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aphroditeinthesea · 8 months ago

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can you do connor stoll x reader where the reader got to camp a month ago and they havent talk yet. there personalities are both loud and defined and over time they become really good friends. then they start to realize they like each other as more then friends... but the reader is a child of Poseidon and has to leave with the argo two.

“ i’m such a fool for you ”

connor stoll x daughter of poseidon 🐍

reader comes to terms with feelings for her best friend while trying to deal with the disappearance of her brother

tw none

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Y/N found herself befriending the younger of the Stoll brothers after a prank he had pulled on her only a little after she had arrived at camp. On a morning where her brother had left the cabin early, so she was alone in cabin 3, she found her cabin surrounded by cups of water as she tried to leave. At first she thought she thought this was the dumbest prank to pull on her, after all, she could control water. However, when she tried to empty the cups, the water wouldn't budge. No matter how hard she tried, the cups stayed still, unaffected. She began to panic, wondering if she had somehow lost her powers overnight. So, she grabbed the cup closest to her, just to find that it wasnt water at all, just clear jello.

“Hey, L/N!” she heard called. She looked up to find Connor Stoll standing in front of her, holding a cup identical to the ones that surrounded her, “how’re the water works going?”

She huffed, “Did you two do this?!”

“Actually,” he smiled, “I did this one myself.”

“Good to know,” she watched him take a sip of his cup, “by the way,” she began.

“What?” He asked before his drink was entirely splashed onto his face.

“You're cleaning this up, Stoll.”

Despite her initial annoyance, she had to admit the cleverness of it. She only wished she could find a way to return the favor.

Which she did, as she was somehow able to get Travis on board. During a game of capture the flag, she snuck back to camp and hid in the Hermes cabin, where after the game, while everyone was still celebrating the winning team, Travis would tell Connor they needed to talk in private.

She watched Connor follow behind his brother as they walked in, “dude, is it something serious or like-” Before he could finish, a puddle of water that had been floating above him, poured down like a rainstorm.

“So,” Y/N laughed, walking over to him, “how’re the water works going for you?”

He wiped his eyes, “good one, L/N,” he sarcastically sighed.

She nodded, beginning to walk out of the cabin, “by the way, thanks for the help, Travis!”

“You helped her?!” She could hear Connor exclaim on the other side of the door as she giggled to herself.

The joy of her revenge was short lived though. The day after, she found her older brother to be missing.

She sat on the sandy beach, asking her father for help, but hearing nothing in response. She tried to calm her anxieties by drawing circles in the sand.

“Y/N?” She heard a familiar voice call from behind her.

She took a deep breath before forcing a smile and turning her head, “hey, Stoll.”

“I heard about your brother,” he sat down next to her.

She nodded, “yeah, I’m sure he’s fine, but still…”

He bit his cheek, “you know, if you weren't all upset and everything, I would have totally gotten you back for yesterday.”

She chuckled, “You’d really start a prank war with me?”

“You bet,” he smirked.

“Try me.”

So then on, the only thing that could cheer her up through the months that her brother was missing was the same person who annoyed her most. Or so she said.

“Seems like Annabeth’s pretty stressed about that one shoe boy, huh?” Connor mentioned as they walked through the forest.

“Yeah,” Y/N answered. She didn't want to admit how hopeful she was about the prophecy. She was sure there were lots of demigods who could lose a shoe, gods know she has plenty of times.

“Pretty embarrassing for him though,” he joked, “you get back to camp after months and you're a mess.”

“Connor,” she spoke as she stopped walking.

He paused, “yeah?”

“I know it’s not gonna be my brother,” she added, “I just know. And I really just don't wanna think about it right now.”

He nodded, “oh, sorry,” he awkwardly responded, “but you gotta admit, it’d be embarrassi-”

She grabbed a stick off the ground and poked him in the side, “shut up.”

He raised an eyebrow and grabbed his own stick, “make me.”

“You!” She yelled, trying to stab him with the stick again, but he instead began running.

He ran backwards, looking back at her, “you have to admit, I’m pretty fast.”

“You're such an idiot!”

“What do you mean-” he asked right before slamming his back into a tree.

Y/N cackled as she reached him, “that’s what I mean,” she smirked, poking him with the stick.

“Kick me while I’m down, that’s real nice.”

She smiled and helped pull him up. She lingered her grip on his hand for a little too long before letting go, but she noticed his hand not even budge enclosed in her fingers. They both awkwardly stayed silent for a moment, feeling like there was something on the tip of their tongues that they both wanted to say.

“Y/N!” Annabeth’s voice rang through the forest. Annabeht stopped as she stared at the two of them, “Y/N, he’s here, come on.”

Y/N nodded, “right,” she began walking towards Annabeth, “see you later, Connor,” she waved.

He stood still for a moment, “bye.”

She walked alongside Annabeth, trying to shake the feeling in her chest.

“Let me get this straight,” Connor questioned. He was in the middle of training with Y/N when she told him about the plan, “you’re going to the Roman camp with Annabeth, Jason, Piper, and Leo?”

She nodded, resting her sword down, “yeah.”

He shook his head, “you can't just go like that, L/N.”

“What?” She breathily laughed, not believing what he had just said, “it’s my brother, I have to go with them.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, “but that’s- what am I supposed to do with that?”

“You have friends other than me,” she replied, “this isn't about you, Connor.”

He sat down on a nearby bench, “I know but…”

She sat next to him, “but?”

“Y/N,” he egan, “I’ve been really wanting to tell you something and I can’t yet.”

She nudged his shoulder, “you're my best friend, Connor. Come on, hit me.”

He sighed, “you're really going?”

“Yes,” she muttered, “now, will you just tell me?”

He stood up, “can we talk somewhere else?”

“Alright,” she obliged. He suddenly grabbed her hand and led her away. She might’ve said something if she didn't enjoy the feeling of his hand in hers so damn much. When he walked into her empty cabin she knew whatever he had to say was important.

He hesitantly let go of her hand, “Y/N, I- uhm- I really, really like you,” he whispered, “I get that you have a lot going on right now, but-”

She smirked, grabbing his face and kissing his lips. She couldn't tell how long this went on. All she knew was that he immediately relaxed into the kiss, his hands finding her waist to pull her closer to him. She knew that she could feel his lips curled into a smile that mirrored her own.

When they pulled away, their faces were still only centimeters apart and a trail of saliva reached between their lips, “I kinda like you too, Stoll.”

He just smiled even more, quickly pulling her into another kiss.

#connor stoll x reader #connor stoll #travis stoll #stoll brothers #percy jackson and the olympians #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #percy jackson x sister!reader #daughter of poseidon #child of poseidon #daughter of neptune #child of neptune #cabin 3 #cabin 11 #son of hermes #child of hermes #heroes of olympus #trials of apollo

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caffeinatedmunchkin · 25 days ago

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Hanging By A Thread

Rating: M Characters/Pairings: Astarion/Tav(Sabine)

Genre: Romance, Fluff Word Count: 9k Summary: Enjoying his new life as an accomplished, highly-sought after tailor, Astarion loses himself in his work as Liar's Night dawns, and with it, sees him his busiest yet. In effort to garner the forgiveness that she neither expects, nor demands, he presents Sabine with a gift - as well as the opportunity for proper closeness. The first they've had in well over a week. Post game.

Writing for post-game events before I've even started act 3 is really giving major; "she doesn't even go here." but here I am all the same! I've been seeing a lot of tailor!astarion art and man oh man did it inspire. As a woman who grew up with two other women, but whose father was the one who acted as household tailor, this side of Astarion is one I'm particularly endeared to. This was so inevitable. Pretty please channel some of that suspension of disbelief over the fact that, for the sake of this story, some of spawn Astarion's vampire side-effects have been inexplicably curved. The man deserves to see himself in a mirror alright he's pretty. What started as a pretty simple, cut and dry idea was very quick to grow very out of hand. I did my best to keep up! So without further ado, please enjoy!

There's also a little throw back in the beginning to my oneshot, very mild, blink and you'll miss it. Shameless plug here.

Posted to both FF & AO3

Tagged: @chaoticbardlady99 as per request!

Caught in a pocket of dewy, early morning light, his fair skin seemed to glow with shimmering translucence at the suns behest. A celebration of his ethereality. The cerise of his eyes glinted in kind beneath the rays, endless as they were intent.

They fixed to her with sanguine scintillation that communicated just how great his anticipation. A stark contrast to the assured brows that hooded them, and the confident set to his lax jaw.

Astarion kept his gaze on Sabine steady, while hers was occupied by the long, flat box he had just presented to her. Splayed in her lap, the lid was held in place by a fine lace bow.

Her suspicion piqued, it was now aimed at the gift, as opposed to the gifter, who openly delighted in the girlish furrow of her brow, and how her dainty fingers unraveled the ribbon with the utmost care.

Taking the time to discard the length of it in a neat pile beside her hip, it was almost comical how large in comparison the package was to her petite stature. One side propped against her crossed leg, while the far end had nowhere else to rest, but in the vacant space of the Méridienne chaise beside where she nestled.

The half-elf had been summoned to the study early that morning, which had been a cause for confusion in it's own right.

His study, that had been outfitted as a work-space. And one that had already been booked solid straight through until early evening.

That detail alone clued her into the nature of the gift, having called her in and sat her down in the very chaise that usually saw his patrons. An ornate piece of plush velvet, cream upholstery, and polished mahogany stained so dark it presented black in the absence of light. A crane was carved out along the backing, it's slender neck stretched backward, and a single of its wings unfurled to full span.

Astarion was quick to amass a steady, loyal clientele of the affluent and respectable, of which regularly filed in and out of the very room she now joined him in. Most were the young sons and daughters, or nieces and nephews of aristocrats that kept him busy with a never-ending parade of gowns and suits alike. Scheduling their fittings for the next even quicker than the last, not a second thought nor semblance of hesitancy towards monopolizing his time and attention.

Young and pretty things that Sabine did her level best not to fall jealous of. His glib drawing their squeaks of laughter, flitting and muffled through the shut door. The cloying aroma of their perfume suffocating the presence of his own, as it clung to his body with a possessive claim of which they had no right to stake.

A festering negligence, as their needs kept him preoccupied from her own.

Measured with more patience even still, she pried the edges of the lid up, only to halt with a startled gasp as she finally laid eyes on what awaited her inside. All previous intrusions of the brazenly flirtatious youth, and unjustified jealousy scattered like roaches exposed to sudden, brilliant light.

"Astarion," she stole his name with a breath she didn't have - a breath he had succeeded in taking - and he chuckled in triumph. Her tone suggested an astonishment corroborated by her wide eyes, ripping them away with great effort to settle on his frame as it lounged in the doorway. His little half-elf wasn't often at a loss for words, and he preened at the achievement. "I don't... I don't know what to say."

Her humble beginnings and modest upbringing made her easy to spoil. An opportunity he indulged whenever it presented.

"A simple 'thank you' will do." Drawled with exaggerated femininity in effort to mimic her own, Sabine rolled her eyes in spite of the grin she failed to bite back.

"And a simple 'thank you' would be an immense disservice to the proper appreciation you're owed."

"Perhaps alone it might. Who's suggesting your gratitude's to end there?" The doorway continuing to prop him up, his smile widened as he watched her.

Careful fingers stroked the fabric, as if seeking to assure herself with the proof of physical contact. With an almost guilty curl of her lips, the deep ruby gown inlaid with coordinating crystal refused to surrender her attention.

She yielded to it, her murmur thoughtful while she continued to bask in it's material decadence. "Not you, of course."

Pushing off the beam that he shouldered, he joined her, situating himself on the sloped arm to peer from over the top of her head. Setting down the lid to her other side, both hands then ventured inside the box, though not without hesitation. Tracing along the pattern of flowered embellishment, she couldn't see the smug set to his jaw behind her, but it could be heard within his explanation.

"I understand that green is the color that best suits you, but when this caught my eye - well, I could hardly resist."

He watched her in the taut silence that followed, while his little half-elf handled it with obvious unease. As if unfit to be in the presence of such finery, let alone its possession.

Astarion reached forward to corral a loose, cinnamon curl behind her ear, and the contact seemed to snap her from the trance brought upon by the blood-red, beaded organza.

"It's... beautiful." She dared to whisper, bending forward to gently set the box down at her feet, she lifted the dress up to a fuller height for more thorough admiration.

A sheer, illusion bodice with a sweetheart neck, a veritable garden of floral appliqué blossomed against the mesh panels between the corset boning.

Coaxing her eye further down to follow it's sinuous trail, it spilled over the waist, curling midway down the full skirts in a few budding tendrils. All which were adorned with the same intricate bead work. "And to what do I attribute such thoughtfulness?"

He had been able to steal away between appointments the previous afternoon, though his free time had already been consigned to picking up a few bolts of satin he had on order.

The dress was on display in the window. He decided on its purchase before he so much as reached the door.

"Need there be a reason for a man to spoil his beloved?"

She ignored the garment in her hands long enough to toss her chin over her shoulder, batting the veil of curled lashes up at him in playful skepticism.

Sabine saw right through him with those mismatched eyes of hers. She often did.

They sifted through his very depths, and never flinched at what they saw.

A look that cast away his darkness and loathing. Leaving room for truth alone, in the presence of her light that refused to be shirked.

It was a look he had found himself on the receiving end of from their very beginning.

One he was so endeared to, he couldn't imagine now having to be without.

With a sigh of surrender he reached for her, capturing her chin in a pinch of his thumb, and curled index finger. "Surely you don't suspect all my gestures are plagued by ulterior motive." His head cocked in punctuation.

"Just the grand and the romantic." She melted in his hold, her gentle accusation teasing her lips apart in a flourishing simper that would put a freshly bloomed tulip to shame.

He bridged the gap to place a kiss to her hairline. With their closeness, he breathed her in deep, finding comfort in the reliability of her smell. A heady bouquet of jasmine, violet, lily that trailed through the halls, and stained their bed linens.

"Darling, you insult me." He was able to keep his rumbling croon even despite the constricting in his chest. "Though truth be told, I had thought it might serve you well tomorrow evening."

The evening in question none other than a lavish Liar's Night celebration, hosted by one of his associates.

Sabine had more or less decided on her attire for the occasion. He had already gifted her a lovely velvet gown, pigmented such a deep phthalo it almost shimmered midnight if the lighting was generous. Paired with a delicate mask for around her eyes, she assumed that adequate, if not wanting for creativity. Astarion, it seemed, had something more specific in mind.

With the dawning holiday, he had seen a larger influx of demand for his skill than he was accustomed. This took him away from his little sorceress. His afternoons and evenings blurred past distinction, one day bleeding into the next, once he had lost track.

Some nights he'd glimpse her just before she turned in. Sabine hated to disturb him more than he hated to be disturbed. Yet if the hour was late enough, and he wasn't in the company of a client, she'd slip into his study with hot tea, and a kiss goodnight. Like ships passing in the night, she was there and gone again. Having left behind only the tea, and a cloud of violet to know where she once had been.

He appreciated her attentiveness, but above all he longed for her companionship.

Companionship he craved more and more the longer he was made to go without. Her nearness. And for it to linger for longer than it took her to bring him the occasional treat.

He caught himself daydreaming often of nuzzling into her bosom, leeching her body-heat, and stilling himself to the mesmeric beat of her heart. To lean into the gentle scrap of her nails against his scalp like a hound shamelessly chasing the itch his owner scratched.

He was still only a man, after all.

He meant it when he confessed his hopes that she'd wear the gown to accompany him, hanging off his arm and adorned in his colors. But more than that, it was to be recompense for her neglect.

Neglect, to her credit, that she bore with patience, and grace.

The same could not be said for him. He missed her terribly.

The previous evening he wanted nothing more than to be able to slip into bed alongside her, pull her close, and indulge. A possibility that would have been feasible, had he been tangled with any other client than the one that concluded his night.

A young elven baron he had only serviced once before. An appointment, he perhaps, had been a little too accommodating during. If the haste of his repeat business and persistence was any indication. His flamboyant ingratiating rivaled only by his forwardness, he disregarded Astarion's every rebuff. Whittling his strained tact away with his diminished nerve.

After all but physically hoisting him up and tossing him out the door, he was at last free to retire. Retreating to their bedroom, however, had confirmed his fear that it had come too late. Sabine had long since been received by sleep, just as he had found her every night prior for that whole agonizing tenday.

But the look that lit up the whole of her face upon glimpsing his offering made his exhaustive agenda, and having to fend off pesky, entitled nobility, well worth it.

Her smile coy, she had drawn the gown in towards her chest, clutching it as if it were most precious. "What shall I be in this, then?"

"Oh, let me think," he waved his hand in a return to theatrics, "something like the ravishing consort of an enigmatic vampire lord?" His inflection then chest deep, he leaned back in, the tip of his nose not an inch from her own with a single, arrogant brow arched. "How does that grab you?"

A lazy, haughty grin teased her with a peek of fang. Quickening the flutter of her heart, her next breath shakier for it. Reeling from the picture he painted, and it's implication.

"Exactly as you hoped, I'm sure." She couldn't help but blush.

"Alterations will need to be made, of course, and my schedule is quite full." He sighed as he studied his nails. "But I believe I can squeeze you in."

"I'm honored to receive such preferential treatment from you." She continued to cradle the gown in her lap, mindful not to crease the tulle. "Mr. Ancunín."

The playful formality in which she addressed him, emulating the fawning aristos he had fitted in that very room, bubbled a rueful growl from the pit of his chest.

He was still acclimating to his reclaimed desire. The ache in his loins and the flare in his chest for the physicality of a lover that was entirely his own.

To touch, and to want to touch again. After all that time.

The sensation of honest, unmitigated, genuine yearning, returned to him like an old friend. A face remembered, but the haze of estrangement cast uncertainty over the reunion.

For having reintroduced him to just that alone, he owed her the moon.

Most times he could take her in his arms and conduct himself as a patient, meticulous lover. Experience at his disposal, rather than a byproduct to be loathed. Other times, he was as jittery and needy as a hormonal adolescent, and laying with her felt like it was the first time for him all over again.

His body roiled in agreement of the latter. If he reached for her again, it would only end one way.

Drawing his ankle to rest atop his knee, he opted instead to clasp his hands in his lap with much restraint. Slipping into the old, familiar territory of playing the sardonic, as opposed to reducing her to naked flesh and obscene moans of his name. The memories of which tormenting him with increasing cruelty.

"A treat to be certain, and one I mind you not to presume. My services are in high demand, as I'm sure you're aware." Head tilted in arrogance, he cast a glance down the bridge of his nose at her, as wicked with mischief as his smile. "So do be gracious, and try it on for me?"

He watched as she rose to her feet, the gown cradled in her arms, finagling the length to keep it from hitting the floor.

"Don't forget your shoes." Almost patronizing, he was then all business. "Whichever pair you intend to wear, that will ultimately determine the length."

Before leaving him to change, she pushed up to her bare toes to capture his gaunt cheek in kiss. He could feel the curve of her lips as she smiled into his skin.

That small, sneaky intimacy made him snort; "schmooze." with a shake of his head. When she spun on her heel to retreat, he responded with a ludic clap of his hand to her bottom, grumbling an; "off with you now." and relished the squeak he earned.

His gaze remained fixed to her as she pranced out of his study before disappearing from sight, unable to wipe the fond smile from his mug the whole while. A willing captive to the same, self-indulgent notion she had teased out of him many times before.

If he had a working heart, every beat taken would surely belong to her.

His little half-elf didn't leave him waiting long.

Disrobing in record time, she reappeared in his studio a vision in red.

His back to her, a drawer at his desk distracted him from her return, affording her the chance to admire him from the doorway without interruption.

A white chalk pencil slotted behind his elongated ear, the sight of him so professional never failed to goad her heart to flutter like a hummingbird.

Charcoal slacks clung in accentuation of his lithe frame, his collared shirt tucked in at the waist, the buttons pulled free at his chest as per usual. Feet slipped into soft leather loafers, simplistic as they were expensive.

Always impeccable with his dress, the added details of his trade made him look all the more distinguished.

The skirts of the gown were quite long, too long for her short frame, forcing her to gather the excess into the crook of her arm as she entered to keep from tripping.

The bodice, only loosely tied at her back and not a single clasp hooked, hung limp and ill-fitting from her thin torso. Thick twin bands of matching, intricate detail looped around her biceps. Though they lacked structural practicality, they added to the gown's overall romantic appeal.

"I'm ready when you are." She announced, warring with a victorious grin of her own at his subtle double-take.

Regardless of the less than favorable way it draped her body, not yet tailored to accommodate her waifish size, Astarion halted. Pincushion in hand, the length of his measuring tape coiled around his forearm. Though the act of breathing was merely reflexive, he couldn't have even so much as mimicked it. The only hint of movement came from the sharp protrusion of his Adams apple, bobbing with a hard swallow.

The smile she angled up at him was sheepish, her chin dropping to shy away from the severity of his silent appraisal.

Two pairs of heels dangled from the ankle-straps from her other hand that she lifted up for him to see. One satin black, and the other a soft gold, her tone held a decided timid lilt.

"Which goes best, would you say?"

He smirked at how earnest she desired his input. "The black." The emphasis dripped from the tip of his tongue like liquid smoke. "As if there was any real question."

He beckoned her to join him at the chaise lounge, his smirk growing at the soft patter of her bare-feet crossing the hardwood, and the whisper of the organza shifting against the silk slip beneath.

Carefully perching on the edge of the cushion and arranging the skirts to lay modestly about her thighs, she regarded him through a half lidded gaze while he collected the preferred heels from her hold, and sank down to one knee before her.

With no more than an easy smile, and his palm outstretched for instruction, Sabine recognized his cues, and drew up one leg to slot her ankle against his waiting hand.

Astarion could feel himself swallowed by her honeyed gaze above him as he slide her foot inside the heel, her ankle pinched in his fingers like the stem of a rose. He made short work of the buckle around her ankle, the graze of his finger-tips deliciously cool and feather-light against her sun-kissed flesh. Then he was on to the other foot, leaving the first to buzz with the lingering of his phantom touches.

Though the contact to her warm flesh was incidental at best, she leaned into it all the same. Smooth, brisk, and ever attentive, each one dizzying with addiction.

Raising to his full height, he held out his hand to help her to her feet. Continuing to hold it, as he lead her the sort distance to a raised platform before an inordinately large mirror. Newly reunited and shamelessly besotted with his own reflection, that superfluity was for his benefit alone.

Guiding her up to the center, he closed in behind her, sweeping the length off her waves over her left shoulder and out of the way. She sucked in a breath as he gathered the silk laces at her back, his deft hand cinching it as tight to her body as he was able.

An additional layer of clasps remained to join the edges flush together, tucking the lacework to lay neatly underneath and out of sight. Working with just as much expert efficiency, his knuckles grazed along her erectors as he fastened the row of hook and eyes from bottom to top.

Sabine regarded her reflection in the mirror as he tied her up. Though she knew it wasn't the finished product, the cups gaped around her breasts, making her feel like a child playing dress up with an elder sisters gown.

Her chest was the antithesis of ample, and was one physical characteristic of many that caught her disapproval. She pressed it flat against herself in a more accurate representation of how the end result might look, forgetting to wipe away her frown as she did.

"There will be none of that." Having read her thoughts with the quirk of her lips, and downcast eyes, his admonishment was loving, however firm. "This neckline will flatter your bust. A compliment only made possible by an already favorable trait. And one that's proportionate to your physique, I might add."

"You're too kind." Pursing her lips against the clouding of doubt, the utterance was as soft as it was sincere.

"I'm not kind." His correction warning, the following elaboration was no less stern. "I expect you to trust my eye. I know how to dress you, my pet."

He left her to retrieve his pin cushion, before then returning to conduct his assessment of what begged his attention. Propping his elbow on the forearm he wrapped around his chest, Astarion pinched the cut of his chin. Brow furrowed in contemplation, his narrowed gaze raking over her.

His new profession was a seamless transition, one with which his acquired finesse allured her. In that moment, propped up on the dais in a pair of heels of his choosing, she felt like one of his clients. The ones she all too recently harbored ugly, infantile jealousy over.

It was her turn to embody that role, and the thrill of that proffered mystique was such she couldn't deny.

After a moment, he discarded the cushion to the ground by her feet, but not before plucking a handful of pins he stashed between his clenched teeth. Long and slender, the heads were bulbous so as to not get lost in the appliqué, and sculpted to resemble peacock feathers.

Unbuttoning his cuffs, he folded his sleeves twice to bare impressive forearms, before he set to work.

Bending at the waist, he manipulated the fabric around her body with a small scowl of focus that made her heart swell to see. A gentle pressure behind his trained hands, he was all sweeping palms and gliding finger tips. A flurry of teasing, professional touch.

Sabine couldn't help but react as his expert fingers danced across her middle, an area of her body that was riddled with sensitivity to his ministrations. If he enjoyed the way she quivered under his attention, he didn't let it show. Beholden to the duty of his work, a willing captive to concentration.

Astarion slid a cupped palm between her waist and the interior of her elbow, guiding it outward as gentle as his murmured instruction. "Hold it right here, for me. Just as you are."

He began to gather the loose mesh at her side. Palpating for her ribs before pinching off about two inches along the seam line, his other hand retrieved one of the pins from his mouth. Inserting the needle perpendicular to the fabric as he went along, and repeating the process all the way down to her waist.

Her right side completely pinned, and his mouth now vacant, he was standing back in front of her, cocking his head to the side as he surveyed his progress.

"The sides will need to be taken in a fair bit, though I expected as much." His hands snaked around her waist, finger-tips nearly joined together with her in the middle for emphasis. "Typically, the effort necessitated by the complexity of a corset is such that fashioning a new one altogether is the more practical course, but we are quite pressed for time." He then added, in afterthought. "And I do enjoy a challenge now and again."

She returned the smile weakly. "Being this small seems to be nothing but an inconvenience."

"Nonsense. I am the one who purchased this dress, after all. And I did so because I could think of none more befitting than you." Circling behind her, he gathered where the waistline was loose, and pinned it in place.

His chin fell to rest on her right shoulder. Finding her stare across from them through their mirrored image, his eye contact ruthless as he crooned to her reflection. "That aside, I like how small you are."

Her heart pounded against it's cage when he pulled away, and strode in a circle around her. Gathering her skirts as he did, he flicked his wrists in a practiced motion to fan it out to its full diameter. A salacious, full-length slit split the skirt on her right side, and allowed cool air to rush her bare legs with every whip.

Beginning behind her with a fresh set of pins fanned from his teeth, he lowered to his haunches before settling on the ground with a grunt. Astarion widened his thighs to stretch long, slender legs out to either side of her, caging her between his bent knees.

Tweaking at the skirt so that it's weight dropped to the ground, he first checked with the tips of his fingers for the points of contact where it fell level with the floor. Only then would he slot a pin in, before repeating the process all over again. Each new one approximately six inches apart from the last.

She watched first his reflection, as he gradually worked his way back in front of her, shifting his weight across the floor by his palms and heels. His regal profile angled towards the hem, his fingers darted between the top layer of tulle to ensure it was still even with the slip underneath.

On occasion, he'd un-spool the measuring tape from the crook of his elbow to reaffirm his measurements, keeping a mental tally of the spacing.

It surprised her how weak she was to the sight of him so mundane and domestic, and the tenderness rooted at the center of it all.

She hadn't realized her gaze had fallen to stare down at him crouched before her until the heady rumble of his tone sheared through their collective silence.

"First time, darling?" He teased, his eye fixed to the pin he was in the middle of inserting. A furious blush crept upwards from her neck.

She decided to play along, hushing, "What gave me away, Mr. Ancunín?"

"Your fidgeting." He tsked with impatience, despite a wry smirk. "And how you insist on looking down. I know I'm a sight to behold, but I'm going to need you to stand up straight, and keep your eyes forward."

Running out of pins from his mouth, he paused to inspect his work. Taking the hem into his hands, he chuckled to himself in observation of the sheer amount that was in need of shortening.

"My, you're a just a little slip of thing. You're like an honest doll." Unmistakable adoration lurked within his remark, despite how offhand his delivery, "though a doll would stay still while I pinned, I'm sure." He chided up at her as he gathered the next set of pins. "Shoulders back and head level, my dear, unless you want a crooked hem."

"I can't help it." She sighed. "I do enjoy you like this."

A side of you I'm rarely able to experience. Added in lamentation by the vestiges of her jealousy.

A wicked grin curled around the pins clenched between his teeth, his voice muffled. "On my knees?"

She slit her eyes at his reflection, a smirk threatening to surface. "I meant professional."

"Semantics, my darling girl." He tittered, waving the measuring tape with a flippant flick of his wrist. "This work often sees me on my knees."

"I'm sure I'll grow to regret inflating your ego further still, but I like your look of focus. It's handsome." She stared straight ahead as instructed, while he knelt before her once more to resume his work. "Dashing, even."

"Is that so?" He soaked up her flattery like a fresh spring to a man in a drought. Before shifting forward on his knees, he prompted, "well, go on."

"And I...," she stopped herself, suddenly flaring with a bashfulness neither were used to seeing on her. Attracting his curiosity.

Brow cocked in wait, he wore an all too serious look as he pressed her. "Yes?"

"I like you... touching me in this way. It's not meant to be seductive, or coy. Your contact is out of necessity to your craft, but that just seems to make it all the more..." She trailed off, struggling to articulate.

Though by the tortured look on his face, she surmised she didn't have to. He stalled in thought.

"I see..." Expelled from him in a breath so heavy it was as if he had been holding it, a knowing grin then worked his lips apart, bearing his fangs in full. "Well I assure you, it was not my intention to get you hot and bothered. Yet, I wonder..."

He kept his musings internal, as he pushed his hand through the slit in her skirt, and wrapped his hand around the back of her knee.

The initiation, while frank, was most welcome. The hitch of her breath was all the sound she could make, as his curled fingers stroked up the back her thigh, before coming down to cradle her joint once more. Lifting her leg for her, Astarion fished it out through the separation in the fabric, guiding it up to drape over his shoulder.

Without breaking eye contact, he pushed up the skirts with his opposite hand to bunch at the crook of her hip, and out of his way.

Immediately, he was confronted by the bare sight of her, pinched rosy and glistening. Smooth as silk and exposed to him from a fresh shave. A haggard groan escaped him.

"Ohh look at you." The observation wound tight in the seat of his chest, it huffed from him as if just those few words held too great a weight for his tongue to form. His furrowed brow connected with her naval, as he brought his head to rest against her abdomen. Feigning surprise, he sighed. "Is all of this for me?"

Her fingers found his soft curls to knot in, shyness overpowering her limited capability to answer. His breath misting against her most intimate, her ears then perked to his low, agonized mutter in a foreign tongue.

She tsked with frustration of her own.

"Elvish does sound so especially pretty on your tongue, but it makes for poor bedroom talk when you speak it to a lover that does not understand it."

The wily high-elf pressed a conciliatory kiss in turn to her mons, smiling into her firm flesh at the sound of her breathless sigh spilled out into the open.

"Sincerest apologies, my love," his coo was sickeningly sweet as he placed another kiss, this one lower than the last. "You make me forget myself. Would you like a translation?"

"If it's not too much trouble." The quaver of her tone only spread his pompous grin wider.

He abandoned her core to begin trailing open-mouthed kisses to the smattering of freckles on her inner thigh. The impatience of her whimper went straight to his stiffening groin in aggravation.

"It was something to the effect of how desperate I am to devour that pretty little cunt of yours, until I'm unable to rid the taste from my mouth." Spoken with the infuriating nonchalance of one remarking on the weather.

No matter how venomous or vulgar, the liquid velvet of his voice was able to gild all that he spoke, even his filth.

His sinful divulgence made her see starts, until the elegant bridge his nose pressed against her bud in a way that erupted her vision in white. Alabaster mane curling around her fingers like rings, she tugged, her knee buckling as he rumbled into her with approval.

Limber velvet flattened against her throbbing slit as he dragged his tongue up the length of it, and then again, starting back at the bottom and swiping up to the top.

His path slow and deliberate, he coaxed her honey to soak against his maw, ushering the excess down his throat with a desperately voracious hum that she felt as clearly as she heard. So was so wet, impossibly wet, and all for him. A distinct, mild headiness that swelled his cock and ego alike.

Teasing her entrance with the flick of his tip, it clenched in vain against her own hollowness as he continued to play with her. Lapping and huffing, peeling her slick petals apart with slithering tenderness.

His hand slipped up the underside of the the thigh hooked over his shoulder, kneading the quivering hamstrings with the heel of his palm as it swept upward to grab a handful of her rear. The swell of it settling in his hold nicely, Astarion groped with steady, massaging pressure.

Kitten-like whimpers and mewls tumbled listless from her pout, wrenched open by his ceaseless onslaught. Her fingers buried in his mane, she both pushed and pulled him; unable to handle his direct assault, while at the same time longing to have his tongue wriggle its way inside her molten core.

Astarion discovered very early on in their trysts, much to his bemusement, how quick she was to writhe in over-stimulation from even the barest contact of his tongue to her womanhood. A weakness he was always relieved to discover persisted, even after all their time together.

Unburdened by the pressures of romance and consideration, he locked her against his mouth with greed, messy and crass. He swirled his tongue around her swollen nub before latching his lips around to suckle at it. Hard.

A shrill cry ripped from her throat as she thrashed in his hold. His lips and chin slippery with her arousal, her petite frame jerked and stuttered like a woman possessed. Though he was on his knees before her, he still overwhelmed her, gravity coming to his aid as she lacked the footing to ease away from him. Having no where to escape, she twisted and arched, and only ground herself down further against his mouth for her efforts.

His claws tightened their hold on the flesh of her ass, and yanked at her dress, expressing through action what his tongue was too preoccupied to speak. He wouldn't soon let her go.

Satisfied with her distraction, he took advantage to plunge the muscle as far inside her weeping channel as he could manage. Be it by fang or finger, the sensation of her spasming around his intrusion never failed to send his eyes rolling back into his skull. He almost forgot how tight she was. Her throbbing heat that drooled all over itself by but a few well-placed caresses, even just in passing. His fingers twitched against her toned, supple flesh. He would have loved nothing more than to hilt two digits to the knuckle inside of her, but he was all that was keeping her upright, and he knew that she would sooner crumble to the devastation of his tongue.

Drilling within her plush walls, he withdrew with a languid moan at how her cream coated his tongue, and smeared his cheeks, his eyes falling shut in a moment to ground himself. When he fed from his little half-elf, getting messy with her was a horrid habit, he'd have to concede. It was all too easy to get lost in her. An at times forgone conclusion, that damned his genteel manner, and decorum. This was no different. Be it her blood or her honey, the difference now seemed inconsequential.

He was feeding from her. Dropped to his knees before her, with his ravenous appetite turned on her slick, fluttering cunt instead of her pulse. Astarion fed from her like he had been starved until that moment. Nuzzling his face into the mess he made of them both.

With the taste of her at the back of his throat, and her melodic cries invading the air, he didn't think he could get any harder than he was that very moment. A realization as painful as it was startling, the itch at his groin refused to be ignored. In their absence from one another, he was quick to dismiss his own neglect, an oversight his body was quicker to confront him with.

It wasn't enough to keep him away from her for long. Her pitch spiked with a gasp that shattered him from the suffocating haze of untended lust, as he reattached himself to her clit. Swollen and sore by his doing, her little pearl twitched against his laving muscle as he sought to soothe it.

"There you are, that's my girl." His encouragement strangled in his growls. "Don't you dare hold back from me, not now. Not after how long I've waited for this"

Had he a free hand, it would have been kneading his bulge already in firm, downward strokes with the heel of his palm. He was afforded no additional selfishness. Her tremors strengthened, as did the tell-tale twice of her thigh slung over his shoulder.

Even as her climax began to tear through her from the inside, her manicured finger-tips managed to find the pointed, blushed tip of his left ear. Gathering the tine between the pads of her thumb and forefinger, she began to rub him with purposeful pressure.

He gasped into her folds, his hips bucking forward into empty space of their own accord.

"You little she-devil," drenched in affectionate pride, he groaned through lips he curled against hers. "You fight dirty."

Astarion doubled down his efforts. Sealing his lips over her bud, her worked the tip of his tongue in quick, tight flicks in a back and forth motion. Easing up only a little, just enough, knowing the barely-there, teasing licks would unravel her more powerfully than brute force ever could.

Mercifully, more so for him if he had to venture, she ceased her torment as her pleasure overtook her in a searing jolt of white lightning. A current that funneled through her being as she twisted in his iron grip, it burned from the soles of her feet to the crown of her head. A blistering filament that strung itself through her little body like a marionette string, manipulating her through her submission. Tossing her head back. Forcing her pelvis to tilt, and held it in place until the muscles numbed.

The piercing of his gaze was dulled by glassiness, and heavy-lids. He stared up at her in awe, as her soul sank back down to her body, still shivering above him. Once stable enough on her own foot, he untangled his fist from the crinkled tulle to wipe his mouth.

"My poor darling, I have neglected you something awful, haven't I?" He gathered the mess of her heat from around the corners of his mouth before sucking it clean from his fingers.

Dropping that hand to splay against the floor behind him, he turned his head into the heat of her blushed thigh. Pecking at her freckled skin gingerly, the hand that had been holding her up by her bottom slid to hook under her knee. He lifted it up to place an open-mouthed kiss to the inside of the joint.

"You have." She agreed, drawing back unsteadily on one leg as she raised the other away from his mouth. Pressing her toe against his shoulder, she nudged at him to recline backward.

The motion had his bleary eyes molten in the early morning haze that poured in from the windows. Astarion allowed his little sorceress to push him to his back, catching himself on his elbows with the spike of her heel dug into his chest. She nodded as she spoke, in agreement with her own instruction. "And you are far from done with me."

He nodded right along with her, swathes of his once kempt coif hanging limp against his damp forehead.

Dropping to her knees above his waist, she scrambled to push the dress out of her way, while he wasted not a moment more in popping the buttons of his trousers.

Hissing to his own fingers grazing the engorged flesh of his shaft, he grabbed ahold with a rough grasp and pulled himself free. The two were erratic in trying to align themselves, his bruised head to the heat of her sex, by touch alone. Their view obstructed from the many layers of silk and gauze neither cared to take the time to push away.

Once her found her, he was greeted by a lewd amount of slick drizzling from her kiss swollen lips. A delicious tension having wound itself in the pit of his groin, the moment her wet folds slid across his cockhead had it spread throughout the entirety of his lower half. A rippling scorch as contagious as wild fire.

A smart remark lodged in his throat at the ready, Sabine stole it from him as she sank down the length of his shaft in one fluid, impatient motion.

His head dropped back with a thud. The sound drowned out completely by the fierce, guttural howl that erupted from him at sheathing inside her to the hilt.

She was in no way immune to the brunt of him, to the pinching stretch of her walls as they rushed to accommodate his every rigid inch. Fluttering pulses yanked him in deeper, his girth still stinging despite her generous lubrication. Her walls tender and aching, the sensation of being deliciously too-full of him coaxed a small cry to break from her tongue against his ear. As restless and visceral as cold waves to the shoreline before a storm.

"All is forgiven." Her announcement was rooted so deeply in abandon he couldn't help but laugh, as wheezing and strangled as it was.

Time was of the essence. Wasting not a second more to indulge in how lovely the sensation of their joining, she began to bounce on top of him. The first few, somehow, had taken him by surprise. As if he too was squandering a moment neither of them could afford, just to bask in how she struggled to fit him. A few grunts slipped through his lips, rubbed raw and smeared with traces of her. The same genuine, monotonous grunts he uttered as he maneuvered along the ground while he hemmed her dress.

The parallel saw her core squeeze him hard and fast, catching him up to speed.

"Really? Just like that?" He croaked through a lopsided grin, brows furrowing as he gathered her about the waist to aid her stilted, hurried gyrations. His voice continued to crack with his speech, as rushed as the climax they both raced towards with baffling inelegance. "You're quite easy to please, my dear."

She whined as he bottomed out again and again, one strike more driving and furious then the next. The resounding snap of wet flesh meeting hard knotted her stomach, and pulled it inward. "That's not a complaint, I trust."

"Darling, when have you ever known me to complain?" He gasped as if for breath, the pressure coiling low in his pelvis, threatening to spend him if they continued at their pace. If she continued with those breathy, drawn out squeaks that made him want to sink his teeth into her neck. Not to feed, but to bite. Unable to get enough of her, even now. Even as he buried himself inside of her. "But to think of all the trouble I went through to get this dress - it cost a small fortune, I'll have you know."

"Of that I've no doubt, you never settle for anything less than the very finest-!" A shrill yelp cleaved her statement in two, as he bucked up into her with desperation. "I-I've never known you to let an opportunity to boast your immaculate taste pass you by-!"

Sabine was echoed by his cackling before she even finished getting the words out, broken and panting. She clung to him for dear life against his uneven rutting.

"I'll not let it be said I don't measure up to my reputation." His banter equaled hers with how disjointed. He anchored himself by the bruising hold he kept around her waist, using that leverage to pump into, while simultaneously forcing her down around his spearing.

It caused her body to seize around his cock with a strength that proved to her; when it came to Astarion, her body was more his than her own.

"Astarion!"

His name sounded hymnal on her strangled breath. The single, vague plea would have brought him to his knees, had he not already been on his back.

Pitching forward and catching herself by sinking her claws into his exposed chest, she tilted her pelvis to chase the friction of her bud caught against him. The new position offered him more depth to exploit, as well access to the tender patch inside her that had her vice-grip tightening with every nudge of his tip.

She was close again. He knew by the way she went rigid on top of him, her joints locking as moisture welled within her squinted eyes. Her fingers trembled with weak spasms against his pectorals, the opaline flesh streaked with angry red from her nails.

"Let go," he urged with a frantic gasp. Not asking, not demanding. But begging. "Let go."

All of his charm, needless and shallow, failed him. She stripped him of his suaveness and provocation, and the front of his dominance without mercy. He yelped the last of his restraint away as she ground down on him with particular fervor.

His heavy length throbbed with insistence that matched the dilation of his pupils. So overtaken by beady black, the once shimmering Cabernet was blotted out, as if by spilled ink. Snorts and growls snagged through his twisted lips. That low, dull pressure pulled taut behind the root of his cock.

"S-sabine, love - darling-," he pleaded with the frenetic urgency of one whose lifeline was slipping through their very fingers. "I'm-,"

His use of her name was as dire as the situation felt. She recognized it's significance. Referring to her in such a deliberate way, as if calling on a Goddess for deliverance.

His little half-elf was first to come apart, and she did so all for him. Clenching tight around him, as if in ownership. She moaned and mumbled unintelligibly, her blushed body shuddering in all the extravagant, bejeweled layers of silk and tulle. Her shoulders bowed to drop her head forward as she slumped on top of him, her tousled waves a curtain that hid her tear-stained face.

Astarion didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He rode her through her glorious unraveling, thrusting into her without prowess or rhythm. Driven purely by base instinct, and their mutual desperation for their awaited reunion to be consummated.

A sound tickled the shell of his ear. Innocuous, and far from their debauched clatter. It couldn't have come from them.

He didn't have the time, nor energy to spare for discernment. Just as the blinding of her climax began to recede, he tumbled headlong into the throes of his own.

Astarion came with a shout. His tendency to slip into a mangled litany of Elvish and English stalled, his tongue offered instead something that not even her unacquainted ear would struggle to decipher.

"Fuck-!"

He emptied himself inside her, warm and thick and so much. Too much. Crammed up against her battered womb, and painting it white. Giving her more than even he thought he had to give, as he felt the excess begin to leak back out against where they meshed, trickling down over the twitching stitch of his scrotum. Sweat beaded along his hairline and dripped down his temple. The creases that webbed from the corner of his eyes deepened, as he squeezed them shut against the intensity of relief.

His feral expletive was echoed by that soft, familiar sound in the distance again. One her fritzed mind was unable to spare attention to, as the sensation of liquid heat spurting into her instigative depths preoccupied the lion share of it.

For a long while, the only sound between them were their exchange of gasping breaths. The ferocity suggesting they had just ran for their lives. Not even the aftermath of a battle had rung them out as they were after that union.

Unsurprising, Sabine was the first to break the silence. Pushing the veil of mussed hair out of her foggy eyes with hands that still trembled.

"Oh my." Her whisper hoarse, her hot flesh stained as deep a crimson as her gown. A gown that, miraculously, stood the test of their sloppy fervor, and held to his pinning. "Do you treat all of your clients with such attentiveness?"

"No." His breathing ragged, a laugh rippled through him regardless, deep and hearty. She could feel it's vibration where they were still joined. "That, my love, was more of that preferential treatment I just got through warning you not to expect."

She beamed down at him with a heaving chest, as she fought to calm her breaths. "I'll not strike that against your professionalism, then."

He reached up to slip a palm around her flushed cheek. He looked lazy and contented beneath her, and it was only in the presence of relief did she then realize how high-strung he had been. Heavy, spent throbs of his softened cock still pulsed within her in absolute bliss.

"Good thing, too." He rasped. "It would be a pity to lose your patronage."

A sated smile spreading her lips, she leaned in slowly, hoping for the deep kiss she had been robbed of. "You'd like to see me again, would you?"

Lowering to place her chest flush with his own, she slunk further up his body to yet capture his lips.

"Oh yes. As your luck would have it, I've quite the fondness for you mutts, one I can't seem to find it within myself to resist." The way he rolled the phrase around the tip of his tongue, his favor for the taste plain, had her tighten around him.

A quick burst of exultant laughter erupted from him at the feeling, huffed against her expectant pout. As if her cheeks could turn rosier.

"I'm very happy to hea-"

"Ehem - !"

Their heads snapped in unison to the source of throat clearing, coming from a yet unidentified third party.

Third, and fourth party, to Sabine's mortification.

Two young elven women. Eleven sisters, judging by their uncanny resemblance. Tall as they were slender, the one in front, who demanded their presence be acknowledged, looked more than a little discomposed. Olive skin tinged roseate at her high cheeks.

The woman behind her had a blush to match, yet was unsuccessful in hiding the scandalous grin behind her fingers.

It took a moment for him to register who they were, and why they were huddled in his doorway, through his long overdue post-coitus haze. He wasn't left to grapple with his stubborn memory for long. Where disorientation ebbed, the shadow of clarity was sure to lurk; and it swept in to sober him.

They were the daughters of the very associate who requested his presence the following evening.

A pair of mermaid gowns commissioned for a pair of sisters. Minuscule, pearlescent beads were to be sewn on to the flared hems in the pattern of siren scales. A painstaking endeavor, as the amount of that hand-stitched ornamentation doubled.

Suitable costumes, as in his recall of their previous fittings, they very much resembled a sirens squawking with their fits of laughter. One sister only feeding the others.

Their names still eluded him, not that it mattered much. Pet names made for exceptional placeholders.

"Good morning, girls! I must beg your pardon, and a moment more of your time." Drawled with chipper insouciance, donning the mask of sycophant once more. As if their much revered, and highly coveted tailor wasn't sprawled out on the floor, straddled by a tiny half-elf who very much looked like she had just been railed within an inch of her life. The reek of sex unmistakable.

His audacity didn't stop there. He winked at them, the nimble fingers of his free hand absently twisting the tulle with a lazy pace. "If you'll be so kind as to wait for me in the foyer? My hands are full with a demanding client just now."

They scurried away from the lurid scene. The flushed little half-elf in red swatting at his chest, her roar of astounded fury was only amplified by his perverse, silvery cackle.

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