loki fanficiton #loki fan fiction #sas stories #loki smut and fluff

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leafsbabe · 7 months ago

Note

(This shall be kept vague so as to not jinx anyone, sorry this is so long, and I can’t write endings either)

Looking back, everyone is pretty sure exactly when you got pregnant. There was champagne and party after party and Nate and Sid and Nate and Sid. And then there was Nate and Sid and the next thing you know you haven’t had your period in a month and half and golly gosh darn it, what do you know? You’ve got four different brands of pregnancy tests from the pharmacy and they all say the same thing. Pregnant, about two months along.

You know that wasn’t the plan at all. Sid and Nate are still l celebrating even thought it’s been a month, Sid’s going back to Pittsburgh in a month and Nate back to Denver, and now with a baby tagging along, you don’t know where that leaves you. You’ve all talked about it, but in the abstract ‘hey, that’ll be nice to think about for the future’ way that apparently needs to be sped up to a now conversation. Who’s the father, how public is it going to be? Where do you get an OBGYN?

You go to the NHL store and spends a small fortune on express shipping a Penguins Crosby onesie and an Avalanche MacKinnon onesie, then they buy the smallest pair of skates available on Amazon. It’s all shipped to a friend’s apartment, less chance of being discovered prematurely there. It takes almost a week for all of it to arrive, but it does. You go to the doctor to confirm, and come home with at least 10 copies of an ultrasound showing your little bean. Nate’s box has the Crosby onesie, one of the skates, and one of the ultrasounds. Sid’s is the same, except with the Crosby onesie.

Its nerve wracking, waiting for them to notice that you’ve changed somehow in some implicit way that pregnant people must change. You end up waiting another two days to give them the boxes. They come home sweaty from a peewee practice that they host over the summer. Sid and Nate, for all that they are adults with serious jobs and responsibilities, can never say no to the kids, pulling off increasingly stupid and hard tricks just to win cheers and laughter from their young audience. They’re chatting in the kitchen when you plop down the boxes. It takes some cajoling for them to open the boxes, “you shouldn’t have,” and “I don’t need anything, I’ve got all I want right here,” falling from their lips.

They open the boxes at the same time, but it’s Sid who figures out what it means first. He looks up, eyes wide and glossy. “For real,” he asks, starting to choke up. Nate must have caught on too, because he’s also looking at you, wonder and awe in his eyes. “Yeah,” you say, tearing up yourself. “I know it’s not like how we planned, but I guess we celebrated a little too hard after finals.”

Both men stand up and wrap themselves around you. Given that it’s the height of summer, their embrace is too warm and sweaty, the humidity seems to hang in the air like a gossamer mist that puts a shine on everything it touches. “Don’t care,” Nate says, squeezing you and Sid harder. Sid hugs harder too for a second before loosening his grip and smacking Nate’s arms. “Is that too tight for the baby?” Nate loosens his grip too. “Oh shit, I didn’t even think,” he trails off, blushing. “What about all the.. you know.. bedroom stuff, are they like, ok?” Sid takes a step forward and ruffles Nate’s hair, long and sun bleached. “Idiot,” he says with a voice that can only be described as disgustingly fond, “Nathan, sex isn’t going to hurt the baby.” He pauses and turns to look at you. “Right,” he asks, pouting a little.

You laugh at them for a second. “Yeah, we’re good to celebrate all we want.” You lean in to Nate, pull him down and stage whisper “maybe this time you’ll knock Sid up,” and lean in to swallow his needy moan. Nate pulls you towards the bedroom, and you look back at Sid, whose face has flushed a lovely pink, standing there slack jawed and stiff. You reach out your hand and he takes it. “Bedroom,” Nate grunts and Sid follows.

little baby MacCrosby is going to be so fucking loved but I completely agree that Nate should knock up Sid next

#sidney crosby #nathan mackinnon #leafsbabe bullshit #SidDogg

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years ago

Text

Beyond the Blood Tie - Chapter Fourteen.

Thanks so much for those of you interacting with this! I’m pleased it has a small audience of followers. I notice that a few others are liking, but not commenting. Can I persuade you to reach out and tell me what you enjoy about it, maybe even reblog it to assist me getting more views? I would be very appreciative if you did!

Previous Chapters - One Two, Part One Part Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen

Words - 5,824

Tag list - In the comments. Please DM to be added/removed

Warnings - 18+ content throughout. Minors DNI!

Angel's POV

"Edie, Edie where are you? Are you okay? I can't fucking get to you," I call out, trying to feel around for Edie's body, since I hung onto her at the moment we were propelled through the air from the force of the blast, the gas station exploding into inferno. I tried to move her quickly because my senses picked up on something, something just wasn't right, and I was most definitely not wrong in that assumption. Just as I landed, though, a sharp shard of splintered wood went straight through my shoulder, meaning I'm pinned here to the floor, unable to move or heal myself, since wood of course is one of our weaknesses.

Looking down at myself, I see the wood is stuck right into my shoulder, and it's not a small piece either. If I don't get this out, I'm going to bleed to death here on the ground, and I don't even know if Edie is okay. Turning my head to the left, I can’t see her, all my eyes can make out are burning bits of debris, but when I turn to my right, I spot her lying there about five feet away from me, covered in blood, her hair scorched and her face burnt. She's moving a little, but I suspect she's barely conscious. I can't even get over there to heal her.

Fuck!

The only way I can do this is if I feed first to be strong enough to pull the wood out of my shoulder, but she's the only human around. Whoever was in the gas station at the time will have all perished, the structure now a fireball stretching to hundreds of feet in the night sky. I can only imagine how bad it would have been, had the fuel containers beneath the ground all been full, which because of the shortages, they never are these days.

"Edie, can you hear me?"

"Yeah, are you alright?" she mumbles, trying to lift her head as she puts her hand flat on the floor to push herself up, and then screams in pain. Fuck, she must have broken a lot of bones. I tried to throw her right in front of me so it'd be my body to take the brunt of the blast, but when we landed, I think I landed on top of her before bouncing over here. My weight landing in impact upon her wouldn’t have helped.

"No, I've got a piece of wood through my shoulder and I can't move to get to you. I know this is asking a lot, but if either of us is going to get through this, you need to try and crawl to me so I can feed on you, get this wood out and then heal you. I know that's a massive ask, but I'm going to die if I don't get it out, and I need to heal your injuries too, or you'll be scarred for life. I'm so sorry I couldn't get you out of the way in time," I tell her, watching as she bravely presses her elbow to the ground and begins to try and move herself. Through the tiny little bit of my blood in her system, I can feel through her emotions she's in blinding agony, and I hate that she has to crawl five feet in intense pain to get to me. It's the only way though, for her not to be hideously scarred and me not to die my second and final death.

"I'm trying, but I think one of my legs is broken," she hisses, incredibly managing to haul herself a little closer to me, using one hand and one elbow. She's even stronger than I ever gave her credit for, and I swell with pride to call this young woman my friend as I watch her use everything she has to make it the five feet to my side in absolute agony, dragging herself slowly across the ground, gasping in pain.

"You're doing really well, just a little further and then grab onto my hand, I should have just enough strength to pull you close," I encourage, since this must be the hardest thing she's ever had to do. One good thing about the blast is the fact it flung us a good sixty feet through the air and away from the gas station, so we're at a safe distance from the further eruptions, but still, I need to get her out of here. It isn't safe, debris from other buildings the explosion took out still raining down as the buildings begin crumbling.

Reaching out my hand (thankfully on the uninjured side, which is closest to Edie) I watch her moving slowly still until her fingertips just about touch mine, hauling herself with a groan, that one final effort having her hand make contact with mine. I pull her over to me, biting down on her wrist and drinking what I'll need to recover. Her blood runs through my veins as I drink quickly, taking more than I need to be able to pull this wood from my shoulder. Three inches to the right and it would have pierced my heart. Quite simply, I would have exploded into a mush of blood, organs and bones upon the ground as a result.

Once I feel my strength begin to burn through me again, I take the wood and struggle trying to pull it out, seeing Edie's hand reach across and help me with it before she collapses on my chest, all her energy gone. That's okay though, because now it's my turn to look after her. When I sit up and lift her into my arms as I stand, though, I see I can't do that immediately. She's got shards of broken glass sticking out of her legs, her side and her back. I'll need to get her somewhere safe first to pull them out and then let her drink my blood to heal. Home it is.

"Angel! What on earth happened? I picked up on your pain and the fact you were in danger, alas I was fifty miles away. I've only just got back, and oh my lord, she's in bad shape," Ursula exclaims as her blur comes to a stop in front of me on the doorstep, just a few minutes after I left the scene of the explosion with Edie in my arms.

"Gas station explosion, we've got to hurry and get all this glass out of her wounds. What's on the outside is bad enough, she needs blood to heal the internal injuries that humans who get flung sixty feet in the air and then have a 6ft 3, near two hundred pound vampire land on them no doubt incur," I say as we then speed into the house and up to my room, Ursula ducking out again before coming back with something in her hand that she reveals to be two pairs of tweezers. Ursula is vain, she plucks her eyebrows and shaves her legs and underarms twice a day like a lot of female vampires do to cope with the speedy hair regrowth. She then goes to my bathroom and retrieves a glass, also fetching a pair of scissors from my desk draw.

"Bleed into that so you don't have to keep piercing your finger, and then start applying it to her scalp and face, she needs to be healed there the quickest, so she doesn't scar. I'll begin getting the glass out," she tells me before both begin. Ursula cuts the dress she's wearing off first and then starts rapidly tweezing every tiny shard of glass stuck in the skin, and there are many, while I move onto her face and neck. The unpleasant feeling inside me at seeing Edie so disfigured from the explosion subsides as I watch her healing again, her scalp and facial burns closing over and healing up, her hair beginning to grow again. There's nothing else in this world as rejuvenating as vampire blood. The most horrible thing I feel is her pain through her emotions as she starts to come around again, making little sounds of discomfort that only grow louder and more distressed.

"Shhhh, you're going to be alright. Ursula and I are looking after you, we've just got to get these pieces of glass out of you before I let you drink from my wrist to heal, and then you'll be fine. Just hang on, it won't take long," I assure her, stopping my picking of pieces of glass out of her back and stroking her head. She nods, tears sliding down her face as she breathes deeply and rapidly through her nose. The pain she must be in, I can barely imagine it.

"Okay that's everything out," Ursula says as our flurry of movement comes to a stop, and I bite into my wrist and offer it to Edie's mouth. She's just about able to move her head and latch her mouth around the bleeding wound, slowly drinking the blood back. When she's had enough to heal, I gently pull my wrist away and watch her lift her head a little before it thuds back down to the bed. It'll take a little time for her to heal completely and come round properly again, but at least she will.

"Let me have those clothes, I might as well put them in the trash rather than in the laundry basket for Maggie. They stink of gasoline, and that smell will never wash out," my creator tells me while I quickly undress and then pass them to her.

"Will you keep an eye on her while I shower?" I ask.

"Of course," she nods, squeezing my shoulder, picking up the remains of Edie's dress and leaving very briefly with the gasoline and blood soiled clothes, and then returning with a small pile of her own she's no doubt going to donate to Edie. I turn and move quickly to the shower, feeing glad for the water hitting my skin and soaking me completely before long. That feels good. After giving myself a good wash, I dry off and head out to dress, seeing Ursula sitting on the side of the bed, wrapping Edie in the covers.

"She's starting to come round a little, I'll leave you both. Until Tomorrow, unless I see you again later this evening." she tells me before leaving. When I walk over to the bed, I see Edie moving to sit up a little, but not quite managing it.

"Am I all in one piece?" she asks, blinking a few times until her eyes remain open.

"You're just as you were before we got blown up.” And thank fuck she is, because I was honestly scared for a moment, that we weren’t gonna make it, watching her smile and actually laugh a little.

"Except I stink of gas and burnt plastic. Do you mind if I take a bath? A shower would suffice, but I don't think I could stand up for that long. I feel all strange, like I'm drunk but all floaty and light," she tells me, rubbing her eyes with her hand.

"Not at all, I'll go and run one for you. Ursula had to cut off your dress, by the way. It was pretty much ruined anyway, all burnt around the and covered in blood, and also like all my clothes it stank of gas. Oh and the reason you feel a little floaty and light as you describe it is because of my blood. It differs from human to human, but it does have effects like that when you drink more than a mouthful," I let her know before getting up and going to plug the tub and turn the tap on in the bathroom.

Once it's ran, Edie slides off the bed wrapped in the top blanket, one I ask her to pass back to me so I can throw it in the laundry to wash the blood and slight smell of gas out of it. I then grab another one, a big, black cashmere one that covers the entire bed right to the floor on either side, and then quickly go and put my hand through the bathroom door again to put the clothes Ursula loaned to her on the floor. Picking up my cell that I removed from my pocket, I find it still intact, seeing I have five missed calls from the shop.

"After Dark, what can I do you for?" Eric answers on the third ring.

"It's me.”

"Thank fuck! I did wonder when you didn't answer. I heard the explosion, but I couldn't get out to see if you'd gone in that direction. The vibrations from the blast blew the front windows out, and the woman Sal was working on got cut quite badly on her leg, so we had to call an ambulance and all that. She wouldn't let us heal her, the medic even scolded about that, since the wound was clean it could have been done and not wasted their time. Anyway, are you and Edie alright? You must be to be calling me," he explains, while I feel my eyebrows rise. It really was a hell of an explosion to blow the front windows out. I suppose most other places along the street suffered the same, and when I ask, Eric informs me they indeed have, that there's shattered glass everywhere. Fucking protestors, but at least Edie will have fun with them when they're eventually caught. She'll probably ask for them to be sent to her especially so she can deal with them.

"As for how we are, it wasn't good when it first happened at all. We were right outside when it blew. I grabbed Edie and was literally about to move us both quickly out of the way but in the next nanosecond it blew up, sending us flying about sixty feet down the other end of the street. After we'd both landed again, I couldn't get to her, and she got more badly hurt than me. I had a piece of wood go straight through my shoulder, and she had to drag herself across the ground so I could feed on her and get her back here. She's alright now though, she's in the bath," I tell him, turning my head when the door opens to see Icarus and Thor both come padding in. They go to jump on my bed, but after a click of my fingers and a pointed finger in the direction of the large couch I have in front of the window, they both go and hop up there.

"I'm glad you're both okay, look I've still got broken glass to sweep up and the windows to sort out. I managed to find a guy willing to come out and board them over for a cash job, so we're covered there. The only problem is the fact since the window and front door sensors got blown out too, we can't reset the alarms, but no worries. I'm getting Toby to come down with Dana and Dobbs, we'll leave them here tonight so if anyone does try and loot the place, they'll lose a hand at best, a leg at worst," he chuckles referring to another vampire who lives in his nest who owns two large Doberman dogs, who usually guard the nest while the vampires within are sleeping. You'll find that with a lot of vampires, it's an old and common tradition to keep dogs that guard your home in daylight hours. I just had to be extra and have wolves.

"Alright, oh you might want to ask Sal if he can get one of his humans to oversee a glazer to come in tomorrow to refit the windows, if anyone can come in at short notice," I suggest. That's the problem with being a vampire, finding someone to oversee any work you need doing in daylight hours on any properties you own.

"Toby's girl Karissa will probably do it, she'll need to too because the dogs won't know any of Sal's humans and obviously, they know her and thus won’t try and rip her to shreds. I'll call him back and ask him in a sec. Anyway, see you tomorrow." Eric finishes with before hanging up.

I wish these fucking protestors would apply some brain power to the situation, I really do. They've burnt out five gas stations in the Las Vegas area alone, and what do they expect will come of that? They're just making fuel harder to come by, blowing up and burning off the stocks that are costing the country a small fortune as it is will only serve to hike the prices up again massively, meaning they're back to square one. It won't be long before the military will be called in to guard the stations, and that will put more financial stain upon an economy which is only just beginning to flourish again, with having to pay servicemen to guard the places twenty-four hours a day.

Right now, I'm thankful for the fact that by tomorrow, the shop will hopefully be sorted, and we'll be back in business, and even more so that I accompanied Edie tonight, too. I shudder when I think of the fact that I could have left in one direction and she in another and gotten blown up. She could have died without me there to help her, and I would have died without her there to help me, as it turned out. One thing that could possibly be noted as bad is the fact that we're now sharing a blood tie again, except this time it’s much, much stronger than the one we shared before, since we've ingested a lot more of each other's blood.

I like it because I've missed her, missed feeling her within me through her emotions. What I do not like is the fact that they're all very strongly focused on me, just as she'll be able to feel mine are for her, too. I think this is where it's going to get kinda complicated, trying to pretend we only see each other as a friend when underneath, we both know it's becoming something much deeper than that. Except we can't let it, can we?

Edie's POV

"Wow, that's just... woah.” I exclaim to myself, looking over my body to see not a single mark on me as I dry off from my nice long soak in the bath, admiring my new tattoo in the mirror before looking back at my face again, stroking my hand over it. I know I was burned right down the left side of my face, my eyelids on that side I couldn't even open, my lashes burned and clumped together. I'd have been blind in that eye, hideously maimed and in hospital for months, more than likely, if Angel and his creator hadn't saved me. Hell, I'd have probably died. My whole body felt broken when I came around, and I still don't know how I managed to crawl across the ground to get to him. It was the most testing thing I've ever had to do since trying to hide what I suspected was a broken rib from my teacher once at school. My mother's doing, of course.

The hair that I knew must have been burned right down to the very roots has all grown back, and apart from feeling a little like I'm high (or what I'd imagine it to feel like, since I've never taken an illegal drug in my life) I've come through my ordeal completely fine. You could never tell I was blown up just an hour and a half ago. I'm surprised the force of the blast didn't cause me to lose a limb, but I think I have Angel to thank in that since he moved me right in front of him and then turned so his body took the brunt of it. I remember something heavy thudding on top of me when we landed, that something being him, I do believe.

Speaking of Angel, I have to say I feel a little apprehensive about exiting this bathroom again. Drinking his blood and him drinking mine, it's connected us once more. This time though, on a much deeper level. I can feel his emotions very clearly, and oh boy, I'm picking up them loud and clear. Let's just say that affection I was questioning earlier really is no illusion, and he secretly likes me about as much as I do him, and not solely as a friend either. Really, is going through tattoo pain and getting blown up not enough for me to endure today, the universe has to throw me this curve ball now too? I can't hide in here forever, though, so after drying off and hanging the big fluffy black towel back up on the rail, I then move to the pile of clothes on the floor.

I see Ursula has kindly provided me with something to sleep in and also a change of clothes for tomorrow. Such fancy clothes too, the little black nightdress I put on is a grey Victoria's Secret one (and you can't get those any longer, since the company hasn't started up again after the disaster) that actually looks brand new, and then a pair of green ladies' style army pants and a long sleeved tight black top, also some underwear which are actually still in their original wrapping from when she purchased them. I dry off my hair a little and leave it down to dry naturally, taking a deep breath and exiting.

As soon as I come out, I have two beautiful wolves shoot off the large couch by the window and come trotting up to me, licking my fingers and my arms as I bend to stroke them both. They're just like massive dogs, I swear. Angel has trained them so well.

"How do you feel now?" the vampire himself asks me.

"Better, still a little giddy, though," I confess, wobbling right on cue when I stand up straight again and having him there by my side to steady me in a second. He then picks me up and pulls a big black blanket back on the bed before lying me down and covering me with it, lying down next to me.

"You need to just lie here and rest. I know my blood is healing to injuries, but your body is still probably in shock over what happened to you, and you're all high on vampire blood, so the best thing for you to do would be to sleep right now," he advises, his hand reaching out to stroke my hair as he smiles. "You saved my life tonight, and I'll never be able to thank you enough for that." He adds, kissing my forehead.

"In turn you then saved my life too, so the sentiment is returned," I tell him, kissing his cheek and then just staring at him a few moments. It’s in those few moments that we just can’t help ourselves, the relief of not perishing, the strong blood tie, knowing now so clearly how we feel for one another, our lips meeting in a soft kiss. That keeps deepens in a second, Angel pulling me close to his big chest, his one hand stroking my cheek while the other runs up and down my back, and I feel like my head is spinning in confusion. Confusion and, oh, roaring fucking lust.

"We can't do this, but it feels too good to stop," I sigh, pulling away momentarily, while he climbs beneath the blanket with me.

"Then let's not stop. Let's not think about anything else other than this moment. Reality can stay away for now, and if it comes knocking, I'll kill it," he whispers before kissing me again. The way he kisses and strokes me, so gently yet firmly, I can hardly believe he kills when he has sex, it just seems so far removed from the vampire currently making me feel like I'm the most desirable woman on earth. I've never had anyone make me feel like that before. Oh, god. Is it just him, or are all vampires as passionate as this? Really, this is absolutely mind-melting, the way he kisses me, fingers gliding over my spine, making me tremble to his touch.

"Where'd you learn to kiss like that?" he asks me after about ten minutes, his fingertips stroking my face while the other hand rests at the curve of my waist.

"I was just about to ask you the same question," I reply, smiling and feeling overloaded with affection when he kisses the tip of my nose and my eyelids. How can this be the same vampire who was so vile to me once upon a time?

"I've had over a hundred years of practice, what's your excuse?"

"I'm a hoe.” Those words make him burst out laughing. He looks so gorgeous, when he laughs like that, when his face lights up completely.

"You couldn't be further from it, I can tell.” I don't know what's happening here, are we just enjoying a few kisses before reality kicks in again and then going back to normal, or am I about to die, or what? "Why've you gone so tense? Relax." He then tells me softly a few moments later, pulling away from my lips and looking at me with a little concern.

"Because we're doing something we shouldn't be, that we can't be doing at all. We can't let ourselves enjoy this, because nothing can come from it. We both agreed just a few hours ago we had to move on from what happened at the club, and now only three hours later, we're doing the same thing again," I express, while he kisses the frown I know I have denting my forehead. All the while, I can feel his emotions, and he doesn't want this to stop. I couldn't feel his actual emotions before because I didn't have very much of his blood in my system, but now I can, I wish I couldn't, because I can feel how much he wants this to continue, which is about as much as I want it to as well.

"I know, I know and I hate it as much as you do. But I can't stop myself, for this moment I just want to enjoy a little of what I can't have. Just for a night, I want to forget that I can't be with you in the way I want to be completely. You make me feel things I haven't felt since I was human, and I'm in no rush to stop feeling them either." he replies, before we sink into another kiss.

We lie like this in each other's arms kissing for what feels like hours, until I feel myself growing tired, resting my head against his chest and feeling soothed by the peaceful deadness within him while my eyes grow heavy and I start yawning. I become vaguely aware of trying to keep myself awake and him telling me to close my eyes and go to sleep, and then nothing at all. I fall into a peaceful sleep there in his arms, but when I wake again in two hours at 2am, he's gone.

"Angel?" I call out, looking around the room and seeing it empty but me. Just then the door opens, and the gorgeous vampire who made Angel walks in.

"Eric called him again and said he'd noticed a bag in the debris from the gas station explosion, and after looking he found your ID in the purse, so Angel has gone to fetch it for you. He'll be back soon. How are you feeling now, dear child?" she asks, coming to sit down next to me. I have to say, it feels a little patronising to be called a child by a woman who only looks a few years older than me, until I remind myself that she's of course a very old vampire at her age. I am just a child to her still. I was blown away when Angel told me she was over a thousand years old. That's incredible.

"I'm feeling much better. Thank you, Ursula, for looking after me when Angel brought me back, and for the loan of the clothes," I say, watching her nod elegantly.

"The undies you can keep, they were new and unworn anyway. My backside doesn't enjoy thongs," she begins, making me laugh a little. "Just give everything else to Angel when you see him again though, and you are of course most welcome. I would have donated you a bra as well, but my great, big melons are a little larger than yours." she then adds, while my eyes take in her plentiful cleavage for a second. I wish I had tits that big. They're not enormous, but they're way bigger than mine. She's probably a D cup at the very least.

"I will do, and again thank you for being so hospitable.”

She smiles warmly, nodding. "You are most welcome, my dear. My boy, well he's awfully fond of you, you know.”

"I know, and I of him as well. It's a pity nothing more than friendship can happen between us," I lament, watching her nod slowly.

"Indeed, it is a great pity because in such a short space of time, you've really done him a lot of good. Whether it was the punishment alone, meeting and befriending you, or a little of both, you've calmed him down massively. He's always been somewhat wild, Angel. The calm in him that I've felt is something I truly haven't experienced through him before, and I credit you fully for that. Anyway, he shall be back momentarily. I heard you call for him and I wanted to come and reassure you he hadn't just left you here. Goodnight, Edie." Reaching out to pat my hand, she then gone in a blink.

Sitting here alone again, I can’t deny, a little part of me has the urge to grab the change of clothes she lent me, put them on and then quickly leave before he gets back, but the bigger part of me cannot wait to have him by my side again. Being in his arms feels right, and kissing him feels even better. I know I'm torturing myself in participating in it, though. He said he wanted to enjoy just one night of this, acting in the way he wants to with me. Will we be able to go back to just being friends after this, or will it be uncomfortable between us? Were we ever really looking at each other as just friends? Maybe for a few hours, perhaps we were, but I doubt we can ever look at each other in the same way again after this. Man, I could kill for a cigarette right now. Turning to my side, I see the bedroom door open, and as if by magic Angel walks through it with my bag in his hand.

"Thank you so much for going back to fetch it for me, I really appreciate it," I tell him, taking it from him when he hands it to me and rooting through to grab my cigarettes. I notice the screen on my phone is cracked, and the bag itself smells of gas a bit, but other than that, everything is how I left it.

"You're welcome. I'm just going back downstairs for a little while, Ursula wants to talk to me," he replies.

"I'll come too, I want a cigarette, so I'll head outside since I don't want to stink out your bedroom," I tell him, moving to get up.

"No need, just go sit on the couch and lean out of the window. I don't mind the smell of cigarettes too much, I used to smoke like a chimney when I was human. See you in a while." Leaving me to it but in the company of the two wolves who followed him back up, he vanishes instantly. I still can’t get used to it, you know, how rapidly they move.

Getting out of bed, I head to the window and very happily light up, breathing in the smoke deeply while I open the window, looking out over the huge and beautiful back yard. They must have a human gardener come look after it for them in the daytime. Perching myself right on the arm of the couch, I sigh deeply, letting my damp hair fall in front of my face before I push it away with my hand to see the two yellow eyes of Icarus staring at me while whining softly. It's almost like he's asking what's wrong.

"Your master, he's too lovely for his own good." I admit to the wolf, who jumps up on the couch and reaches up to lick my cheek before curling up by my feet, as best as a massive Grey wolf can curl up, that is. Trying to process the events of this evening, I stare out of the window, my hand absently stroking Icarus on the head while I smoke with the other. I find my thoughts are so mixed up and confused I just cannot even begin to make sense of this. One thing that is blindingly clear to me though, is the fact I really am going to struggle with my friendship with Angel after tonight. After finishing my cigarette and closing the window again, I hear the rain that has begun to fall pattering on the pane, heading back to bed, where I fall asleep quite quickly despite the busyness of my brain. The feeling of a near naked Angel sliding into bed with me a couple of hours later wakes me again, though.

"Shit, I was trying not to disturb you," he whispers, wrapping an arm around me, his hand beginning to stroke my stomach through the nightie I wear.

"Don't worry. Goodnight," I tell him, and then feel him turn me over to face him.

"Just let me enjoy one more kiss with you, one and only one." He requests, his hands running through my hair as I touch his face through the pitch black to get a feel of where he is, and then grant him that kiss, the only one I'll ever have with him again. Sadly, I have to cut it short and pull away to turn over, because much too soon, I feel a very big erection tenting his boxers when it briefly touches my stomach. Yep, to top it all off, he just had to have a massive cock, didn’t he?

Holy shit. This just isn't fair.

#angel reyes #angel reyes fanfiction #angel reyes imagine #angel reyes smut #angel reyes x ofc #angel reyes x oc #angel reyes fanfic #angel reyes fic #vampire!angel reyes #mayans mc #mayans mc fanfiction #mayans mc imagine #mayans mc fanfic #mayans mc smut #mayans mc fic

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stuckybingo · 2 years ago

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Stucky Bingo Round-Up #20 (February 19th - 26th)

Don’t forget to fill out the submission form to be a part of the round-ups and to get your bingo badges!

How to (Try to) Lose a Guy in 10 Days by rohruh Square filled: G4 - Rom-com Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: rom-com, lovers to enemies to lovers, modern au, Summary: “I like it,” Carol snaps her fingers and points in Bucky’s direction. “Let’s give it a deadline. How long do you think you’ll need to get someone to break up with you, Barnes? 10 days?” This actually sounds kind of fun. It’s been a while since Bucky has felt this kind of excitement towards any of his work assignments. “How to lose a guy in 10 days,” he says with a bit of wonder. “How to lose a guy in 10 days,” Carol agrees, sharing a wicked smile with him. “I won’t need all 10, though,” he tells her with certainty. “I’m sure I can scare him off way sooner than that.” Format: Part of a multichapter fic

the fae behind the mirror by SomeSortofItalianRoast Square filled: I4 - Mirrors Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply Major tags: Fae & Fairies, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes, Literal Sleeping Together, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, pre-steve/bucky Summary: A cracked mirror leads to a close encounter of the third (Fae)kind. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

My Heart Is Open (I'm Letting You In) by Metalbvcky Square filled: I5 - AU: Shrunkyclunks Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Drunken Shenanigans Major tags: Post-Avengers (2012), Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Crack Treated Seriously, Drunk Steve Summary: Bucky come home from work only to struggle to with a jammed lock, and his very drunk neighbor, Captain America, breaks his door down to help him inside. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

the history books forgot about us by maplefiasco Square filled: N4 - Art format: Limited Colour Palette Ao3 rating: Teen Warnings: No archive warnings apply, implied blood Major tags: angst, book quotes Summary: A series of gifs illustrating quotes from This is How You Lose the Time War set over book pages. Format: Gifs

Lit From Within by Winnie Square filled: G4 - Found Family Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, very brief mention of past TWS trauma Major tags: domestif fluff, established relationship, canon divergence Summary: It's snowing in Brooklyn, and Steve and Bucky go out to the beach. They are ridiculously in love. That's it, that's all. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Jailhouse Rock by Smutconnoisseur Square filled: I5 - Kink: Exhibitionism Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Explicit content, Prison, Exhibitionism, Confessional Sex, No Overall Religious Themes, Major tags: Prison, Exhibitionism, Confessional Sex, Undercover, Mentioned Accidental Voyeur Summary: ""I love you too."" Bucky swallows down the knot forming in his throat, meaning they must say goodbye soon. He reaches down, smoothing out the numbers on the back of Steve's jumpsuit. ""Inmate 25147."" Steve's mouth drops open, and Bucky is quick to the drawl. ""You're keeping the outfit, right?"" Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Hey, I Just Met You by hanitrash Square filled: G4 - wrong number/butt dial Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, COVID-19, daddy kink Major tags: shrunkyclunks, wrong number, meet awkward, bratty bucky, daddy steve phone sex Summary: During the height of the Covid-19 lockdowns, Steve and the Avengers are helping to raise funds for first responders and other groups. Unfortunately for Steve, he mis-dials the phone just as he's put on a live stream. The young man who answers leaves Steve tongue-tied and thoroughly flustered, and he's thankful for the call to end. The last thing he expects is to meet that same man by chance eight months later - this time with far different results. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

The Serum by singthebeginningofmoana Square filled: B4 - Project Rebirth Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, watermelon Major tags: Angst, Fear, Canon Compliant, Parallels Summary: On opposite sides of the Atlantic Ocean and unbeknownst to each other, Steve and Bucky are both being given an experimental super soldier serum. Both are afraid and draw their strength from thinking of each other. Format: Short oneshot (300 - 1000 words)

Are there still beautiful things? by rya_204 Square filled: N1 - kink cock warming Ao3 rating: Explicit Warnings: No archive warnings apply, Tentacle sex, Cock warming, No Verbal Bucky Barnes Major tags: Post WS, H/C, Anal Sex, Angst Summary: «You shouldn't sleep in the walk-in closet, Buck.» He snorted. Steve was always ready to change the subject. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

Parallel, Space and Time by Cherriontop Square filled: N2 - Dysfunctional Relationship Ao3 rating: General audiences Warnings: No archive warnings apply, not steve friendly Major tags: canon compliant, emotionally hurt bucky, angry bucky, oblivious steve, post endgame Summary: Two years after Steve left Bucky for Peggy, Bucky has reached his breaking point with him. Format: Medium oneshot (1000 - 5000 words)

#stucky bingo #stucky bingo round 4 #round up 20 #weekly round up #don't forget to fill out the submission form

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kelliealtogether · 2 years ago

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Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Relationships: Ronan Lynch/Adam Parrish Characters: Ronan Lynch, Adam Parrish, Barrington Whelk, Noah Czerny, Blue Sargent, Richard Gansey III Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Friends to Lovers, Working Together On A Mystery to Lovers, Pining, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish, Ronan Lynch Loves Adam Parrish's Hands, Murder Mystery, Ghost story, Low Conflict, Low Drama, Just Chill

Excerpt:

It was such an unexpected breathy and almost soundless laugh that, initially, Ronan thought he hadn’t heard it. Up until then, Noah had been so dour it was contagious, creeping across the center console to infect Ronan the same way Noah’s chill did whenever he was in the car. But then Noah laughed again, and when Ronan glanced at him, the Noah in the passenger seat was definitely closer to what the living version of him must have been like. He still had the shadow on his cheek, marking the blow that likely killed him, but the rest of Noah–

Ronan reached over, expecting to find flesh and bone, but his hand sank right through Noah’s arm and, starting from his fingertips, ice crystallized through his veins until he jerked his hand back.

“Hey,” Noah complained, frowning at Ronan’s hand and looking a little less substantial. “That’s–That’s not cool. I don’t touch–try to touch you.”

[Chapter Five]

[Take if from the top.]

#my fics #pynch #pynch fanfic #trc fanfic #ghost taxi 👻

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celestialscurse · 2 months ago

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absence makes the heart grow fonder

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Pairing(s): Itsuki Shu/Morisawa Chiaki Character(s): Morisawa Chiaki, Itsuki Shu Additional Tags: Canon Divergent, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, a little jealousy if you squint Word Count: 1,578 AO3 Link: Click Happy Birthday Chiaki!

Concern. That’s the first thing Chiaki registers as they stare at each other before Shu closes the distance between them, wrapping his hands around Chiaki’s own.

Shu tries again, his voice hushed. “Are you… lonely?”

~ ☆ ~ ☆ ~ ☆ ~

“Morisawa,” Shu practically spits out his name. His eyes fill up with disgust upon seeing the pieces of merchandise Chiaki holds in his hands.

Chiaki can’t stop a grin from splitting his face. It’s always so endearing to see Shu’s emotions so clearly, so open for the entire world to see. No matter whether they are positive or negative, Chiaki is willing to take all of his feelings in. What kind of hero would he be if he can’t even do that? Besides, the way Shu’s eyebrows twitch from irritation always makes him smile widely. It’s really cute.

“It’s your merch!” Chiaki laughs and holds the bag up proudly. “The first thing I did today was to pick them up from the store.” He reaches into the bag to pull out a photocard, one that has Shu wearing his Shinsekai outfit printed on it. This one goes right next to the Eternal Weaving photocard!

Shu sighs and rubs his temple. “So that's what you did,” he says as deep creases line his forehead. “What do you need these for? You—” His boyfriend pauses while a blush spreads across his face, visible against his pale skin. “…You already have the real thing so don’t be ridiculous.”

“Aren’t you going to Paris tomorrow?” Chiaki’s mouth blabs before he can stop himself. A wince shakes his entire body when he spots Shu’s eyes widen marginally. Chiaki can’t help himself: His head turns away, unable to hold Shu’s gaze.

“Are you…” Shu speaks up but trails off.

Chiaki’s hands tighten around the handle of the paperbag, the copious amount of merchandise inside it staring back at him. Shu’s face is printed on the can badges and other photocards that feature both him and the other half of Valkyrie, but none of those pictures come even close to the radiance the man standing in front of him exudes. He wants to see Shu’s face—his actual face—so badly, but Chiaki keeps his gaze averted. What kind of expression is Shu wearing right now, Chiaki wonders. Disappointment perhaps? Annoyance?

“Morisawa, look at me.”

Shu’s pictures stare holes into his body.

“Morisawa.”

Chiaki stubbornly shakes his head.

“Chiaki.”

His heart leaps in his chest despite the teeth clawing into his lip. Shu rarely addresses him with his given name, so… Despite the worries swirling around in his brain, Chiaki raises his head to look back at his boyfriend.

Concern. That’s the first thing Chiaki registers as they stare at each other before Shu closes the distance between them, wrapping his hands around Chiaki’s own. The action is slow, tender, and Shu’s touch is soft against Chiaki’s skin.

Shu tries again, his voice hushed. “Are you… lonely?”

Chiaki’s eyes widen while his head shakes rapidly from one side to the other and back again. “How could I be lonely! Rather than that, I’m so proud of you Itsuki! You’re going out in the world and showing everyone your art… Everyone gets to see the pieces you’re creating and—”

Oh… Suddenly the ground blurs right in front of him. Chiaki’s eyesight must be growing worse. Watching sentai shows until deep into the night was a bad idea after all; he should have listened to Adonis’ advice. Does Shu prefer him without glasses? He’s seen Chiaki wearing them—after all Chiaki wore them all the time during their first and second year at Yumenosaki. Additionally they shared classes for their third year, and Chiaki did wear them during those as well. But maybe Shu doesn’t really like that look?

“Itsuki, if I had to permanently wear glasses—” The rest of his sentence remains stuck in his throat as a pink blob wraps its arms around him. Ah, and now he’s made Shu worried. What kind of hero makes his beloved worry? Chiaki really does still have a long way to go…

“Don’t talk,” Shu sighs into his ear, his voice low and soothing, a tone very familiar to Chiaki’s ears. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to make you feel like this.” His hand is slow and methodical as it threads gently through Chiaki’s hair to unravel the knots that formed in his strands.

Chiaki stays quiet, but his eyes burn upon receiving Shu’s affection. It’s not like it has been a long time since he received it, but … Shu’s body is pressed up close, so close Chiaki can feel the warmth it emits. Chiaki pushes into it to let his body absorb the provided heat—sighing as he buries his face in the crook of Shu’s neck.

Shu draws away, just barely, to wipe the drops that are sliding down Chiaki’s face and obscuring his vision with shame. How could he make him worry like this? Chiaki is supposed to be a hero; so how could he let himself fall like this? Stupid… He’s so stupid…

“I’m okay,” Chiaki grins after he takes a deep breath, “Don’t worry about me! Really!”

“Don’t be foolish, Chiaki.” The sound of his given name from Shu’s lips shuts his mouth immediately as he waits for whatever Shu is planning to say. “I’m leaving soon, so how could I not worry about you while you’re looking at me like…” Shu looks at his face with furrowed eyebrows, taut with worry. “...like that.”

Chiaki looks away again, the snow piling on the ground much more interesting than the shattered, disappointed heart right in front of him. This wasn’t supposed to happen. They were supposed to meet, spend some time together, a last date before Shu goes back to France. Not a single sound leaves his lips while he watches the snowflakes fall onto the ground, adding onto the layers that already cover the cool pavement.

“Be honest with me,” Shu reaches for Chiaki’s hands and covers them with his own, “Are you lonely?”

Chiaki bites his lip but his head slowly moves up and down, a quiet ‘Yes’ following afterwards.

Shu pulls him closer and presses his forehead against Chiaki’s, purple meeting a red-tinted brown. “...Come with me,” he breathes, the white vapor brushing against Chiaki’s lips.

“Come…? Where to?” Chiaki questions when Shu doesn’t elaborate nor lead the way to the destination he seems to have in mind.

Shu’s face grows a little pink, much like the color of his hair. “Do you really need me to spell it out?!” He sighs and grumbles between his teeth before his shoulders sink and his lips open once again. “…To France. Stay with me.”

“Like…” Blood rushes to Chiaki’s cheeks—his entire face even. “You want me to live with you?”

This time it’s Shu’s turn to look away, his blush now spreading all the way to his ears. Despite the missing eye contact, Shu’s voice doesn’t waver. “Yes. Come live with me. That way you won’t have to be lonely anymore.” His grip on Chiaki’s hands tightens as his thumbs rub little circles onto his skin.

It’s a flawed logic really, considering they both are still idols. They would still have to commit to their work and there might be times they won’t be able to see each other at all due to their packed schedules, but… Chiaki understands. Going to bed with Shu and waking up right next to him in the morning; sharing an early morning breakfast croissant—a warm one, just like Shu likes them… It sounds like a silly little dream that Chiaki occasionally makes up when he’s sleep deprived or delirious from stress.

“Shu…” Chiaki grins at him and pulls his hands away to instead wrap his arms around Shu to pull him into a warm embrace. The one he reserves just for his boyfriend. The one that contains all of Chiaki’s overflowing feelings for him. The one Chiaki gives him every time they had to part from each other—only this time they wouldn’t be parting. This time they would be staying with each other.

“Why are you crying again? You weren’t supposed to cry from this!” Chiaki doesn’t even need to see Shu’s face to know he is scowling and rolling his eyes. Shu made that suggestion—that request—to paint a smile onto Chiaki’s face. Chiaki is supposed to turn into the sun and warm Shu’s cold winter evening upon hearing Shu’s wish, and yet—

“I’m just—” Chiaki sniffles. “I’m just happy! I can’t wait…” He pulls away to wipe his tears away properly, his sleeve cold against his skin, before leaning in to press his lips against Shu’s cheek.

“...You will have to,” Shu mutters as his cheeks glow red, “You can’t move to France without consulting your agency and the rest of your unit’s members.” A flash of horror passes over his face and Chiaki can’t help but wonder what Shu thought about. Tenshouin maybe? That guy is the president of Chiaki’s agency after all, and Shu hates him to the core so maybe that’s it. Chiaki doesn’t have anything against Tenshouin, even feeling twinges of nostalgia towards him, but he doesn’t blame Shu for holding grudges. In fact, it’s a little cute how Tenshouin still evokes this extreme of an emotion out of Shu…

Chiaki laughs softly, watching Shu smile in response, “As soon as I get everything sorted out, I’ll come see you…” He lifts their intertwined hands and presses a kiss onto the back of Shu’s hand. “So wait for me, okay? I’ll definitely come; that’s a promise. Not as a hero, but as a person… As Morisawa Chiaki.”

#my writing #writing enstars #shuchia #morisawa chiaki #itsuki shu #enstars

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rjhreview · 1 year ago

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How Can I Scale My Affiliate Marketing Business?

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Monitor these metrics to identify high-converting campaigns, landing pages, and promotional strategies. Analyze underperforming areas and experiment with different approaches to improve conversion rates. Continuously testing and refining your marketing tactics based on data insights will help you achieve better results over time. Scaling Your Affiliate Marketing Business with Outsourcing and Automation As your affiliate marketing business grows, it becomes essential to leverage outsourcing and automation to scale efficiently and save time. Identifying repetitive tasks for automation and hiring freelancers for time-consuming projects can free up your time for more strategic activities. Identifying Repetitive Tasks for Automation Evaluate your daily, weekly, and monthly tasks to identify areas where automation can greatly impact efficiency. Email automation tools can handle welcome emails, newsletters, and follow-ups automatically. Social media management tools can schedule posts and track engagement. Use project management tools to streamline collaboration and task management. By automating repetitive tasks, you can focus on strategic activities like content creation, relationship building, and optimization. Hiring Freelancers for Time-Consuming Projects Outsourcing time-consuming projects to freelancers can help you scale your business without overwhelming yourself. Consider hiring freelancers for tasks like content writing, graphic design, video editing, and website development. Clearly communicate your requirements and expectations to ensure you get high-quality deliverables. Platforms like Upwork and Freelancer offer access to a pool of talented freelancers with niche expertise. Staying Up to Date with Industry Trends and Remaining Competitive Affiliate marketing is a dynamic industry, and staying up to date with the latest trends and techniques is crucial for remaining competitive. Continuous learning and skill development should be an integral part of your affiliate marketing journey. Attending Affiliate Marketing Conferences and Webinars Industry conferences and webinars provide valuable opportunities to learn from experts, discover new strategies, and network with other affiliates. Attend events focused on affiliate marketing, digital marketing, and related topics to gain insights into emerging trends, best practices, and success stories. Engage with speakers and fellow attendees to expand your knowledge and establish valuable connections. Continuous Learning and Skill Development Commit to continuous learning and skill development to stay ahead in the ever-evolving affiliate marketing landscape. Subscribe to industry newsletters, read blogs, and follow thought leaders on social media to stay informed about the latest trends, platforms, and techniques. Invest in relevant online courses or certifications to expand your knowledge and refine your skills. Remember, consistent learning and adaptation are keys to sustaining success in affiliate marketing. In conclusion, building a strong foundation for your affiliate marketing business sets the stage for long-term success and scalability. By choosing the right niche, understanding your target audience, and selecting high-quality affiliate programs, you can establish the groundwork for a profitable business. Creating compelling content, growing your email list, leveraging social media, and utilizing paid advertising help drive conversions and expand your reach. Optimizing your website, establishing relationships with other affiliates and influencers, tracking key metrics, and automating tasks aid in scaling your business. Lastly, staying updated with industry trends and continuously learning ensures you remain competitive and adapt to the industry's evolving landscape. With these strategies in place, you're well-positioned to take your affiliate marketing business to new heights. Conclusion With the right strategies in place, your affiliate marketing business can not only sustain but thrive in the dynamic digital landscape. By optimizing paid advertising efforts, enhancing website conversions, and leveraging industry relationships, you lay the foundation for scalable success. Make data-driven decisions and always keep learning to ensure you remain a step ahead in the competitive affiliate marketing arena. FAQ Frequently Asked Questions - What are the best channels for paid advertising in affiliate marketing?Different channels like Google Ads, Facebook Ads, display advertising, and native advertising offer unique benefits. The best channel depends on your target audience and products. - How do I optimize my website for better conversions?Focus on website load speed, user experience (UX), and credibility boosters like customer testimonials and trust badges. - What metrics should I track for my affiliate marketing business?Key metrics to track include click-through rates (CTR), conversion rates, and cost per acquisition (CPA). - How can I scale my affiliate marketing business efficiently?Utilize automation for repetitive tasks and consider outsourcing time-consuming projects to freelancers. - How do I stay competitive in the affiliate marketing industry?Continuous learning, attending industry conferences, and staying updated with trends are crucial. Read the full article

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fangsandfracturedhearts · 8 months ago

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Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Chapter 11: 'Till Death Do Us Part

Will Astarion find redemption, or is he destined to succumb to his own inner turmoil?

Word Count: 6.1k

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x female!Tav Spawn

Warnings: [Will try to continue to add more, but in general expect explicit content for mature audiences]

Possible spoilers. Eventual Explicit Content. Slow Burn. Thoughts of Suicide. Violence. Blood. Injury. Mature Content. Self-Harm. Mentions of in-game content. Completely fabricated camp events.

If you notice a very critical tag missing, please don't hesitate to let me know

Rating: Explicit 18+ - [Meant For Mature Audience]

“I want… more,” Astarion concludes, confident and sure. “I want to be us again.”

Us. I do like the sound of that.

“I don’t know, Astarion…” You pull your knees to your chest. You want nothing more than to be his as you should have been this entire time, but what does more even mean to him?

“Why? What’s stopping us?” His expression is closed and hardened. His intonation is steady but otherwise void of emotion, “You love me, yes?”

You sigh, drop your head to your knees and try to dispose of the urge to cry. You’re scared that if you deny him while you’re here, and it upsets him…. Well, that spells the end for you. There is nowhere to hide from the sun here except perhaps the bottom of the lake. You stare blankly at the serene rayless deep and miss the consoling palliation of nothingness, hushed as the grave.

“Yes, I love you.” Your eyes don’t leave the water, reflecting the glimmer of the sky like a mirror, unable to look into his eyes for fear of losing your rational thought and jumping into his arms. “That’s not the problem.”

“Tell me the problem, and I will remedy it.” Astarion appeals insistently. His fingers brush down your arm as softly as a summer evening breeze. “Whatever you desire, I will make it yours.”

Good Gods, you need to breathe. Your chest is tight. It expands with a whistle as you inhale a sizeable breath, defying the rigour that has set into your lungs. The sun heats your skin, as pale as a pearl, yet your body trembles as if cold. You’re on the verge of falling to pieces, but you cannot allow yourself such weakness. You must be as emotionless as a stone and twice as hard.

You meet his gaze and reach out to the connection you share with him. You cannot read his emotions. He is too poised and practiced, but you can feel them if only he will allow it.

Astarion’s eyes widen slightly at the request, “No,” he shakes his head. “Not right now.”

“Why is that?” You cock your head at him with a frown, “What are you hiding?”

“No, darling. It is for you that I will not do this here. I can hear your thoughts, remember? Last time you called me the devil,” he chuckles with a smug smirk. “That would hardly upset me, but if you do think something untoward, I do not want to be stuck out in the middle of nowhere with no place to hide should you need to. Just tell me what is troubling you.”

It sounds like a very convenient excuse for him to keep things from me.

“Can we not just wait and have this conversation at the manor then? Will you open the bond there?”

Astarion sighs, combing fingers through his damp hair, “Yes, I suppose we could. Is it because of my- “

“No, it has nothing to do with your condition.” You cut him off, “It’s... I will be plain. I have accepted that you cannot love me, but that is what I desire. I will not be your dutiful consort, Astarion. I want something real.”

“What you’re looking to hear,” he glances away, almost sheepish. It would be winsome and nostalgic, this glimpse of his past self, if you were not worried that it’s a clever ruse, a tactical manipulation to appease your doubts. “I have said it before, you know.”

“And therein lies the problem,” you wince at the memory - “I love you. That’s what you want to hear. Isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been waiting for.” You brush your expression with bedrock, “You say it because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“No,” he protests with a twisted mouth. “I meant every word.”

“Then say it, Astarion,” you urge, praying he will. Gods, it’s what you’ve longed to hear. There’s a desolate part of you that would savour it, even if it is just a beautiful lie, and you hate yourself for being so broken, “Open the bond and say it.”

“I…I-” he trails off with a rasp and grimaces. His lips smack together, but no sound emerges from his mouth. It’s as if the words are lodged in this throat. He shakes his head with a low, pained groan. “Perhaps you are right. This is a conversation better had at home.”

He won’t say it.

Pieces fall from your heart like petals off a dead flower.

The sun is dipping below the horizon as the mare moves under you in a fluid canter with Astarion’s black gelding leading. Your hips roll steadily with the pace, and you barely perceive when Astarion pushes his gelding into a gallop. Your mind spins with questions, concerns, doubts and desires you dare not act on. His words still ricochet around your mind as quickly as the booming of the horses’ hoofs pounding the earth.

“I want to be us again.”

“I have said it before.”

“I meant every word.”

A tear rolls down your cheek as you watch him from behind. Nothing is more torturous than having everything you want laid at your feet, only to force yourself to walk away. You wipe the tear off your cheek and push away the others welled in your eyes, fluttering on your lashes like dew on blades of grass.

Astarion reels his gelding around on its haunches, shifts into mist and crashes into you abruptly, throwing you out of the saddle and to the ground harshly on your stomach. The horses scatter with bucks and rears, squealing and frightened. You try to push yourself up to your feet, but Astarion presses his chest down hard on your back, sinking you into the tall grass.

Reacting instinctively, you rival his dominance as dread mauls you, “Astari-“

“Shut up,” his hand covers your mouth, muffling you.

You crane your neck, trying to get a view of his eyes. If he’s gone, that’s a surefire way to tell. Astarion studies the trees around you with an acute glare. His heart thuds so hard in his chest that you can feel it against your spine. He looks like a hunter stalking its prey, but otherwise, his eyes are the vivid crimson of his and not the matte frost you expected.

He looks down, removes his hand from your mouth and leans low, bringing his lips beside your ear, “When I give the order, you run back to the manor. You do not stop for anything or anyone. Do I make myself clear?”

“I don’t understand,” you keep your voice as low as his. “What’s wrong?”

“Do as I ask, and do not challenge me on this,” he commands assertively.

His expression is grim and severe as he brandishes his blade, snapping his wrist and twirling the hilt into his grip. Something is wrong, and you follow his glare to the trees, trying to figure out what danger he’s detected looming in the shadows.

Astarion leaps to his feet and hauls you up with him by the back of your shirt so fast you’re dizzy by the time he pushes you and commands, “Run!”

You hesitate. Does he really expect you to leave him here when there’s a threat nearby? Is he out of his mind? Has he forgotten who you are and the power you possess?

“No,” you shake your head, gripping the Weave. “Whatever is coming, we can fight it together like we always did!”

“I said RUN!” Astarion shouts gruffly.

“I’m not leaving you here!”

Astarion sighs, “You leave me no choice. I’m sorry.”

Suddenly, you feel that presence in your head, but not in the way as if he were opening the bond. No, this time, it takes your control, wicking it out of your muscles, tendons, and bones and bequeathing it to him. Your eyes widen as all your muscles go stiff and await the incoming command.

Compulsion.

Hells, you can barely blink without his godsdamned permission. You’re trying to shake your head, to speak, to fucking scream, to get him to stop, but your body pays no heed to your instructions. The only command that matters is his, and you await it like an obedient hound.

Astarion speaks precise commands, “Run to the manor as fast as you can and stay there until I return. You will stop for no one and nothing.”

“Run to the manor as fast as I can and stay there,” the words are pulled out of your lungs without your consent. “I will stop for no one and nothing.”

Your body pivots without your approval, and you break into a full sprint, streaking through the forest like a meteor. You hurtle over fallen trees and boulders while ducking under long-limbed branches and zigzagging between trees at a break-neck pace you can’t control. Your mind chants your command in a hypnotic chorus.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

The repeating instruction is nearly all you can focus on. It drowns all other thoughts out. There’s a quiver outside that melody, the beating drum of footsteps and heartbeats. You can’t turn your head. You do not have the authority to do so, but your eyes scan your surroundings. Catching movement between the trees, you finally comprehend what’s going on.

The Gur.

It’s hard for you to focus on anything besides your mad dash, but you vaguely make out that they are stalking in the forest all around you. You strain to focus on the sounds outside of the tittering in your head, and you finally hear the sound of howling, enraged warriors and clashing steel.

No. No. Why did he send me away? I can fight!

Good Gods. It’s hard to think. Hands catch you, stopping you in your tracks, but your body is not yours. You’ve been told to run and stop for nothing, and it’s agonizing to disobey, like a million sharp nails being hammered into every atom of your being, making you cry out. You would do anything, fucking anything, to make this suffering end.

You cast Thunderwave, throwing anyone in the vicinity backward and then Fireball in quick succession almost unconsciously. You can barely focus on anything but the order to run and the pain of not doing so. You whirl to continue running, but another hunter grabs you, snarling with yellow teeth and spittle flying from his lips.

By the Gods, it hurts. You can’t think through the white-hot pain.

Clawed, furry paws grab the hunter from behind before a snout full of razor-tipped, serrated fangs sink into the Gur’s throat and rip it out. Your mind is so singularly focused you can’t even be bothered to be tempted by the blood. Hells. You don’t even have permission to smell it, so you don’t. It takes you a moment to recognize the werewolf standing before you as part of Astarion’s powers.

Will his hellspawn mutt attack you as well? It drops the hunter with a howl that would make your blood run cold if it was not already and stares at you, waiting and watching, flexing its claws and growling. Its fangs are dipped in crimson, and blood drips from its snout. Astarion must have sent it to protect you. That’s the only reason it would be here with you and not helping him.

No! Go back. Help him.

You want to scream at it, but you’re already running again with the werewolf as your shadow.

It sprints ahead and kills any hunters that aim to thwart you, but if it misses, you do not hesitate to kill. You will take a million lives if it means you don’t have to feel that pain again, you will do anything to continue obeying, and you cast subconsciously with deadly power and finesse. Even the thought of turning around and going back, of defying your orders, causes pain to slice into your psyche like hot steel. An arrow plunges through your shoulder, swords and axes slice into your skin, painting your body vivid red, yet you feel nothing but the undeniable need to comply. Your nerves have not been given the authorization to feel pain. Could you even die, or are you not allowed?

When you finally break the treeline, the werewolf trailing you sinks back into the gloom as you bolt toward the manor with a resounding, echoing bay as if it’s signalling to Astarion that its job has been completed.

Run. Run. Run. Run.

You sprint full speed through Rivington, Wyrm's Crossing, and the Lower City without slowing your brutal pace. You blow past citizens who stare at you with wild eyes and angry shouts as you push past them with desperation so intense it eclipses everything else. Is this how Astarion felt when Cazador compelled him? Was he as helpless to refuse as you are in this moment?

Astarion has never compelled you before, at least that you know about. How long will this last? How far does his reach extend? If he told you to run forever, would your body run until the ground gnawed your legs into bloody stumps? What would happen if you could no longer run? Would the pain from disobeying eventually kill you, or would you be stuck in a purgatory of white-hot agony for eternity?

When you finally get to the manor and slam the door behind you. You stand stiff as a statue in the foyer. Sweat runs down your face and chest, but you can’t get your arms to move to wipe it from your eyes, and blood splashes, dripping onto the floor from your fingertips like a leaky faucet. Your head won’t swivel to look around, and your eyes will not move in their sockets, so you're stuck staring straight ahead. At least the chanting in your head has gone silent, and you can think freely, or perhaps that’s worse. Now, you can’t think of anything but Astarion, alone in battle with however many Gur. If they knew who they were hunting, which they must, they would come in vast numbers.

What was that idiot thinking? You could have helped him! He may be the Vampire Ascendant, but he’s not indestructible. Unless he is? Truly, you have no idea what he is capable of. Astarion is a force to be reckoned with, but will he lose himself in this? When he gets back to the manor which him will he be? Will you still be stuck like an effigy and unable to defend yourself? What if he doesn’t come back? Will you forever be a statue in this foyer?

Gods. You need to get back there and help him, but as soon as you have any intention of trying to move, trying to break this authority over your body, your mind warbles the enchanting tune of compliance.

Stay. Stay. Stay. Stay.

Fuck! You try your magic. It glows on your fingers and even heats in your palms, but without being able to move your arms, it’s useless. There’s nothing you can do. You’re immovable until either his compulsion wanes or he gives you new orders.

With nothing else to do, your mind wanders.

You prowl the halls of the Crimson Palace looking for Astarion after escaping from the prison of your room. The air in this place is musty, and you can still smell what remains of Cazador in the rooms and halls. This place is oppressive and cold, and he’s changed nothing.

“Astarion!” You scream in a blind rage that sweeps over you like wildfire.

You round the corner and see him sitting at his desk, glaring at you with a bland, expressionless stare. You fill yourself with the Weave until you’re awash with it, and your palms are so blisteringly hot that the skin boils and blisters. Whoever this man staring at you is, not the Astarion you knew.

You should try and kill him, but you cannot bring yourself to do it. Is that a consequence of being his spawn? Is your loyalty to him poisoned, or is it love that refrains you?

Astarion leans back, “What in the Hells,” he growls, his brows pinching together in a fearsome scowl, “do you think you’re doing out of your room?”

“Astarion. Listen to me, please,” you plead. “Something isn’t right. This is not you. Why are you doing this? Why do I have to stay in my room? What happened to Aeterna Amantes?”

“Oh, love,” he scoffs with a sneer. “Come now. Did you truly believe I would ever be beholden to one person? For eternity? HA! I told you before. I am a man of enormous appetites. Don’t worry,” he purrs. “You will always be my favourite.”

Angry tears roll down your cheeks at his taunts, and you can see in his face that he takes satisfaction in your pain. Fire bursts from your palm, licking up your forearms, “The Rite changed you. This isn’t you. You were never cruel before.”

“Are you positive you truly knew me?” Astarion stands slowly, “Yes, the Rite did change me. I am a veritable God! All thanks to you. You will forever have my undying gratitude. If you’re a good little pet, I will take excellent care of you. You will want for nothing.”

A good little pet...

“What I want is the old you back!” You shout at the top of your lungs.

“You want cute, cuddly Astarion?” He laughs mockingly and then hisses with venomous contempt, “That pathetic wretch is dead. He was a miserable, weak little pest. Grieve him, for he is gone, and he is never coming back.”

"Fuck! You don’t have to be cute, cuddly Astarion, but there isn’t even a hint of Astarion left in you, whoever you are!”

Astarion is advancing on you with slow steps, and you reflexively take steps back. Good Gods. He’s herding you like an animal.

“I am the Vampire Ascendant and your creator, and you will give me the respect I am due.” His hands come to his chin, “I think you will call me Master from now on.”

“I will never call you Master!” You retort in a voice dripping with defiance. Flames twirl around your forearms like a tornado.

“I could make you,” He rebukes with an impassive inflection, “All it would take is a thought, and you will do anything I say.”

“Then do it, you fuck!” You conclude, baring your teeth. You’re sick of his threats. If he’s going to make you a puppet, you would rather he get it over with. “Go ahead, Ascendant! Show me your power.”

Astarion laughs lightheartedly, but his face is as expressive as a white wall, “Don’t be such a fucking bitch.”

Oh. No.

You cast Scorching Rays against him, buffeting him repeatedly with a sorrowful, hopeless scream. It burns him, some of his pallid skin ruddy and his clothes hang off him in tatters. Astarion lunges at you, a streak of silver lightning, and throws you to the ground, breaking the floorboards beneath you. He snarls in your face with his fangs bared and pestilent abhorrence in his numb eyes.

“Do you feel like a man, Astarion?” You spit with a wheeze, “Does throwing me around make you feel good?”

It’s barely perceptible, but there’s a meagre flash in his eyes. The pressure with which he pins you to the floor recedes slightly. He shakes his head, and it’s gone. Astarion drags you through the halls by your ankle, down the stairs, uncaring as your head smashes against each step. You grimace, refusing to give him the satisfaction of crying out. You don’t bother to cast again as grief smothers your anger, and the flames die out along with your will to live.

Astarion tosses you into your room, your body skipping across the floor like a flat stone across the surface of a lake.

“Stay, pet.” He commands with an aloof chuckle, whirls around and leaves.

The lock clicks, and the metal bolt slides into place. Knock does not work on locks like that. It seems he’s learned your tricks.

“No!” You scream, rattling the door, “No! Please! Astarion, don’t do this.”

He does not answer.

It’s hard to tell how much time goes by. Days? Weeks? Who knows, but you’re so hungry that you’re sitting on the floor, sobbing against the door, clawing at it as if you might be able to dig your way out. Your fingers are bloodied, and you’ve ripped off your fingernails in your desperation.

“Astarion!” You wail, sobbing as your muscles jerk and spasm painfully.

He does not answer.

He never answers.

Your knees give way, and you crash to the ground, breaking you out of the memory. Astarion’s compulsion has broken, and your body is finally your own to control. You yank the arrow from your shoulder and burn it to ash.

Astarion…

Peering around and listening closely, you surmise that he still has not returned. Pushing yourself to your feet, your muscles cramp severely and twitch, a tune of overexertion from your retreat. With the compulsion gone, sensation returns, and you feel the wounds you received with a biting ferocity. The only thing on your mind is finding Astarion, and you lunge for the door hastily. Golden rays of sunlight flood the foyer as soon as you fling it open, and you're washed in the agony of the Hells. Every nerve melts as you're immersed in rivers of liquid fire in Phlegethos. Your skin sizzles, snapping into fissures and greying rapidly.

It’s the kind of pain that makes you want to scratch your skin off to escape your body. You throw yourself back with a screech, and the pain ebbs as your skin slowly stops smouldering. Dropping to the ground, you cast Telekinesis and throw the door closed with a frustrated roar. If you cannot go into the sun, Astarion is not nearby or… Gods, you don’t even want to think about it. You don’t even want the thought to run through your mind, but it does, regardless of your restraint.

Astarion could be dead.

The only solace you have is that feeling in the back of your mind that still lingers. If he was dead, would that also disappear? You’re unsure. You tell yourself it would because you desperately need the lie to keep you sane. Reaching out to it, you try to force it open, but it does not budge, and Astarion does not respond to the request, increasing your panic further.

What can you do? You need to do something, anything, but what? You’re stuck in this fucking manor until the sun goes down. You get up and pace back and forth, rage building inside you. Why did he send you away? You’re a godsdamned terror in battle. You could have helped him, and now you’re stuck here, unable to do anything.

Fuck!

You scream as tears streak down your burnt face, grabbing a mirror from the wall and throwing it against the floor, shattering it to bits. He made you stand here like a foolish statue all night while he… you don’t finish the thought.

You can’t.

Come back to me. Please.

Things are falling apart quicker than you can piece them back together. Astarion told you he wanted you to be his, and you balked. All the reasons you felt so resolute about suddenly seem so trivial. For a year, you would have done anything to have him back, and now you do, and you’re too scared to put your already dead and broken heart on the table.

This love might kill you, but it’s not over. It was never over. It could never be over.

You chuck a vase against the wall and snarl like a wild animal. It bursts, showering the floor in a spray of glass. You cannot control your rabid emotions. You punch a hole through the wood panelling, tear paintings off it and snap them into pieces as you fall into a tailspin of misery.

You pace the hallways in a rage. At him. At yourself. At the world.

You will not lose him to whatever that thing is inside of him.

You will not lose him.

You cannot lose him.

The jagged pieces of your frenzy are strewn haphazardly throughout the manor and resemble a portrayal of what remains of your life. Everything is broken, fragmented and sharp enough to cut down to bone.

Desperate to feel close to him in some form, you run up to his room. It smells like bergamot and rosemary with a hint of aged brandy - it smells like him, and he smells like home. You inhale deeply. Grim thoughts race through your mind like a whirling flood that creeps out of your eyes in the form of tears. Without Astarion’s heartbeat, the silence in this place is heavy and dark, like a passing cloud.

You lay on the bed, and your hand skims over where he was this morning when you woke with your head on his chest. Astarion held you all night and long into the morning. When your eyes opened, Astarion was already gazing at you with scarlet eyes as gorgeous as the heavens and as deep as the hells. His expression was warm-hearted, loving even. He looked at you like he used to.

“Well, hello, beautiful.”

He smiled, sweeping your hair out of your sleepy eyes. All the things he’s said to you start echoing through your mind.

“I missed you, you know. When you left.”

“You make me feel.”

“I could never get you out of my head.”

“I told you I can be romantic.”

“Yes, little love, true feelings.”

“My feelings for you, of course.”

Good Gods. Has he been trying to tell you he loves you through his actions this entire time? You’ve been so caught up in not letting yourself fall into another trap that you didn’t see it. You were reading random pages and not the entire book.

It ends today. You don’t know where this will end, but you know where it must start.

Curling up on the bed, you cry until you manage to push yourself into your trance because that’s all you can do.

Your hand slams into the wooden door with a force that causes it to whine. Night has finally consumed the sun, and Astarion still has not returned. When you woke, the manor was still deathly silent.

Shadowheart opens the door a crack, and her eyes widen when she sees you. She scowls fiercely, “Did Astarion do this to you!?” She growls with a clenched fist.

Did he do what to me? Oh....

“No,” you assure quickly. Your skin is still creviced and grey with red, scabbed lacerations marring your flesh. You push yourself into the house. “This was not him. He’s missing. I need your help to find him.”

Shadowheart’s magic washes over you, healing your wounds, and she takes a quick step back. She knows better than to get too close to you, but right now, your hysteria is overriding any bloodlust you might feel.

Even though she does smell delicious.

Gale frowns, “What do you mean missing?”

“We were attacked by Gur in the forest last night,” you blurt out rapidly. “He hasn’t come home.”

Gale smiles. He fucking smiles, and it takes everything in you not to slap that grin off his face. He shrugs, “Good riddance, I say.”

“I’m sorry, but I agree with Gale,” Shadowheart crosses her arms. “He told me what happened. Is it true Astarion was going to kill him?”

“Gale attacked him!” You roar with a hiss, narrowing your eyes at Gale who noticeably jolts at your rough inflection. You sigh and try to calm your rampaging temper, “You don’t understand, and I do not have time to explain it right now. Without Astarion, I cannot be out in the sun. I only have until dawn to find him. We must hurry.”

Gale scoffs, “I’m sorry, but there is no “we,” in this, my friend. If the Gur took care of that monster for us, we should be thanking them.”

You knew Gale would be a longshot, especially after what happened at the manor, but Shadowheart might still be swayed but your pleas.

“Shadowheart, please,” you beg, tears kissing your cheeks once again. “I need help.”

“I don’t know...” She sighs, rubbing her face. “He’s dangerous. Why not just leave him to his fate? If he is dead, you’re free. Isn’t that what you want?”

“Not if his death is the price of that freedom,” you rasp. You clutch your chest, wishing to feel his heart beating behind your breast, to feel complete, because, without him, you are so vastly empty. “Dangerous as he is, he is my safe, Shadowheart.”

“How did you get away?” Shadowheart asks.

“He compelled me,” your voice breaks. “The idiot compelled me to leave.”

Shadowheart arches a brow and purses her lips, “Does he compel you often?”

“He’s never compelled me before,” you groan at the memory of your body betraying you. “Astarion told me to leave, and I refused. It’s the first time he’s compelled me, and it was to get me away from danger. Stupid, foolish imbecile!”

Well, it’s the first time he’s compelled you that you know about, but alas, she doesn’t need to know that.

Shadowheart looks you over and you’re not exactly sure what she’s looking for, but she finally nods, “Okay. Give me a moment to get ready. I will help you look for him.”

“You cannot be serious, Shadowheart!” Gale says hoarsely.

Shadowheart sniffs and waves dismissively, “We have all had our demons, Gale. Astarion is no exception.”

“He killed her!” Gale shouts. “He turned her into,” Gale cringes with a gesture toward you. “This.”

Gods, you’ve had just about enough of everyone blaming him for your choices, and you step forward, “I wanted to be turned into this,” you hiss in contempt. “Astarion did not force me. I’ve told you this time and time again.”

Shadowheart gives your arm a light tug, pulling you back, “I will help you look. Perhaps it would be best for you to wait outside, and Gale,” she scolds with a sniff, “I expected better of you. Gods know you reached for unfathomable power, and you would have taken it in a heartbeat.”

The air is crisp in your lungs. Shadowheart was right to send you outside. There is no time to participate in an argument right now, but you will have to return and speak to Gale and Shadowheart eventually to sort this out - if it can be sorted out.

Shadowheart joins quickly, dressed in her armour with her spear slung across her back and a pack around her shoulders, “Let’s go,” she nods. “How much ground do we have to cover?”

“We were on the outskirts of the forest when they attacked. It’s not a substantial distance, but it’s not close either. We will have to hurry.”

You can run endlessly since you don’t require air, and you bolt ahead of Shadowheart to scout the way. Your body is sticky with sweat. It rolls down your temples like a stream from your pores. The adrenaline coursing through your veins is a welcome distraction from the woe warping your heart.

How had the Gur known where you were? Someone must have tipped them off, but who?

It doesn’t take long until the air smells of sweat, death and old, congealed blood, and you can at least follow the scent. The forest is eerily soundless, with only small streaks of moonlight as pale as ghosts streaking through the dense canopy. No animals scurry. No wind blows. No insects chirp. Only the sound of your feet crunching over the forest floor.

Mutilated bodies of Gur, werewolves, and hundreds of bats litter the earth in a carpet of flesh and gore. The ground is a blood-stained dark maroon and squelches under your feet as you slow your pace. Your mouth drops open as you look around, astonished at the number of bodies. Terror sinks into you, and you start pulling on bodies only to uncover more underneath. Heaps of dead in unfathomable numbers. Hells. You listen for a heartbeat but hear none. You choke back sobs. There’s no way he could have survived this, and you hate him for making you leave.

Your ears twitch as they catch the sound of twigs breaking behind you. If it were Shadowheart, she would surely make her presence known. You whirl just in time for snapping fangs to miss your throat as a werewolf lunges. You cast Gust of Wind and send it reeling off its feet. It stands snarling, but it’s gravely wounded, with a sickeningly large festering gash in its belly. You don’t know if this thing will listen or if it can even understand you, but you must try.

“I’m a friend.” You put your hands up but are ready to cast should this prove to be a futile attempt. “Your master’s friend.”

Its ears flick and twitch around as it listens. It sniffs the air and makes no further move to attack.

“Take me to him,” you instruct as commanding as you can. “Now.”

Its lips pull back to reveal rows of sharp teeth and growls, but it turns and plods away unsteadily. You don’t know if it’s just decided you’re not a threat or if it will take you to Astarion, but you pursue it.

The number of bodies dwindles the further you follow, with only a few scattered here and there like dead leaves shed from the trees. Sliding down a steep incline, it finally turns to you, ears flattening against its head, drooping at the tips, and points its disfigured paw with a melancholy whine.

You scramble forward, eyes skimming the ground, and finally see Astarion lying motionless on the rust-coloured earth, painted with blood and gore. His ivory skin only peeks through between the cracks in the drying crimson veil sheeting his body. Countless wounds mar his flesh, some superficial and others that make your stomach twist in your belly, threatening to spill its contents.

You flop to your knees and shake him vigorously, “Astarion!” Your voice is a screeching pitch that could shatter glass, “Astarion! Wake up! Please.”

He does not wake or rouse. He’s cold, deathly cold like he used to be. Leaning down, you put your ear to his chest and try to stifle your loud sobbing so you can listen. You hear nothing. His chest is as silent as yours, seized by the dominion of death. Touching his cheek, you scream shrilly into the night, lamenting your pain to the heavens.

Shadowheart.

You don’t want to leave his side, but you pull yourself away and charge with renewed vigour until you catch Shadowheart’s scent and the hammering thud, thud, thud of her heart. You nearly crash into her in your haste.

“Hells,” She jumps, grabs your shoulders to steady you, and sees the inconsolable look on your face, “What’s wrong?”

“I found him,” your knees are rickety. The only thing keeping you upright and from hurtling off the edge of collapse is the need to return to his side. He can’t be dead. He can’t be! “I think… Gods, I think he’s dead, Shadowheart.”

Shadowheart’s mouth drops open in a gasp, “Show me.”

Sliding down the slope, you dive to Astarion’s side, hands coming to his face, sweeping your thumb across his frigid cheek. Shadowheart drops to her knees with magic already glowing on her fingers. The colour drains from her face, leaving her as pale as you, awash with horror at the grotesque sight.

“Hells below,” she mumbles. “Is his heart beating? Does it usually beat?”

She knows your hearing is sharper than hers, “It usually does,” you falter and place a splayed hand on your chest. You glance at her and shake your head, “It’s as still as mine.”

Shadowheart casts and her magic sinks into Astarion, but he does not stir. She tries again, and again, and again, increasing the strength with every successive round with no result. Astarion does not so much as twitch a finger or muscle.

You shake him again, screaming into his face as your tears fall like raindrops splashing on his cheeks, “Don’t you dare think about leaving me! Please... please, don’t leave me alone. I need you, Astarion.”

Shadowheart’s cheeks are red, and her eyes brim with shiny tears. She gives you a look of regret, and you know what she’s thinking without her even saying it because you’re thinking it, too.

“He can’t be...” you choke as you fall to pieces.

“I’m sorry,” Shadowheart shakes her head. Her face contorted in sorrow, “I’m so sorry.”

You fall forward onto Astarion’s lifeless chest, blanketing him with your body, and you scream, guttural and ear-splitting as continuous as the stream of time.

Big thank you for everyone who takes the time to read/reblog/comment, and all the other magnificent things. As always, I hope you enjoy this, darlings!

AO3 [Crossposted]

Master List of Chapters: Fangs and Fractured Hearts

If you're interested I write another fic with Spawn Astarion x Tav called - Shadows of the Past

Small Notes:

I'm releasing this chapter earlier than I usually do because I've finally had some time to sit and do nothing but write (my favourite), but that means it may push back the release of the next chapter. It will depend on how work and life go this week.

Apologies, darlings. For the cliffhanger.

#ascended astarion #astarion fanfic #bg3 #astarion x you #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 astarion #astarion x tav #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion smut #fangs and fractured hearts

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thomine · 1 year ago

Text

the duet of one heart : alhaitham

pair: alhaitham x reader info: general audiences, controlling parents, rivals to friends (but still rivals)

summary: when alhaitham parted ways for good, it should have been the end of all things. still, he finds you among thousands of faces.

word count: 1.4k words series: day 7 of au august 2023 / prompt: musician links: work tag

Alhaitham doesn’t scan the crowd when he’s performing. There’s no need for him to capture the amazed faces of his audience. It doesn’t teach him anything he already knows about himself. However, he will give the audience a humbling glance before he leaves them breathless. He’s tried to unlearn this ritual since it also doesn’t change what he painfully accepted, but his body has ingrained this practice as it did with every note of his musical pieces.

He lifts the violin, positioning the chinrest where it belongs. His right arm raises his trusted bow as the spotlight shines on him. In that split second before he rips a note across the theatre, his eyes sweep across every face.

He hesitates from playing the violin—paralysed by a millisecond of confusion—before his instincts take over.

You should be miles away, yet you were sitting at the back.

When his performance ends, he bows, and he tries to find you through the gaps of his fringe.

It’s not the trick of the light.

When the curtains close, he is ushered backstage. Being bombarded with compliments by his manager has never been an issue with Alhaitham who had no where to go after his splendid performance. In fact, he likes to linger on stage hidden from the purview of his adoring fans and read a book to let the crowd wane before showing himself again.

This time, he finds himself pushing through the crew that circles him. He must find you again because only a fool makes the same mistake twice.

Cameras follow him the moment he steps out of the theatre hall. Periodic flashes of light disorient him enough to be annoyed, but his determination is stronger than that of the paparazzi acquiring their best shot. A couple of turns deeper into the city’s maze-like alleys is enough to get them off his tail.

When the coast is clear, he walks back to the theatre in hopes you might still be around, except you catch him before he does. You pull your hood down and call out to him as you did years ago. Time has touched your features but the admiration you reserved specially for him remains in the pools of your eyes, and Alhaitham finds it tiring to put the effort to maintain his neutral expression.

He says your name, perfectly as always.

“You look at me as if I’m not supposed to be here,” you comment after exhaling what he thinks is supposed to be a laugh. “Is it that hard to believe I’m standing right in front of you?”

Does he really look that way? He is too busy staring. There was a strong reason why he walked through the departure gate without looking back. He never would have thought he’d find you among his crowd again.

“I reckon your parents are well,” he says as he takes the sight of you one last time before he accepts that the truth of the matter is this: you’ve done the impossible. You nod, lips pressed into a thin line. You dislike it when he begins the conversation with such a sensitive topic, but he couldn’t help himself. They are the corner pieces for the puzzle of you and him. “Do they know you’re here?”

“It depends...” You press your back against the wall opposite him. If you are trying to hide the tiny tension in your eyebrows, the squeezy alleyways does not help. “I was part of a concert in Fontaine, and Sumeru is a train away so… my parents don’t need to know.”

Alhaitham reaches into his pockets and fiddle with his keys. This is not a good place to talk if you’re meant to be hiding from cameras, but he isn’t sure he can sneak you into his house comfortably.

He checks his phone, and his manager sent a few texts. Although perturbed by his strange behaviour, the manger states he left the backstage keys under the flowerpot nearest to the door if he ever returns for his cozy corner.

“Come,” he instructs as he turns and resumes his journey back to the theatre. He takes a quick glance at you still stuck to the alley’s wall.

“It’s too risky,” you note and look at him. “If they find out, who knows what rumours they’ll start spreading about you in the media—”

“I know,” he states as he gives his hand.

“The other time you almost lost your contract with Sumeru Symphany. I can’t bear being the reason for your downfall. I have to go. It’s the best for both of us.”

He holds onto your shoulder before you can slip away from him again. It amazes him how one minute you defy all he knows and the next you revert to a scared mouse, as if you did not experience the hell of the surgical table and lived to tell the tale.

“It would have been a loss for the group so I knew they wouldn’t break the contract over trivial matters.”

“Trivial?” you push his warmth away. “Alhaitham, my parents framed you for being a criminal. You were about to go to jail.”

“Have you forgotten how I do not care? Their evidence might have swayed the views of the public as expected of those that do not think for themselves, but no matter how much dirt they use to hide, a treasure is still a treasure.”

You chuckle meekly.

“That confidence of yours…” you mutter, eyes downcast. “It boils my blood sometimes.”

“Because you know I’m right.”

You shake your head in surrender. “Fine. Where should we go?”

He grabs your hands, fingers gently slipping through the gaps of your hand. When he clasps his digits around yours, he makes a tiny promise that he won’t let you leave so easily. Back then, he resigned to the fate that there was no other choice, but now that you’ve appeared in front of him again, be it through your wits or by fate that was once so cruel, he’s willing to give it another shot.

Guiding you through the theatre, your tiny wows cause a small smile to ease up his lips. This building finished renovations last week and he’s proud to be the first performer. If the news reached you, then he achieved his goal.

When both of you are finally backstage, he introduces you to his corner. It’s minimal: towers of book surrounding a single chair. He offers you to sit on it as he gets another for himself, but when he returns, you’re more interested in the stage.

“It looks so different from this angle,” you observe as you scan the empty seats. You point in the direction you sat, eyes sparkling as you look at him. “I was behind a pillar, and you saw me from here?” You gawk.

Alhaitham swallows, a wave of embarrassment threatening to pull him under. “You’re too recognisable.”

You smile, seemingly aware of what he’s implying. “That’s good I suppose. All these years I thought I was crazy to try, but I’m glad I’m not alone.”

You bounce over to the edge of the stage, something having caught your eye. It’s the storage room. When he’s beside you, you ask if there are any violins.

“They’re discarded instruments,” he states, crossing his arms. “Use my violin instead if you insist on trying this stage.”

“The violin of my arch-nemesis? You must be crazier than I thought,” you joke before resorting to your serious mien. “I have other plans.” You open the storeroom and swat away the dust that flies up. Picking a random violine that still has its strings intact, you pull Alhaitham to the centre of the stage.

He gets the hint and prepares his instrument while you tune your temporary one.

It takes a while before you lock eyes with him, brimming with excitement.

“Just like the old days,” you say before playing a single note.

Alhaitham—the perfect prodigy of the century—hears the violin squeak. The sound falls flat at times and does not reverberate as clearly as it should. It sends his mind in a flurry, but your intimate understanding of melodies crafts a dream like song that calms his nerves, enough for him to prompt himself and continue. He blends his own improv with your steady lead, and before he knows it, he can’t tell what is played by him or you.

All there exists in this theatre is one heart. It sings.

author's note: my friend jokingly said i should write more happy endings so i tried!! hope this makes whoever is reading this smile although i wouldn't say it's a true good ending… lol. the issue between them is still not resolved… hahahaha…

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