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livesincerely · 9 months ago

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my body's craving (so feed the hungry)

Sequel to hungry like the wolf. Rated E. Also on Ao3

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The dance floor is a mess of bodies but Davey manages to carve himself a space amongst the masses, letting himself rock and sway with the thumping bass pounding through the speakers.

Tomorrow’s the full moon, so naturally the club is absolutely packed. There’s an almost tangible energy in the air⁠—like a powder keg about to ignite⁠—every shifter, siren, and sea creature in the city amped up to a thousand as the lunar cycle pulls at them.

It’s almost impossible to not bump into anyone: there are drifting, curious hands, knuckles that glance over his bare arms, a few flirty glances, but Davey ignores them all. He’s out here tonight for one reason and one reason only. Anyone stupid enough to overlook the bite mark that peeks out from under the lace of his collar, the way he all but reeks of Eau de Werewolf, deserves what’s coming to them.

He closes his eyes and lets the music flow over him, raising his arms over his head and swiveling his hips to the beat. His shirt rides up slightly, just as he knew it would, exposing a sliver of skin between it and the waist of his leather pants, and this time when he feels a pair of eyes land on him, he knows without looking that these are the eyes he wants.

Davey gives it a moment, then glances over his shoulder. He can just make them out over the crowd: Sean’s nursing his whiskey, Tony’s wrapped up in Sean’s coat, as usual, and Jack’s leaning against the bar, tracking Davey’s every movement with a hunter’s intensity.

When their eyes meet, Jack’s gaze goes sharp, hungry, the predator within staring back at him. Davey winks, blows him a kiss, and keeps on dancing.

He doesn’t see Jack put down his drink and abandon his place at the bar, doesn’t see him approach, but he recognizes his presence when he steps up behind him, knows the arms that wrap around his waist, the heat that curls over his back.

“Hi, Jackie,” Davey says, perfectly innocent, leaning into the embrace. “I thought you didn’t want to dance?”

Jack’s hands slip lower, one digging into his hip, the other splaying wide and possessive over the small of Davey’s back. “Changed my mind.”

“Oh?” Davey murmurs, curling his fingers through Jack’s belt loops to draw him closer even as their hips continue to sway to the beat. “And why’s that, I wonder?”

“One’a life’s great mysteries,” Jack says, leaning in to kiss along Davey’s jaw. “Why would I want an armful of the prettiest guy in the room? The world may never know.”

“You think I’m pretty?” Davey asks, pitching his voice to something soft and sultry, batting his eyes just so.

Jack’s eyes narrow, his grip around Davey’s hips tightening that much more.

“You’re a menace,” he growls, and god, he’s so easy to rile this close to the full moon. Davey has to bite his lip to keep himself from smirking. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what you’re doin’.”

“So, you don’t think I’m pretty?” Davey pouts.

Instead of answering, Jack tilts his head and brings their lips together in a deep, dominating kiss.

It’s utterly filthy, Jack’s mouth sliding hot and slick against his own. Davey sighs into him, tangling his fingers in Jack’s hair and tugging until he can lick further into Jack’s mouth.

Jack’s chest rumbles with another growl, nipping punishingly at the swell of Davey’s bottom lip, then chasing the sting away with his tongue, and one of his thighs slots between his legs to press against where he’s already half-hard in his pants. He can’t help the needy whine that slips out of him, hips twitching as he chases after the promised friction, as desperate to be devoured as Jack is to devour him.

“I think,” Jack says against Davey’s still-parted lips, his voice rough, “that you’re the most gorgeous creature on the face of this Earth. An’ you’re gonna regret teasin’ me like this when we get home.”

“And I think,” Davey replies, a little breathlessly, looping his arms around Jack’s neck and bringing their foreheads together, “that isn’t as much of a threat as you probably think it is.”

Jack’s lips drags against his skin, there’s a hint of teeth against his collarbone, and when he speaks next his voice is a gravely rasp that cuts through the music and sends a thrum of heat down his spine.

“We’re leaving.”

Davey opens his mouth, something playful and provocative on the tip of his tongue, but then Jack’s fingers curl around his elbow, his grip threatening to bruise, and he swallows down a protest that wasn’t even a real protest at all.

He lets Jack pull him along, the crowd parting easily for an incensed werewolf on the prowl. Jack leads them out the door, past the bouncer, and into the cool of the night, the moon shining down on them like a promise.

They don’t even make it around the corner before Jack hauls him into the shadow of an empty alley.

Davey stumbles. Jack pounces.

He shoves him up against the nearest flat surface, bricks digging into his back as Jack twists his arms and, between one moment and the next, gets Davey’s wrists pinned above his head.

Arousal spikes hot in the pit of Davey’s stomach and he arches up into him, squirming just enough to test the strength of Jack’s hold⁠. Jack snarls in warning, that iron grip tightening even further, and the anticipation of it all is almost too much to bear.

“You with me, sweetheart?” Jack asks, fisting his other hand in Davey’s hair and pulling his head back to expose his throat.

“Oh, god, yes,” Davey gasps.

Jack’s mouth stretches into a lascivious smirk, then he ducks his head, swirling his tongue over the hollow of his throat. He works a trail of kisses over his pulse point and Davey shivers as the edge of Jack’s canines⁠—his fangs, he corrects with a heady thrill, noting the change⁠—graze gently over his Adam’s apple.

Jack’s lips move lower, then there’s the press of teeth at the junction where his neck meets his shoulder as he re-stakes his claim. It stings deliciously, pleasure and pain twisting together to coax a strangled whimper out of him.

“Jesus, Jack,” Davey hisses when Jack finally pulls away. He’s fully hard now, has been since that first snarl in his ear, and his hips stutter forward, needing to feel Jack’s heat against him in a visceral, unspeakable way.

“Don’t act like this ain’t exactly what you wanted,” Jack says, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Like you ain’t gaggin’ for me ta hold you down an’ fuck you senseless.”

“Jack,” Davey exhales, pleading, his pulse thrumming in his ears, aching somewhere deep inside. “Jackie, please⁠—”

Jack hauls him up off the wall by his hair, spinning him around before shoving him right back into it. Davey just manages to catch himself against the uneven wall, and he barely gets a moment to widen his stance before Jack plasters himself along his back.

“Jack,” he tries again, then breaks off with a shout as Jack rips open his fly and unceremoniously sticks his hand down the front of his pants, wrapping a warm, calloused hand around the base of his dick.

“No underwear?” Jack asks in that same rough voice, pumping him slowly. “You really are gaggin’ for it.”

“You fucking saw me get dressed, you knew I wasn’t⁠—” Davey groans as Jack’s thumb flicks over the head of his cock, teasing his slit. “Fuck, Jack,” he bites out.

He wriggles in Jack’s hold, not sure if he’s trying to grind back against where Jack’s hard and heavy against the cleft of his ass or buck up into the tight clench of his fist, and quickly finds the flat of Jack’s palm between his shoulder blades, pushing him down until all he can do is brace himself against the bricks.

“Jack,” he breathes, hot and overwhelmed and painfully turned on. “Someone’s could walk by, someone could see us⁠—”

“Should’a thought about that before you ran that smart mouth’a yours,” Jack rumbles, and he sounds wild, fierce and feral.

The hand pressed against Davey’s back creeps up to cup around the nape of his neck. The pressure of it is enough to make Davey’s eyes cross and his legs go weak, a strangled moan caught in his throat.

“Fuck, Jack, please⁠—”

“I told you,” Jack says, and Davey can hear the Wolf in him, stalking just beneath the surface, “that you’d regret playin’ games with me, David.”

Then he tears Davey’s pants down his thighs, the material giving away easily to his enhanced strength, failing in ruined tatters around Davey’s knees.

“Jack!” Davey gasps, head falling forward, desire swelling sharply as the night air rushes over his flushed skin, his leaking cock. “You⁠— I liked those pants!”

“I’ll get’cha another pair,” Jack grits out, reaching around to drag his thumb over Davey’s lips. “Open your mouth.”

Davey’s lips part obediently and he eagerly sucks two of Jack’s fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue over his knuckles. Once they’re good and wet, Jack tugs his hand free and presses those fingers deep inside him, right where Davey needs it most.

“Oh, fuck,” Davey whimpers, arching back into the sensation.

Jack scissors his fingers, impatient, then curls them up with a twist of his wrist, working him open with a rough efficiency that makes Davey’s head spin.

“You made me do this,” Jack says, almost conversationally, like he isn’t bringing Davey closer to insanity with every crook of his fingers. “You jus’ can’t help but push me, can ya querido? Always so desperate for me’ta treat you rough. To have me throw you down and mark up every goddamn inch of you, over and over and over again,’til everyone knows that you’re mine.”

Jack’s teeth sink into his shoulder. “Mine.”

He hears the rustle as Jack unzips his fly, feels the denim of his jeans against the back of his thighs. Jack’s hands clamp down around his hips, then he’s pushing into him in one long, relentless stroke, burying himself to the hilt.

“God, look at’cha,” Jack groans. “You’re so perfect for me, cariño, feel so fuckin’ good.”

The zipper of Jack’s fly scrapes his skin and Davey whines when he realizes that Jack didn’t even bother to push his pants down, just freed himself enough to get his dick out and fuck him with it. “Jack.”

“I’m right here, sweetheart, I gotcha,” Jack promises, rocking into him. “Still with me?”

He’s boiling, panting, clinging to the wall in front of him because he’s not sure he can hold himself up otherwise, full in all the best ways. “Yes,” he gasps. “Yes, I’m— Please, fuck me.”

Jack sets a brutal, punishing pace, driving into him like a man possessed. There’s the furious slap of skin on skin, the harsh sound of their heaving breaths, and the angle he’s chosen has him hitting Davey’s prostate without even having to try. Davey trembles and keens, fingers scrabbling at nothing as Jack splits him open on his cock, claiming him completely, inside and out.

“Luz de mi vida,” Jack murmurs with another ruthless thrust. “Look so pretty takin’ my cock.”

“More,” Davey begs, because he needs it, he needs it, he needs it. “Jackie, please⁠—”

Jack growls—it’s a dark, dangerous noise, as though he’s clinging to the last remnants of his self-control—and his hands clench even tighter around Davey’s hips. He grinds in hard, then his pace picks up, somehow managing to bury himself even further inside of him, so deep that Davey almost thinks he can taste him in the back of his throat.

“You’re mine,” Jack says, an order and a promise, his mouth like a brand against the nape of Davey’s neck. “Do you understand me, David? You’re mine.”

Jack pulls him back into the next thrust, and it’s so good, so intense, that Davey cries out, every inch of him alight with pure want.

“Say it,” Jack commands. “Say it.”

“Yours,” Davey chokes out, his voice threatening to break around a sob. He can feel his orgasm starting to build, licking its way up his calves, around his thighs, swelling higher and higher with every snap of Jack’s hips. He’s barely able to think through the onslaught, sparks fluttering behind his eyes, desire coiling low in his belly, insistent and inescapable. “I’m yours, Jack, I’m⁠— oh, fuck⁠—”

Jack reaches down, wrapping a hand back around Davey’s throbbing, leaking dick, jerking him hard and fast like he can wring every last dreg of pleasure out of his body, and it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s⁠—

White-hot ecstasy.

Davey bucks and thrashes as wave after wave of pleasure crash over him, breathless with the strength of his orgasm. He’s trembling, shivering in the aftermath of it, and if it weren’t for Jack’s body behind him, holding him up, he thinks his knees might have given out entirely. Jack groans, ragged and guttural, hips slamming forward one last time, and then he’s coming too, spilling deep inside of him.

He can feel Jack’s chest heaving against his back, can feel the way their hearts pound in tandem⁠—almost a more intimate sensation than the mind-blowing sex. Jack kisses his cheek, runs a gentle hand down his spine, then carefully pulls out.

“Made a mess of ya,” Jack says, his eyes shining amber in the darkness, still coming down from his high.

“Just what I wanted,” Davey sighs, sagging against that broad chest, perfectly satisfied. “Love it when you get all territorial.”

“More like you love’ta provoke me,” Jack snorts, holding him close.

“Oh, that too,” Davey easily agrees. “But you wouldn’t have me any other way.”

“Not a chance,” Jack murmurs, tucking his nose to his neck, then pressing another kiss to the bruised, tender skin there. “I ain’t ever lettin’ you go."

Davey smiles. “Right back at you, darling.”

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #davey jacobs #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #tease series #Jack is *possessive* possessive in this one #another entry in my werewolf!Jack/incubus!Davey verse #please enjoy!

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bloodiedrogue · 1 year ago

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IF THOUGHTS COULD TEASE (3)

SUMMARY: At the tiefling party, Astarion uses his Illithid powers to offer you another memory.

PAIRING: Astarion & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 2,771

WARNINGS: Unresolved sexual tension, heavy petting, Illithid abuse at it's finest. Sort of contains spoilers for Act I?

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, welcome to day three of Haunted Hoedown! The prompt I chose was why do you keep following me? but I used it pretty loosely to be honest, so... whoops?

CHAPTER LIST / MASTERLIST / NEXT CHAPTER

The inner parts of the grove are bustling. Filled to the brim with celebratory bodies, everyone’s huddled up in their respective groups, talking amongst themselves over endless sloshes of ale that dizzy your brain.

As the bonfire burns, you and the rest of your group glance around with interest. On either side of the party, merchants stand alongside tables of trinkets, grinning and guiding heavy pockets to their nicest wares, while, in the centre, a group of bards play joyous songs, singing along with a group that glides around in circles, dancing in patterned steps that onlookers like you can't help but watch.

“Gods, it’s such a rarity.” Pulling your attention from the dancers, Astarion sips a bottle of wine, turning to face you with a grin. “The whole… heroism thing.”

Narrowing your eyes, you give him a curious look, watching the way his gaze shifts between you and the bards, his lips only extending their excitement. “I guess being helpful has its benefits.”

“Mm, like this free wine.” He nods —takes another long, careful sip, then smacks his lips. “Although, it’s certainly due for improvement. Tastes a bit of vinegar.”

Standing at your other side, Wyll peeks around your frame to look at the both of you; a sudden look of interest filling his features. “True, but who are we to look a gift horse in the mouth?”

After speaking, he offers Astarion a smug expression. One that the silver-haired elf reciprocates with an eye roll before he steps away, discarding any sort of verbal response in favour of moving further into the depths of the party. As he leaves you can’t help but snort, watching as Wyll chuckles and shakes his head, knowing exactly what he’s done.

“Behave, Wyll. You know he isn’t fond of kindness,” you say, taking a sip of your own bottle. Inside, an amber ale tickles your lips, making you sigh in slight relief as the cool liquid slips down your aching throat.

The battle fought earlier had been rough. An ambush within the goblin camp’s prison had proved tougher than you anticipated, earning yourself a nasty lash to the throat that Shadowheart subsequently healed, still earning yourself a fair bit of bruising.

Hours later, it still aches with every breath. Stinging with each sound that reverberates through your vocal cords as you pause to hear Wyll speak.

“He doesn’t seem to mind your’s though.”

While taking another sip, you raise your brow at his comment, watching the way he merely stares back, waiting for you to clue in. To realize that, despite attempting to hide your ever-growing niceties towards Astarion, it’s somehow become noticeable.

“I’m sorry?”

“Fangs,” he reiterates, pointing towards one of the merchant tables —towards Astarion who’s still chugging his wine as he eyes up some wares. “You’ve gotten close.”

“Have we?” You feel the aching of your throat uprise as you speak. Immediately feeling the pain send you into a fit of coughs, prompting Wyll to scoff.

“You’re not very good at hiding it. Not like he is, anyway.”

As frustrating as it is, you know he’s right. Your deceptions are average at best. In the heat of a tense moment you can lie and cheat no problem but when it comes to Astarion and the way you’ve slowly grown more fond of his presence, it’s difficult to cloak.

Humming in response, you take another sip of ale, hoping to wash away the pain before letting out a heavy breath. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“No?”

Offering the same smugness he gave Astarion just moments before, you quickly find yourself pushed to the edge, scrambling to find your footing within a conversation you never anticipated having.

Sure, perhaps over the last few days it had become increasingly obvious that you and Astarion had grown rather close. Opting to choose each other’s company over everyone else’s, you could see the assumption brewing behind curious eyes. During raids, it wasn’t odd to see the two of you working together —you posing as the distraction while he went in for the kill from behind. And while looting, it was common knowledge at this point that the two of you would wander away to look for traps.

But obviously, it was all a symptom of continued happenstance. A build-up of time spent together without even realizing it. You weren’t friends by any means. Yes, you were fond of him in a way but, if anything, it was as if you were coworkers at best, working together when need be but still bickering off the clock.

“I’m only nice to him because he’s nice to me.” It’s a childish answer. One that has Wyll grinning so wide it looks as if he might split in two, making you frown in response.

“I’m just saying,” he says, pausing to raise his hands in innocence, even though he’s anything but. “The two of you seem to be connecting more and more at the hip as of late.”

“What, like you and Gale?” Your tone is uncharacteristically defensive. At least for Wyll. If it were Astarion you were speaking to the elf would hardly bat an eye. More than likely he’d just wave it off —change the subject and forget, but unfortunately, Wyll isn’t like that.

“I didn’t realize you’d noticed,” he says sarcastically, watching the way you huff under your breath, taking one last sip before storming off, too tired to entertain the conversation further.

It’s one thing to be teased by Astarion —with him, it’s practically expected. What with the way his voice carries within a conversation. Regardless of the subject matter, there’s always an inkling of sass in his words. A gentle beratement that often fills you with rage each time you’re at the receiving end of it.

It’s the same feeling you get as you leave Wyll behind. Glaring forward while wandering the party, drinking your way through the outer rim, knowing it’s all futile. Now that Wyll’s seen the side of you that looks at Astarion as anything other than an annoyance, you’re doomed. Fated to hear a constant onslaught of questions and comments about your blooming camaraderie.

As you trade your now empty drink for another, you scan the party until your eyes land on Astarion again, watching him slide up to a particularly tall tiefling who smiles at his presence. The two of them chat for a while, both of them leaning in, appearing more interested the deeper the conversation gets.

It makes you smile seeing him almost happy. Considering that he’s almost always in a sour mood, it’s strange seeing such obvious enjoyment. To see his face light up amidst all the shit you’ve been through over the last few weeks.

The only other time you’d seen him that happy was after he fed. After he tore his teeth from your sensitive flesh; a newfound energy coursing through his veins. The euphoria laced within his features was nothing short of breathtaking, and now that you know him a bit better you’re aware that when he spoke of the moment being a gift, for once he wasn’t lying.

“You know it’s rude to stare, darling.”

You nearly leap at the sound of his voice. Feeling its tone nestle into the crook of your neck, shamefully a soft yelp hurtles from your lips, causing him to laugh just as you turn on your heel. “I’m sorry, can I help you?”

Immediately he shakes his head and brings his wine to his lips, giving it a lengthy taste before licking his lips. “Just came to see what you want. Seeing as you’ve been relentlessly following me around with that little gaze of yours.”

“Have not,” you scoff, a little too quickly. Your eagerness to lie painting your true intentions in the dirt beneath you.

“So your eyes haven’t been looking upon me and that gorgeous tiefling over there?”

As his brow quirks up you find yourself scrambling. Searching through your thoughts for some sort of excuse. Perhaps you could simply say that you’re tired. That the alcohol you’ve consumed has managed to perforate your brain —that you’ve lost all sense of vision as you awkwardly blink and force out a yawn. If the performance is good enough you’re sure you could pull it off…

“Sorry, I’m just a bit tired.”

Somehow still amused, Astarion watches as you replace your words with a drink of ale, gulping down a hefty portion that has him smirking through the edge of his lips. “You know I’m joking, right?”

“Hm?”

“About being rude,” he explains. “In fact I’m happy to welcome all sorts of gazes. The more the merrier, my dear.”

Your face screws into a confusing stare that has him narrowing his eyes, looking back with the kind of interest that has your tadpole slithering back and forth.

It’s been a few days since you last felt it move this much. The last being when you and Shadowheart were communicating during a particularly rowdy fight with some ogres. Back then, all it felt like were a few simple twitches back and forth. A moment of confirmation between two parties before the feeling was erased and you were fit to return to normal. Said moment didn’t take up space within your thoughts. All it was was there and gone in a flash, so for Astarion’s occupancy to feel so different suddenly interests you.

“Is there a reason you’re trying to get inside my head?”

You raise your brow while he shrugs his shoulders, both of you then standing in silence while the party rages on, wondering what will happen if you let him in. What you’ll see once you inevitably give in to curiosity and open the gates.

“There’s always a reason.”

“Care to tell me what that reason is?”

He ponders for a moment, dramatically glancing around the grove before honing his gaze onto the aforementioned tiefling who offers a wave. For a moment, both of them share a look, one that appears almost like a warning before Astarion refocuses on you.

“Isn’t the whole point of these things to show instead of tell?”

He has a point. An unfortunately, stupid and fair point that has you releasing an annoyed breath and nodding your head.

The power of the Illithid, while still greatly unknown to both of you, at base level is just another form of communication. A way to discreetly speak to one another in the form of offered memories.

“Sure, but having an actual conversation works too, you know.”

Astarion scoffs then, taking another sip that has him licking the points of his teeth before running it along the seams of his lips. Overall, the sight is… nice. The way the organ in his mouth glides across the tips of his canines, threatening to spill his own blood before circling out.

Even you have to admit it works in winning you over to some degree.

“Aren’t you enjoying such powers?” As he speaks, he takes a step closer, his base of frame bumping ever so gently into your shoulder as he leans down toward your ear. “Does it not interest you, seeing the world from someone else’s eyes?”

You crane your neck to look at him fully. To see the teasing expression take over and match the tone of his voice —how it ghosts the shell of your ear. Upon impact, it makes your breath catch inside your sore windpipe, threatening a cough you’re quick to suppress by swallowing another sip of ale.

“Because personally, I think it’s well worth the price of discarded conversation,” he continues. “Why bother wasting my time with words you might not understand when I can just push my thoughts into yours?”

At that point, you’re actually confused. Lost in translation just as he predicted. You’re not sure what he means by claiming your lack of understanding but you don’t admit it. Instead, you merely just take a step back, eyeing him with suspicion as you slowly let the creature behind your eye accept his message.

When you do he smiles against the rim of his wine bottle, staring you down with half-open eyes that project the feeling of hands. Soft palms cascading across bare skin.

A violent shiver runs up your spine almost immediately. The air within your lungs once again catches in your throat as your brows knit together, trying to place where the hands are going. At first, it feels like they’re starting at your hip. For a moment, there’s a rough press —a tightened grip that wraps around the bone, filling the space with a bit of pressure before it slides down your thigh, drawing new patterns. But then you feel it on your other thigh too, tiptoeing across the top before it finds purchase at the outer edge.

“What are y—“

Still unaware of the exact intention of the memory, Astarion interrupts your questioning with a simple gesture. An index finger raised to his lips, signalling a silence you reluctantly obey as you feel the hands hold both sides of your thighs, their thumbs ebbing to and fro.

Swallowing hard, you twitch against their movement, pushing your legs together while Astarion watches, his eyes fully immersed in your reactions. The way your face nervously twists once the arrival of hot air cascades between your thighs. How it wafts across your skin like heavy clouds moving through an electrical storm.

The longer it goes on, the more obvious it becomes that he’s amused. That your ongoing discomfort is nothing more than a form of entertainment. A method of his own personal, sadistic torture that has you threatening to sever the connection.

“Oh, don’t be such a puritan,” he says then, clicking his tongue as he moves a step closer to bridge the gap. “I’m just showing you what I plan on doing later tonight.”

“Tonight?”

Before he answers, there’s a kiss placed to your inner knee. A needy smack of lips and teeth that drag upward as you stand.

In response your mouth falls open without you realizing, a soft gasp coming out that makes Astarion snort.

“Yes. Are you hard of hearing or something? Distracted maybe?”

You grit your teeth, trying to withstand every sensation that overtakes you. The way the hands drift and the mouths feed —both of them working in tandem as they travel to the same spot you can feel aching within you.

“It’s alright if you are. I understand. Such feelings can be overwhelming when it’s been a while.”

Breathing through your nose, you watch as he smugly downs the final sips of his bottle. Throwing his head back, he exposes his neck in a way that makes you tighten your lips together, trying your best to remain calm as the hands that fill your mind continue their ascent, eliciting twitching flesh in their wake.

At that point, you know you should call it quits —close the doors and lock them up never to be opened again. But something is stopping you. Something pulsing at the back of your mind, filling you with interest.

It’s always been blatantly obvious that Astarion’s friendship has been nothing more than a ruse. A farce carried out only to keep you close. When he treats you with kindness there’s a hidden agreement that looms in the shadows. An unofficial contract that states his affections will be met with trust. With a loyalty that he’ll more than likely never return.

From the beginning, his intentions have always been ill and you know this. You see it wherever he is —whenever you speak. You can feel its falseness itching your skull each time he touches your skin or calls you pretty names.

It’s what he’s doing now with the Illithid. In the caverns of your mind, he’s showing you the benefits of his allegiance. The potential perks you’ll receive if you’re able to prove your worth, and to put it simply, it’s tempting. And not just for the sake of sex.

Suddenly, there’s a finger that strokes you gently as you stand before him, questioning his authority in the form of a raised brow that’s returned by him discarding the memory.

Once it’s gone you can feel your breath slowly begin to return. Every thought in your head is clearer, not necessarily crystal, but with fewer distractions you can finally see the hefty rise and fall of his chest.

“I hope you have fun with your tiefling,” you say then, letting yourself grin in such a petty way that you see his jaw shift ever so lightly before you turn on your heel and walk towards your tent. -

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#if thoughts could tease #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion fan fic #astarion series #astarion x female reader #astarion x reader #astarion x you #summer writes

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