#but I do have another option with a corset.

[a-shakespearean-in-paris]

Today with the help of a hairpiece, I made the braid of my dreams! 😍

[dollfacefantasy]

PRETTY AS A PRINCESS ♡

pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader

summary: you and logan have to work on halloween, but on the bright side, that means you get to dress up. and even better, you get to give him a little preview of the costume you've chosen.

cw: nsfw (18+), smut, p in v, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, ddlg, slight dumbification

wc: 3.2k

a/n: reblogs, comments, and asks are appreciated <33

kinktober slot: day 29 - ddlg

"You sure you don't need my help in there?" Logan calls to you.

"I got it. Just gimme a second," your voice responds, slightly muffled from the walk-in closet door separating the two of you, "So impatient."

He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, a smile rising to his lips. Normally, that comment would get you a small swat on the ass, but he decides to let it go for now.  You were in a particularly good mood today. The two of you had been assigned a mission next week that fell on Halloween. At first, you'd been unhappy about that, but then the professor informed you that it meant you were going undercover at a Halloween party - which meant you got to dress up.

For the past couple weeks, you'd been thinking about this costume choice as if it was the most important decision you'll ever make in your life. There were just so many options as you'd put it. So many colors and cuts. 

He knew you, so he knew it'd be something cute. But thus far, you hadn't actually shown him what you picked. Today it arrived in the mail, which is why tonight, you made a big deal of revealing it to him.

"Are you ready?" you finally ask.

"I've been ready. Let's see it."

The closet door creaks open. Before you exit, you peak your head out, flashing him a quick smile. Your excitement oozes from every pore on your body, flooding the room as you finally step out from behind the mahogany.

His prediction had been right - you look very cute. You strut out to him in what seems to be a princess costume. A tight corset wraps around your waist while frills and lace compliments your bust. The skirt goes down to your mid thigh, flowy and sweet while teasing enough flesh to be seductive. A sparkling tiara rests atop your head, and long, smooth gloves cover you fingertip to elbow. 

Skipping over, you stop in front of him. "So... what do you think?" you ask with a coy cock of your head.

His eyes scan you up and down, but of course, his mind has been made.

"Do you really have to ask?" he teases, "You look beautiful."

A bright smile spreads over your face when the inevitable answer hits your ears.

He chuckles at the reaction and reaches out to grab your waist. He really does adore this little get-up. It suits you just right, and on top of that, he can already tell how it makes you feel.

From the beginning of your relationship, Logan had a suspicion you'd be into this kind of thing. The whole princess thing. And along with that, the whole daddy thing. 

While you could be fierce in the field, sharp and quick, there was another side to you. A side that liked things soft and gentle, that yearned to be taken care of. It was the same part of you that came out when he sat you on his lap, running the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip. The part that made your head go fuzzy and your eyes glossy when he'd speak in a lower tone or call you a sweet name.

Over the course of knowing you, he'd found there were more triggers than delicate touches and tender words though. It was easier for you to slip into this dreamier headspace when you were tired or sad. You also liked when he took over simple tasks for you. But another one was definitely when you felt pretty. That always seemed to bring the d-word out from between those plush lips.

He found it a little odd at first, but he loved you. He could roll with you calling him daddy if that's what you wanted. And after a while, it didn't seem so strange anymore. He found himself craving your voice ringing out those two syllables, calling for only him when you felt your most vulnerable.

He spins you around between his thighs and kisses the warm back of your neck. The zipper on your dress hadn't been pulled all the way up. His fingers find the small metal piece to tug, pulling on it a little to tease before fixing the garment.

"Were you gonna wear it like this to the party, babydoll?" he asks, voice slipping into that lovingly condescending tone, "Give everybody there a nice show?"

A giggle bursts from you. Vibrates up your sternum through your throat and from your mouth. With how close he is to you, he can feel each bit.

"No," you say as if it's obvious. From your cadence alone, he can tell his set of suspicions was correct. You're starting to slip.

"So you need daddy's help then?" he mocks, dropping his voice. His teeth nip at the shell of your ear, tugging a little and beckoning more laughter from you.

"I guess..."

"You could've just said that then. I know my little girl can't be expected to do everything on her own."

You hum with petulant agreement. Your head tilts back to rest on his shoulder at the same time the back of your dress closes up. He kisses up your spine, the metal teeth chasing his lips.

"There we go," he says with a small pat to your hip.

You turn around to face him again. The fabric of your skirt flies up a little with the mini twirl. He smooths it back down for you before gazing at those eyes glimmering with admiration.

"Could you help me with my socks and shoes too? I accidentally forgot them out here."

"Did you now?" he smirks. He knows your games. If he doesn't offer to do things for you, then you make sure to create a situation in which the chances of that happening increase.

"Mhm," you say, nodding up and down in big bobs.

"Well go get them, and bring 'em here."

Obeying the command like it's a second nature, you pad over to the chair by the closet and dig inside the package to get the matching pieces to this outfit. He watches you pull out ivory thigh highs with little bows at the meshy hems and a pair of dainty heels. 

The items swing back and forth at your sides as you waltz to him. He takes them from you and sets them on the mattress. Standing up, his form rises above your own. He guides you so that your positions are reversed. Your thighs press against the blankets before he guides you down to sit.

"Be a good girl and sit still for me now. We'll get you all dolled up," he directs.

In a move no one else besides you ever sees, he crouches down before you. He gets on his knee and grabs one of the socks off the bed. The material stretches under his careful fingers as he prepares it for you. One of his hands takes your ankle, boosting your leg up.

The thin, white fabric slides over your foot first. Just as he did with the zipper, he kisses your ankle, then your calve, your knee and then your thigh. He feels your pupils lock on him. He doesn't even have to look up. His mind knows the way they’re dilating while set upon him.

He shimmies the sleeve around your leg, making sure the little bow sits at the front. "That look right?" Now his eyes look up at your own.

The two small spheres look as he'd imagined, blown-out and ultra-focused on him. Your bottom lip is between your teeth too. "Mhm. Thank you, daddy," you answer softly.

"No problem, baby."

Now, he moves to your other limb. He repeats the process. Smooches land on your skin, flowing along the path the sock follows. That one gets put in the proper place too. He pushes your legs together, looking at the pair next to each other. The bows sit there staring back at him. He didn't know how he was supposed to focus on whatever you were actually going to this halloween party for when you looked like this.

"Cute, huh?" he asks.

You nod and smile.

After seeing your legs closed, the only natural next move would be to spread them apart. His thumbs hook against your inner thighs, the rest of his digits curling over the rest of the doughy flesh. He pushes them away from each other. The growing distance causes the silky skirt to ride up and allows him to see what you wear beneath your pretty dress.

Matching panties. The same kind of lace that framed your collar fans across your pelvis. It's fashioned in the same style and color as the rest of what you're wearing. He can feel heat pooling between his legs just from a quick glance.

"Are these new too?" he asks, tugging you to the edge of the mattress and pushing your skirt away.

"Yeah... Do you like them?" you check.

"You're smarter than that, baby," he says. He leans in and presses a kiss to your cunt over the fabric. The gesture's so chaste, but you feel your tummy flutter with the first beat of arousal.

"I just wanna make sure since I got them for you," you tell him.

"All for me? Never knew you could be so thoughtful, sweetheart."

You scoff and pout at him from above. "Yes you did."

He laughs softly at that and pecks your inner thigh a few times as penance. "Maybe. I guess you can be sweet when you wanna."

His tongue flicks out to lick back up to the new panties. The scent of your desire grows more prevalent. He knows you're getting wet for him. Bringing one finger up, he traces over the cloth, from where your slit is to your cute little clit. He does that a few times before hooking around the entire section and pulling it aside. Like he expected, your folds glisten for him.

"Poor baby. Is daddy getting you all messy?" he coos with a smug look.

"Yeah," you whimper. The shudder you'd been repressing washes over your body.

"It's only right I clean my pretty princess up then, hm?" he asks, still mocking you with his eyes.

You nod again, your confirmation wordless this time.

He brings his face to your center and lays a more passionate kiss upon the slick skin. His lips engulf your sex, his tongue dancing against your clit teasingly. Instantly, you whine and dig your gloved fingers into the sheets. Your legs find their places on his shoulders, convincing him to lean deeper into the junction of your thighs.

His tongue flattens, lapping your pussy with a nearly feral lust. It's no secret that Logan loves your taste. Not a drop of you goes to waste if he can spare it. He feels your thighs quivering against each side of his head and brings his free hand to rest on top of one. The security of him holding you there settles you slightly. But the position also gives him leverage to keep you close.

He sucks on your clit and then fucks his tongue into you. You try to writhe. Your hips buck at the onslaught of pleasure flaring up at your core, but he has an inhumane grip on you. You haven't cum yet, but you're gushing onto his face all the same.

"Daddy," you mewl, barely able to get the word out, "You're gonna ruin the underwear."

He's rock hard now at the whiny sound of your voice. You always get that way when you're near the edge. Your lip starts to wobble. Your voice gets pitchy as your demands grow needy. The look in your eyes just makes everything you say sound like begging.

Not one to normally be interrupted, he twirls the tip of his tongue around your bundle of nerves. But the words you spoke begin to register in his brain, and he reluctantly pulls back. His eyelids droop down with lust. Your fluids coat his chin and make some of his facial hair shimmer from the wetness.

"That's true, baby. Can't get these all soaked and destroyed before the party."

He rises to his feet again, pulling your panties all the way off simultaneously. Then his hands drop to his pants. He rids himself of his belt and undoes his fly.

"Plus, I think I have another way I can show you how much I like this new dress."

Taking his cock out, he tugs on it a few times. A few pearls of precum bead at the tip. His favorite part about getting his dick out is watching your reaction to it. No matter how many times you've seen it, you still seem so in awe. You marvel at the size and the way it flushes. Your eyes track the veins sprawling over it and sneak a glance at the heavy set of balls hanging below his shaft. He doesn't think you could look any more longing if you tried.

You're already soaked, so all he has to do is line up and slide in. Whining as he pounds himself into the hilt, your eyes start to go starry. He gets a firm grip on the swell of your hips in order to drag himself back and then pump himself forward again.

"Daddy... slow down," you pout, "s'too big."

He chuckles at your performance and slams in again just as hard. "No, no. C'mon, baby. Daddy needs this. He's gotta show you what you do to him in this little dress. And I know you can take it."

His hips continue to bump your ass as he thrusts back and forth. It's easy for him to find the rhythm you like. He settles into it and rocks in and out of your tight cunt. It feels like pure, concentrated bliss for him; always does. Your velvety walls, spasming and sucking on his cock. Silently crying 'more more more.'

"Pretty girl... we're gonna be doing this at the party too if you're not careful," he grunts.

You babble and squirm on the bed, lazily nodding at the sound of his voice. It's so cute, he thinks. The way you go dumb so quick and easy.

"Mhm. You're gonna drive me crazy. Might have to pull you into one of the bathrooms and bend you over the counter. See how cute this outfit looks from the back," he continues.

Your back arches off the plush surface. A physical stamp of approval on his plan.

"Gonna have you screaming so loud everyone there hears and knows what a good girl you are for your daddy," he breathes.

Leaning down, he removes a hand from your hip and brings it to cup your jaw. The pads of his fingers dig into your fleshy cheeks. Your lips puff out a little, begging for a kiss. He gives you a quick peck but never stops the ricocheting of his pelvis.

"You're so precious," he murmurs against your skin.

Meanwhile, his hips seem like their mission is to obliterate you down below. They ram forward and back, jostling your body on the bed. You can barely find the will to choke out "Daddy, daddy, daddy. Can I cum? Please."

Your voice is wrecked, even pitchier than before. He bobbles your head into a little nod with his hand. Your glassy eyes stay on him the whole time though. 

"Yeah, you can," he agrees.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," you babble and fling your arms around him to keep him close. Not that he was going anywhere. He stays balls deep in you through the sensation of you tightening up and gushing all over him. Your walls flutter and squeeze. You writhe like you're possessed, and your eyes give that same impression as they roll back. Half-words spill from your lips begging, "Da- Plea- oh fuck-"

"Language, baby," he chides mockingly, his own tone growing strained.

You respond with total sincerity though. "'m sorry, daddy. Just- hnnngh- just feels so good."

"I know it does. Too much for you to handle, hm?"

You shake your head but the motion is so wild, it barely comes across as a declaration of disagreement.

"Use your big girl words, sweetheart," he coos. His desire tightens between his hips. He feels the familiar pressure and the way his balls draw up with the need to spill inside you.

"I can do it- ah!" you squeal, "I can take it. Just want daddy to finish inside."

His face falls down to rest in the crook of your neck. "If that's what you want, princess."

They're the last words he gets out before a groan rumbles in his chest. His release fires out with fervor. Spills into you in strong ropes. You sigh, eyes rolling back as warm satisfaction fizzles in your belly. The sensation melts you down from the whiny mess you had been into a boneless, whimpering puddle.

He pants against your skin. Hot puffs of air hit your neck as he starts coming down. Slowly, his cock slides out of you, popping out with a squelch. Two thick fingers find your hole and fuck the cum that was leaking out of you back in. You whimper at the intrusion to your sensitive cunt, but he smirks at you.

"Shh, shh, shh. It's ok, baby. We don't want any of this getting on your pretty dress, do we? Can't make a mess of it yet."

Your head bobbles in lazy agreement. He continues pumping his fingers into your soaked entrance while placing gentle kisses all over your face. 

When he finishes, he pulls your panties and his pants back up and then recedes to his knees again. He takes the heels from the bed and slides your feet into them. Taking care to make sure the strap is in place, he fastens the buckle on each and then lets them fall to the floor.

"Think you can walk in those still? Or did daddy get you too dizzy?" he asks.

"I can," you huff.

Pushing yourself off the bed, your legs wobble like those of a baby deer. You move across the bedroom, swaying a little but not enough to topple over and crash to the ground. He can tell you're waddling slightly, probably from the cum slowly seeping out of you again.

The costume looks gorgeous as ever with all the pieces put together. You readjust the tiara on your head and do a little spin for him before heading back over to the chair you initially pulled this dress from. You fish out what seems to be a basic wolf mask and show it to him.

"I got this for you," you beam.

His eyebrows raise incredulously. "I'm not wearing that."

You give him a look of your own, seconds away from stamping your foot. "Yes you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes you are."

"Am not."

"Are too! You have to dress up, Charles already said!" you insist and bring the mask to him, "Plus don't you wanna match? It's like beauty and the beast."

He barks out a laugh. "Is that what I am to you? A beast?" he teases, pulling you close again.

"Well yeah, but in a good way," you grin.

"Hm. We'll see. I'll think about it," he says.

You're about to whine out a please, but he stops you with a kiss. He knows he'll be hearing tons of that for the next few weeks.

[heedeungism]

synopsis: riki knows you better than anyone else. includes: bridgerton au (barely), a little women reference, confessions of love, pre-marital kissing (the scandal!), gross old men, arranged marriage notes: @hoes4hoseok i hope you enjoy my timothee chalamification of riki, this one's for you girl🩷

there’s a thin line between love and friendship. your mother says she was friends with your father before she ever learned to love him, never in the way the poets rave, but in a way that made her life easier. in her words, “a love match is as rare as a diamond, dear. you shouldn’t hold out hope of one should it ruin your debut.”

it’s a shame, you think, that you can love someone so deeply and yet there’s no guarantee they’ll share the sentiment, nor a chance to see if what you feel is dwindling infatuation or true unyielding devotion. it’s improper to explore your options, greedy to want more than expected, and childish to yearn for love. yet you do.

your debut season approaches fast, and with it, the heavy promise of your hand to baron mortimer weighs your heart down like an anchor keeping you from daydreaming of the things you had read and researched about love.  he’s wealthy, titled, and twice your age. he would give your family a more comfortable life, save you from the shame of becoming a spinster if you do not find another suitable match your first season, and seems to be respectable enough despite his intent to marry you, a soon-to-be debutante he set his eyes upon years ago. it’s unnerving, but your mother speaks of him without disdain, so you keep your anxieties about his character at bay.

unfortunately, your dearest friend plagues your mind just so. riki’s return from oxford approaches with the same swiftness as your debut. you dread the idea of no longer having the liberty to write to him or paint him when he’s a willing muse, as it would be improper to do so while promised to another. for that reason you have yet to write to him since your last letter a week ago, where in it you bid him the gentlest farewell you could to help ease the ache in your heart.

you aren’t sure if he even received it, as he has not written back, but you suppose it’s for the best.

at least you believe that until he’s before you with unkempt hair and a haunted look in his tormented gaze. 

“tell me it is not true.” he says, chest rising and falling as if he had run from oxford to mayfair on foot, though perhaps he had been traveling by carriage since he received the letter clutched between his fingers. “tell me you are not marrying that man.”

you are unsure of how to respond, your lips parting hut no words leaving them. you turn toward your ladies maid, who blinks wildly as she receives the message, placing your hairpin down and hastening out of the room past the viscount’s son. the door clicks and yet his gaze remains unyielding, you finally speak, “you are back early, mr nishimura.”

riki had always been exceedingly easy to read, only to you, he used to pout. this moment is no different, and you can see how hard it is for him to wrap his head around his title leaving your lips instead of his name, but he recovers enough to repeat himself, “tell me.”

you place a hand on your stomach, squeezed by a corset that you suspect is why you can’t seem to catch your breath, “i will not lie to you.”

his brows furrow, his teeth peeking from his plump lips as they part in disgust and frustration, “he is old.”

“yes, i am aware of lord mortimer’s age.” you say with a similar frustration on your tongue that is heavily withheld by your propriety, “my mother saw it pertinent i educate myself before our marriage.”

“you cannot marry him.” riki says, and the frustration in your blood blooms into something more, something worse.

“that is not your decision to make.” you state, mindlessly flattening invisible wrinkles in your dress as he takes a step closer, only for you to fortify the distance with one of your own in the same direction, “not any more than it is mine.”

“you…” he loses his words as his hand clenches and releases at his side like he longs to reach for you, “you do not want this.”

“what i want does not matter to my parents anymore than it should to you,” you state, attempting to tuck the loose strand of hair that your ladies maid hadn’t the time to fit into your updo behind your ear, only for it to fall right back into place against your cheekbone, “lord mortimer is wealthy, he will give me a comfortable life.”

“do you not deserve a happy one?” riki asks, and you feel the cracks in your chest widen. instinctively, you fight the tremble of your chin and the tug in your brow as tears attempt to fit through the open crevice of your act.

“no, don’t—“ you shake your eyes, turning away from him as your arms drop to your sides, “don’t do that. i have accepted my future, i do not need you planting doubts in my mind.”

“what use would planting them do when i can see they’ve already taken root far before i arrived here?” you overlook the step he takes, nor how large his stride is. he only takes one yet it makes all the difference, as he feels infinitely closer than before. just as you feared he would.

“stop it.” you say, masked inside a heavy exhale, yet a plea all the same. “you should be visiting with your sisters, i’m sure they missed you dearly—“

“don’t marry him.” he says, and you finally look at him.

“what?” you ask despite knowing exactly what he said, you want to hear him say it again to make sure it wasn’t in your head.

he shakes his head, taking another step closer, “don’t marry him.”

“you…” he doesn't have to explain what he means, your childish hopes of love that you’d hidden so deep in your conscience do so for him. your heart sings as his eyes flick between your own and then down the bridge of your nose and lower, but your mind refuses to bend as your heart does. you shake your head, shuffling back to salvage whatever distance you can, “no.”

“yes.” he responds in kind, dropping the letter and closing the distance between the two of you to grab your hands. his next words are paired with the act of him flattening your palm against his chest, keeping it there while he grasps the other in his much larger hand, “you can’t marry him.”

“you are being cruel.” you try to pull away, but his grip is firm and you know that if you meet his gaze you won’t be able to fight it anymore.

there’s a sickening silence as his thumb draws shapes on the back of your hand, you can feel his heartbeat. it’s strong, and its pace only feeds your own heart wanton promises of devotion you had only ever been told were too rare to expect in your lifetime, “tell me you do not want me.”

the suddenness of his demand lowers your guard for just long enough for your heart to find the upper ground and force your eyes into his sights, he repeats himself, “tell me you do not want me and i will leave you to marry lord mortimer.” his words are punctuated by the hand not holding yours to his heart grasping the side of your jaw, his thumb moving against your warmed cheek, “tell me and i will never speak to you again, just as you requested in your letter. you will never have to see me and i won’t—“

“i don’t want that.” the words leave your lips without warning, but it’s too late to take them back by the time they reach his ears. you shake your head, “i don’t—i don’t want to marry, i want to paint and read and—“

he listens as your supposed acceptance crumbles beneath his gaze, chest heaving under your palm. “—i want to do all of those things with you, i do. the baron has my parents under his wretched thumb and i cannot bear it, i cannot—“ a sharp inhale rakes your body, a mix of a sob and a desperate but fruitless attempt to regain composure, “i don’t want you to go away, i want you to stay here with me and—“

his lips meet yours with a firmness that sets your heart aflame, and when he pulls away just enough to look at you your heart finally lands the finishing blow in its fight against your mind. your hand lingers on his chest as the one he uses to keep it there moves to mirror its counterpart on the other side of your jaw.

you barely glance down at his lips before they’re on yours again, a welcome experience that you hope you can experience over and over until you’re utterly familiar, but now you're not sure how to reciprocate. the novels you’ve read did little to educate you on the experience, much less prepare you for it to occur with the boy you’d found yourself longing for through the years. 

the gasp you let out when his hand moves from your jaw to your waist to tug you closer is silenced by his lips attaching themselves to yours like he’d spent a lifetime wishing to taste you.

he pulls away, yet he doesn't seem keen on keeping the distance, his nose brushing yours as he promises, “i will speak to your parents—”

the mention of them has your guts turning painfully enough to rip you away from him, nausea hitting you like a bullet through your throat, “i should not have done that.”

“i kissed you—“ his statement does little to quell your sickness, and the wavering grate in your voice as you interrupt him is telling of that. “that changes nothing.” your fingers move to your hair, the pin keeping it in place falling to the floor as you tug, “i am ruined. forget marrying the baron, i cannot marry anyone.”

“was i not clear?” he asks, and when you look at him with frustrated reluctance he continues, “should i gut myself? place my heart in your hands to have you understand how you haunt me?”

“we cannot marry.” you say, bottom lip trembling, “i will not be a consequence of your actions. it is not your duty to marry me when i am the only one ruined.”

riki’s jaw shifts as if your words brought him only fury, “i do not care for duty, i care for you.” 

“you are young, riki. you are not expected to marry for at least—“

“i want to.” he states firmly, “you said you wanted me to stay, so i am staying. i will dance with you at balls. i will send flowers and call on you every morning. i will promenade alongside you for as long as it takes. i…”

he moves towards you, thumbs brushing away the tears under your eyes as his forehead meets yours, “i am yours, do with me what you will.”

©heedeungism : do not rewrite, copy, repost, or translate any of my works without my permission.

[marzipanandminutiae]

in view of Netflix and a few other networks apparently announcing that they are no longer requiring actors to wear corsets/stays, but framing it as the ultimate in feminist allyship against an Oppressive Historical Torture-Garment (and presumably typing their press releases one-handed, if you catch my drift), I have a few things to say:

1. I presume they will also be condemning Spanx, dieting, weight loss surgery, obsessive exercise, breast or pectoral or ab implants, Flat Tummy Tea, editing actors’ bodies in post, etc. since this is all about promoting healthy body image. ...right?

2. Okay, this one is not tongue-in-cheek: if a costume designer forces you to wear massively uncomfortable stays or corsets and tells you your discomfort is an inherent feature of that garment type, they are lying. All the articles on this cited reports from actresses saying they threw up because of Regency stays or couldn’t eat in Edwardian corsets. And while  I’m sure some of that is giving interview audiences the sensationalism they want to hear, I believe them in general. 

Someone needs to tell them that that’s not normal.

I have worn corsets and stays a lot in my life. I know people who wear them as everyday support garments. And neither I nor anyone I know has been seriously hindered in normal activities by them. There are even photos and videos of women from corset-intensive eras climbing glaciers, playing sports, having snowball fights, doing manual labor...living their lives

 Sure, there have always been and will always be people who find corsets or stays inherently uncomfortable- that’s why it’s good to have many support garment options available for people who need them. And there have always been and will always be ill-made, ill-fitting, or extreme examples of the type- I’m not  saying corsets are always The Most Comfortable Thing Ever For Everyone, because that’s not universally true of any garment.

But these production companies have been hurting actresses under the guise of “historical accuracy,” and this latest pronouncement is just another attempt to shift the blame. 

Don’t let them get away with it.

EDIT: Apparently the Official nature of the source for this announcement is in question, but the gist of the post still stands, so I’m leaving it up. Will edit further if new developments arise.

[sofiagigantegirl]

Only You

Sofia Falcone Gigante x fem reader

Sofia Gigante, the woman who has Gotham in her hands, who controls every corner and calls the shots everywhere, is sitting right in front of me right now, saying something that I’m not really paying attention to. Her piercing eyes seem to see right through you. The place around us is loud, but her firm voice cuts through the noise in the room.

She’s wearing a tight black dress with thin straps that hugs her curves perfectly. The matching black corset accentuates her figure even more. On her feet, a pair of black combat boots. Her beauty is undeniable.

“Hey, pay attention here, y/n,” she says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. The sudden sound of her voice makes me blink, and I quickly sit up straight, focusing on her. She leans back in her chair, putting some distance between us. “This is serious, I can’t let just anyone think they can take what’s mine.” She frowns, like the very thought is deeply offensive to her.

We were tailing some guy, a small-time dealer who had been selling his stuff in Sofia’s territory, territory she had taken over piece by piece after taking down Oz and his crew. Sofia didn’t need to say anything; I knew failure wasn’t an option. The last thing she’d tolerate was any challenge to her control, so she decided to handle it herself, wanting to send a message to anyone who thought they could mess with her.

“Right, what were you saying again?” I ask with an uncertain smile. I wipe my slightly sweaty hands on my pants. I wasn’t the best choice to accompany Sofia in this—I’m just the girl who manages her money. But for some reason, she walked into my office this morning and told me to come along. I didn’t have the guts to ask why, and now here I am.

Sofia rolls her eyes and sighs, “Stay alert, he’s in your line of sight. And I can’t turn around, so when he leaves, we’ll follow him and get him into the car.” I nod and look toward the guy. He was eating, all clumsy like he was starving. Despite his manners, he was well-dressed—modern clothes, neat shoes, nicely trimmed hair and beard. He had a scar on his left arm, visible through the rolled-up sleeve of his sweater. He finishes eating, wipes his mouth with a napkin, pays the bill, and gets up, walking through the doors and out of the place.

I look at Sofia, who’s watching me closely, interested in what I’m seeing. “He’s out.”

“Perfect,” Sofia says with a satisfied smile. I feel a bit sorry for this guy—he messed with the wrong person. She leaves some bills on the table, enough to cover the check and a generous tip for the waiter who served us before we get up and leave. The guy is leaning against the driver’s window of a car, chatting with the driver like they’re good friends, until we see him slip a small package in exchange for cash. He’s screwed. The guy walks away, starting down the street, and Sofia and I get into the car, starting to follow him.

“You know, I don’t think I’m the right person to be here. What am I supposed to do if things go wrong and he grabs you? I can’t fight or use a gun; I’m useless.” I finish speaking and immediately regret saying it—I shouldn’t have gone against her. Sofia takes her eyes off the road and looks at me.

“Sure, I’m no one to tell you what to do, I would never do that, but you should have brought one of your guys for protection,” I say nervously, starting to sweat again.

“I brought you for a reason,” she says, pausing, her gaze shifting between the road and me. “That’s all you need to know for now.” I nod, not trusting my voice to respond.

The car falls silent, and we keep following the guy. He walks a little further and turns into a dead-end street—perfect timing. He’s talking to another man when we pull onto the street; it looks more like an argument. Sofia stops the car near them and gets out, with me following behind. As soon as they notice us, the other guy gets scared and hurries off, leaving the small-time dealer standing there, talking to himself.

Sofia moves closer to the guy, and when she’s close enough, she hits him with the gun she had grabbed from the glove compartment just seconds ago. The man drops to the ground, and we struggle a bit to haul him into the trunk of the car. We get back in, and in complete silence, she drives us back to her place.

She’s been inside with him for over two hours now. I’ve been waiting outside like she told me to, and I didn’t question it—I just stayed there. Eventually, she comes out, her face and clothes splattered with drops of blood, her gun in hand as she wipes it with a small cloth. I’m afraid to see the mess she’s made of that guy. One of her men approaches at Sofia’s signal, and she tells him to dump the guy at the abandoned junkyard, where he’ll be easily found.

______________________________________________________________

I spent the afternoon working as usual, still thinking about everything that happened this morning. It was almost time to leave, and I hadn’t seen Sofia since all the craziness earlier. It was 10:40 PM when I heard a knock on the door. I gave permission to enter, and Sofia appeared. She walked in and shut the door behind her. She was wearing white tailored pants with a long-sleeved shirt tucked in, her hair loose and a bit messy, and she had two wine glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other.

“Time to celebrate our successful mission,” she says with a suggestive smile, sitting down on the sofa near the big window in my office. I tidy up my desk and sit on the couch next to her, keeping a bit of distance—not wanting to be intrusive. She pours the two glasses, and we clink them together before taking a sip.

We start talking about everything and nothing. She asks about whatever interests her about me, and I answer—I wouldn’t dare to ask her anything. In the two years I’ve worked for Sofia, I’ve never seen her so relaxed before. I feel glad to know she feels comfortable with me, considering I know she doesn’t have friends and never leaves the house, except for business.

I feel Sofia getting closer, her hand taking mine that was resting on my lap. I hear her clear her throat before speaking. “To answer your question from this morning, I brought you because you calm me down,” she takes a breath and continues, “You were with me when I built my business. You left the Falcones to help me build the Gigantes when no one else would. You were the only one who visited me in Arkham, and even though I pulled away and got cold after I came back, you still stayed by my side. I didn’t want to do this alone today, but I also didn’t want someone who’d get in my way, and I knew you wouldn’t do that. You were perfect. We might seem strange, even though we weren’t super close, but I still care a lot about you and want to keep you around.” I see a single tear fall from her eye, sliding down her cheek, and I lift my hand to wipe it away.

“Sofia,” I say softly, “I didn’t know you felt that way. You never showed it. When I started working for your uncle, I knew it wouldn’t last long. I didn’t agree with the things he did or how he ran things. When I found out you’d been unfairly locked up, I was furious, and I went after you to find out the truth. After that day, I knew I had to do something about it, so I waited for you to get out so I could help you take back what was yours.” More tears fall from her eyes, and she covers her face with her hands.

I freeze, not knowing how to react to the situation, but I move closer to Sofia and wrap my arms around her. “You can cry as much as you need, I’m here for you.” With that, she starts to sob even harder, and I hold her tighter. We stay like that for a few minutes until Sofia calms down. She lifts her head from my shoulder and wipes her wet cheeks. I gently run my hand over her cheek, caressing her softly, and Sofia leans into my touch.

We stay like this for a few minutes, her tears falling onto my shoulder. Gradually, Sofia’s breathing slows, and her sobs quiet down. She lifts her head from my neck, her eyes still red and her cheeks damp. Carefully, I brush my hand over her cheek, stroking it gently, as if trying to erase every tear she shed.

Sofia leans into my touch, closing her eyes for a moment, as if surrendering to that instant. The closeness between us becomes almost palpable, and I can feel the warmth of her skin beneath my fingers. My heart races as she slowly moves closer, her eyes now opening and locking onto mine, as if silently seeking permission—feelings I didn't even know I had rise to the surface, and it feels like this was meant to be.

I gaze back at her, my fingers still tracing gentle lines on her skin. Without words, Sofia leans in even closer, our faces just inches apart. Her breath mingles with mine, warm and hesitant, before her lips touch mine—soft and uncertain.

In that first contact, it’s like time stops. The kiss is light, but filled with a sweetness that makes my heart race. I kiss her back, closing my eyes and allowing myself to savor every second of this moment, a moment I wish would never end, feeling the softness of her lips on mine, the warmth spreading through my chest like an explosion.

When we finally pull away, our faces remain close, and our eyes meet again. It’s a moment of silent understanding, as if, without saying a word, we’ve said everything.

______________________________________________________________

Sorry for my English, I used a translator for some parts. Thanks for reading this far <3

My first time writing, let me know what I can improve :}

[desmorotu]

“meet…cute…?”: an incomplete sam collins fic

lowercase intended!

it was unlike Samuel to be dressed so formally; a pair of shiny dress shoes, raven slacks, and an off-white shirt that looked straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean, he had said once. it laced in the front, showing off the small patch of hair that grew at his chest, as well as the contour of his pectoral muscle from under the thin fabric. he also adorned a corseted vest, of sorts—the silver, leafy decals shone under the warmly lit ballroom that he reluctantly stepped foot in. the black, silky mask that he was told to wear was stuck to his face by some type of prosthetic glue.

how had he gotten here? he relayed the events in his mind just as the wine glass in his hand touched his lips. it was a day just like any other—that was, until he’d gotten a call from Vincent.

“it’ll be fun,” he urged. “you never go out.”

“and for good reason,” Sam had tried to argue, rolling his eyes even though Vincent wouldn’t have seen it.

“do you remember that time i brought you a change of clothes after you had your little rendezvous with one of the—“

“okay, yes,” the older man groaned. “please don’t remind me. it was not my proudest moment. what’s that even got to do with anything?”

“you owe me.”

“shit.”

and now he was here, abandoned by Vincent as the latter went off to flirt with some kind electro-energetic. they radiated a spark of life—something that Vincent had no chance to stand against. Sam was just about ready to call it a night, fully prepared to drag his other half down and grab him by his ear, but as he sauntered through the bustling dance floor, eyebrows furrowed and mind set, his footsteps halted at the smell of something absolutely…delicious.

vanilla, cherry, and a hint of pistachio filled his nostrils with a welcoming sweetness that almost made his eyes roll back. what could that be? his silvery eyes darted around to track down the dessert table. he made a beeline for it, looking down at his feet and muttering an “excuse me” on multiple occasions on the way. was he really craving regular food this badly?

he scanned over the options; tarts, pastries, and cakes—but none that smelled of the delicate combination he had caught scent of before. It was only when his eyes met those of one of the most beautiful things he’d ever seen in his life; oh shit, they were gorgeous.

he straightened himself out, flattening out the potential wrinkles in his vest and adjusting his tie. he walked past them in the hopes of inconspicuously catching another smell of just what perfume they had been wearing, and his knees almost buckled. he closed his eyes, savoring the almost sickly sweet scent that rolled off of them. he could feel that his pupils were dilated; he didn’t need a mirror to see that.

when they looked at him in peculiar manner, he choked on his own spit and coughed in a most undignified way. oh my, Samuel Collins, get your shit together!

“hi,” he finally sputtered, starstruck at the way their eyes sparkled in the warm light of the expansive space. “hi. you here with friends?”

“it’s more of a family thing,” they replied, gesturing to a few token members of the crowd. “it’s uh—it’s a birthday party. for one of my friends—his name is Asher—his partner wanted something grandiose.”

and that’s all i could manage to squeeze out because writing is harder than i originally thought…especially without motivation 😿

[danikamariewrites]

Just Us

Mob!Azriel x reader AU

A/n: part 2 is here! Although I don’t really like calling it a part two because I don’t see it as a series, I don’t have a better name for it so we’re just going to call it a series. I just see this as a universe with ongoing stories/one-shit fics and headcanons lol. Thank you for all the love this is getting though! I’m so happy so many of you want to be tagged for these posts ❤️

Warnings: none

Series Masterlist

Digging out another option from Mor’s closet I start to panic. Azriel will be here in two hours to pick me up and it feels like every part of me is sweating from nerves. I wipe my hands on my leggings so I can grip the velvet hanger better. I turn to face the chaos Mor and Feyre have created. 

Shoes from each of their closests and mine, eyeshadow pallets, and even more clothing options cover every inch of Mor’s bedroom. It’s all so…intimidating. I’ve been on dates before, but none of those guys were ever worth half the effort I’m putting in for Azriel. Which is probably why I’m freaking out more than normal. 

As I lay out the dress on Mor’s bed my ears finally pick up what Feyre is joyously rambling about. “And then Gavin just backed off. I have never him seen him humbled so fast Mor, oh my gods. It was hilarious.” A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips. It was refreshing to see Gavin put in his place. Especially by someone like Azriel. 

I circle the bed eyeing my endless options for dresses. My attention lands on one of Feyre’s black velvet cocktail dresses. It has a corset type bodice with tank top straps and a pleated skirt. It’s perfect. 

Picking it up I break out into a wide grin. Feyre and Mor notice looking at me like proud parents. “What?” I ask with a slight giggle. “It’s just…you’re going on a real date. With a real man. I just feel so proud.” Mor squeaked out, wiping away fake tears. 

I shake my head letting out a shaky sigh. “I like this one, can I wear it, Fey?” “Of course babe. This is going to look amazing on you.” She starts gathering the other dresses as Mor begins to look for shoes to match. Sitting me on the bed Feyre grabs my face and purses her lips in thought. “How do you feel about a very light Smokey eye?” 

A knock on the front door - approximately two hours later - breaks my focus from applying mascara. “I’ll get it!” Mor yells from the living room. Just a few more strokes and I’ll be done. My hand shakes from anticipation. Maybe if I take longer he’ll get impatient and I won’t have to go. 

No, don’t think like that. I deserve a nice date. I shake my body and check myself over in the mirror one last time. I look hot thanks to my best friends' combined effort. “Ok,” I whisper. 

Heading out to the living room I can hear Mor and Feyre talking with him. Gods, I hope they’re avoiding embarrassing topics. When I round the corner my steps stutter. It’s not Azriel in the living room. It’s one of the males he brought into the gallery. The larger one of the two who winked at me. “There she is!” Mor said in a sing-song voice. 

I walk forward and the male reaches his hand out for me to shake. “Hi y/n, I’m Cassian.” I take his hand, his calluses are rough against my palm as I shake his hand. “Hi, I remember you from the gallery. If you don’t mind me asking, where’s Azriel?” I hate how small my voice sounds as I ask but I don’t want Cassian to feel like I’m not trusting him or his boss. Cassian smiles at me. “He’s already at the restaurant, he just sent me to pick you up.” I nod and say goodbye to Mor and Feyre before they push me out the door. 

Cassian opens the car door for me, taking my hand to help me up into the high SUV. I thank him before he shuts the door. The ride over to the restaurant was fast and quiet. I think Cassian could tell I’m nervous. When we pull up I notice the small parking lot was oddly empty. 

I audibly swallow, staring out the window at the front door. Cassian opens the door smiling at me with a boyish grin. “Cassian, can I ask you something?” “Sure thing.” Concern flashes across his face. The scar above his brow crinkling in. “I just…is he…” I can’t find the right words to ask my question correctly. Cassian seemed to pull himself up straighter. “I know you know his job but he’s not cruel. Azriel can be guarded at first but I think you’ll get through to him easily. I’ve seen the way he looks at you.” He smiles at me again, squeezing my hand in encouragement. I sigh, tilting my head to the side. “You’ve only seen me twice.” “That’s all I need. I know my brother.” 

I nod and take Cassian’s hand again to step out of the car and he ushers me into the restaurant. As I look around I notice the dining room is empty. Most of the tables look like they have been cleared out so a special table could be set up in the middle of the room. Azriel is speaking to the chef and a male I assume is the owner. 

Cassian clears his throat behind me to get Azriel’s attention. When he turns it feels like all the air has been sucked from my lungs. My heart flutters at the bright smile he gives me. His hazel eyes light up as they look me up and down. I finally start breathing again when he stops in front of me. The scent of his cologne is intoxicating. The warm vanilla tones mixed with a light spice fills my nostrils. It’s comforting and makes me want to curl up next to him to breathe it in more. 

Azriel takes my hands in his large scarred ones, bringing them up to his lips to press light kisses across my knuckles. I didn't notice the scars marring them before. They were beautiful. Like a torrent, restless ocean. “You look absolutely stunning this evening.” A blush heats my cheeks, a small smile appearing on my lips from his compliment. “Thank you. You look handsome as well.” 

He drops my hands holding his arm out for me to take like he did in the gallery two days ago. Azriel continues being the gentleman that he is and pulls my seat out for me, pushing me back in, and listens to my answers when he asks me about myself. When it was my turn I asked about his childhood, which seemed to be quite normal given the amount of money his family has. I also couldn’t help but ask why the restaurant was empty.

Azriel sheepishly smiled, looking at his entree for a moment before admitting he bought the place out for the night. “I prefer first dates to be more…intimate, if you will.” I let out a hum, “So you do this for all the girls.” I joke. Azriel looked panicked for a moment. “No,” he got out quickly, “This is, you’re the first one I’ve ever done this for actually.” His voice getting quieter at the end.

My heart leaps at the confession. No one has ever put that much thought into a date with me before and I told him how much I appreciate this.  

“So, how did you get into art?” He asks over dessert. A delicoius crème brûlée with a perfect golden brown sugar coating. I break it with my spoon as I think about how to phrase my answer. "I've always loved art no matter what form it comes in. Paintings, sculpture, digital, all that stuff. I like that people appreciate something pretty or one of a kind, so if I can help them get their hands on it, it makes me happy."

I look at him, shoveling the sweet creamy treat in my mouth. Azriel smiles at me adoringly. Those hazel eyes twinkling with what I'd like to think is love. "That's amazing. Besides the two I got, how many paintings have you sold?" I let out a short, cold laugh thinking about how pissed Gavin was that I made a sale. "You were my first customer. and probably my last. As I know you heard my boss say I'm just an intern. I really should've called him but it was the end of the day so what was the harm."

Azriel shook his head. A dissaproving look takes over his beautiful face as he remembers the scene he walked in on yesterday. "I was ready to punch him." Azriel admits. "He had no right to talk to you like that. But I must say, you were a natural my dear. I probably wouldn't have bought the paintings wihtout your knowledge on them."

"Thank you." I say surprised that soemone didn't find my knowledge about art annoying.

When we finished the chef came out to say goodbye along with the owner. Azriel offered me his arm again but I took a chance twinning my fingers through his. We glance down at our joined hands. I smile lightly at the comfort I feel when I hold it. Azriel looks shocked that I would even go near his hands. "Is this ok?" I ask softly. He seems at a loss for words just nodding and staring at me like a boy realizing he has a crush for the first time.

The whole car ride back to my apartment Azriel doesn't let go of my hand. I rest them on my lap and gently rub my thumb back and forth in a comforting motion. When Cassian comes to stop in front of my apartment my heart sinks. I don't want Azriel to go. I'm not ready for tonight to be over.

"I got it Cass." Azriel says before Cassian can unbuckle. He leads me up the short steps, stopping on the landing. Out of the corner of my eye I can see Feyre and Mor crouched down on the couch. Their eyes just peeking over the window sill. Ignoring them I turn my attention back to Azriel who hasn’t taken his eyes off me since we left the restaurant.

He slips his other hand in mine pulling me slightly closer to him. “I had a wonderful time with you. And I really want to see you again.” Without hesitation I say yes, “I’d love to.” Azriel’s smile seemed to get wider. I must say, he’s not at all what I thought he’d be like. Not knowing how to say goodbye we stumble over our words for a moment until Azriel’s expression became serious. His face mere inches from mine now. “Can I kiss you, y/n.” Something about my name on his lips just seemed so right. “Yes,” I whisper.

Azriel’s lips are like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. The kiss is soft yet passionate and full of a desire I don’t think either of us would be able to sate. Pulling away for air I feel Azriel’s hands slip down my neck and pull away from my body. I hadn’t realized he was holding me. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I nod, speechless. The air once again sucked from my lungs.

I slowly open the front door giving him a small wave before shutting it. Leaning against the wood I listen for his graceful retreating footsteps, the car door, and the engine as Cassian takes off down the street.

My heart won’t stop pounding. I rest a hand over my chest, a stupid smile on my lips as I’m off in my own fantasy world.

tags (accounts I couldn’t tag in bold): @amara-moonlight @harrystylesfan2686 @kalulakunundrum @thinkingofmatthewfairchild @just-a-social-casualty-1 @insecuritieeseatmealive @teenageeggscissorslawyer @theladystardust @thehighladywrites @callmeblaire @luell1q @meshellexplosionmurder @verena9003 @starsinyoureyes @mich0731 @yourfutur3lov3r @samanthalynn13 @enchantedatheart

[blueberryarchive]

(18+, non-con, smut, mentions of death)

Sigh, it seemed like you were a teenager again. All the time with this eternal and lethargic tiredness, the light nose wrinkled in disgust with everything and everyone, the shoulders hunched in search of angst. You had screamed a few minutes ago, to be left alone, that the damn constant questionnaire was driving you crazy. No, you didn't know if you wanted to wear the cotton dress or the suede one, or if the sunglasses were too big, you didn't care. 

You had screamed a few minutes ago, and now only the immense and regurgitating loneliness of your closet accompanied you. It was raining heavily outside, but the closed windows didn't let you hear its sweet fall. Everything was abhorrent: another phrase you would have said when you were fourteen. 

You don't know what your husband saw in you the first time you met, but none of that mattered anymore. His opinion was about to be buried next to his disfigured, hand-stitched, suit-clad body. As if he were a rag doll.

The door opened after two firm knocks. There he was, the only person you could stand at the moment: Jeon Jungkook, your husband's servant. 

"Were you looking for me, My Lady?" His voice, abrupt and strong as a brick, warmed your burning head. Turning thoughts into a nebulous collection. 

You nodded. 

"I can't manage to do the only thing that is asked of me in this house." Your frustrating laugh didn't contort Jungkook's face in grief. That's why you needed him, you were tired of the probing around you and the way they spoke softly as if you were going to break. 

"It's not like it's easy on such a surreal day." 

"I thought he would die in a bed like all the men in his family." Your gaze drifted to the geometric figures on the carpet. Jungkook closed the door behind him, working on looking for a black dress suitable for the situation. "I thought," you continued, "that like the other wives, I would be at his side before he closed his eyes, that his children would be able to see him and remember his last smile." You shook your head, biting your thumb. "You cannot blame yourself for the circumstances, My Lady." Jungkook pointed to the armoire behind you, where there were three options, all daring in some way or another, but it's not like you were someone above those options. 

"Besides, it's not like, with all due respect, you and Mr. Bass were an ordinary couple." 

"Indeed." You were a young woman, he was old and rich. Everyone talked, laughed, cried, joked, and threatened about it in his family.

You pointed your finger at the dress on the left. 

"You'll need a corset for that," Jungkook murmured and turned around to look for the best option for that dress. 

Hands are next to the mirror, your mouth slightly open as you feel your skin and bones tighten beneath the fabric. Behind you, Jungkook used his thin, fine fingers to adjust the corset a little more. He looked from time to time at your reflection in search of a reaction, of pain, but you endured the molding of your bones like a champ. 

"You can tell me if it's too tight, My Lady." You shook your head and raised a hand, signaling for him to finish before you regretted choosing a type of dress that needed that kind of torture. When finished, he created a delicate bow. 

The whole morning had been torture for you: the funeral arrangements, your parents' faces full of melancholy, having to console your husband's children, the sorrowful voices of your maids when they tried to serve you tea or find a way for you to eat. Like you were a girl, it was horrible. That's why Apolonia and Gretchen weren't in your exaggerated closet with you, but rather your deceased husband's servant. Jungkook was a young boy, considering the fact that everyone in that mansion was in their 50s or older, men and women who raised each Bass since they were old enough to properly hold a child. 

Jungkook was young, like you, the two of you were barely six years apart. You had an obvious interest in men older than you, Jungkook was like a child the first night your husband brought him to introduce you three years ago. His eyes were always wide open, lips always a little parted, alert and helpful. He was adorable. 

But the man behind you was physically stronger, his long hair was tied up in a low bun, and his way of speaking was more fluid and assertive. He always said the right thing, it made your nipples hurt, and your heart fluttered between his words. 

"Would you like some kind of stocking for the dress?" 

"No, I think I'll go with high boots." 

"Very well, My Lady." While you were putting on the dress in front of the mirror, Jungkook didn't move from his spot, half of his body reflected next to you, hands behind his back and a little erratic with his gaze. "Everything okay, Jungkook?" The man lowered his face, a shameful laugh. 

"I'm sorry, it's just that from here you can see the place where Mr. Bass died. I can't imagine how much he suffered-" he sealed his lips with red cheeks. "I'm sorry, My Lady. It's insensitive to talk about something so brutal in front of you."

"No, please." You tried to smile. "It's not like the police didn't give me the raw details the next morning, the photos are still tattooed on my retina."

The face was chewed beyond recognition, and parts of the eyebrow and forehead were torn to the bone. Evidence of dental markings on the zygomatic bone and mental foramen.

You read the reports with your breakfast while the police questioned you about your relationship with Mr. Bass, the dogs in the house, and your opinion of his friends, his servants, and coworkers.

"I found it very unusual that you did not go through the garden to our farmer's cottage that day."

"The sun was at its highest point, and I felt like I was fainting every time I got out of bed."

"I understand." It was the only thing he said, he laughed at your response and you frowned, your skin crawling from the new questioning of your person.

"How do you know I go every day?"

"The farmer and I are very good friends, after your visits in the afternoons the smell of vanilla remains on the furniture when I visit the farmer at night for dinner."

"And how do you know I didn't go that afternoon?" You turned around, neck held high, aristocratic arrogance within you searching for what Jungkook truly wanted to say.

"The smell was not even on the pages of the book laid out on Mr. Bell's table. Your favorite book."

Your eyelids fluttered softly, deadly. You smiled.

"Go get my gloves, the long suede ones." You said in the softest tone possible.

Jungkook obeyed, covering each finger in the soft fabric.

"I know what you did to Mr. Bass." The voice was barely a trickle as he finished putting on the gloves, his large hands caressing the suede on your arm as if massaging the information into you.

You didn't know what to say. You swallowed deeply before snatching your arm from his caress, he stood there without stopping looking at you. It made you nauseous.

"It's not my duty to tell you the morality of your choices, but we can say that I agree with your decision, My Lady." He gets close, trying to finish the buttons of the dress with steady hands. "Even though Mister Ron and Master Edward will suffer greatly from the loss of their dear father."

"They will be fine, they will go to therapy." You were quick to answer.

"Of course. Nothing you can't solve. Turn around."

You were the one to obey this time. You stay still, looking at his reflection, waiting for the police to come in when your tongue accidentally slips the fact that you were the one who left the door open of the three beautiful Rottweilers, that you were the one that pointed and gave the distinct whistle for the three dogs to attack your husband.

"But you must know, My Lady." He licked his lips, thinking very well what he was about to say. "I won't fill My Lord's position in any shape or form, that's out of the question." The air was filled with a deep smell of roses, lilies, and all types of flowers that were arranged in every corner of the closet, its pungent smell making you a little dizzy.

"But I hope you know that I'll be here, always." His hand trailed, wandering off to your snatched and whalebone-molded waist. "In one way or another."

"Is this a proposal, Mr. Jeon? If it is, I can assure you this is very inappropriate and vulgar."

He opens his doe eyes, and a gloved and pristine hand reaches his chest. "Oh, My Lady, I'm so sorry. A simple mistake."

Another step, closer. Closer than ever in the last three years. It felt like a big and broad wall was destroyed in front of your eyes. Everything felt a little smaller around you, his face was more detailed and you couldn't smell those damn roses anymore.

"This is not an indecorous offer, but more of a negotiation."

"Is this about money?"

He seemed offended by your question.

"This is about information, my dear."

You tremble, your husband used to call you that when he was in a good mood. Now it felt like a threat in the honeyed voice of your dearest butler. "It's about you having the ability to negotiate and give me a great price for my silence."

He lifted your chin and took the plum lipstick sitting in your cabinet. He opened his mouth slightly, and you mirrored his face. The thick paste settled in your quivering lips as he dragged along the stick. "Now I know it was Mr. Bass' skill being the one who does... did, business. But I know you didn't study the same career as him just so you can sit around with that kind of information. Just to end up being the one who changes the colors and textures of the curtains in the mansion every season, to make tea parties and charities."

"I'm glad with the life I was given." Your voice shakes, and your eyes cannot stop drinking every little piece of heaven that made his face.

"I don't know what shoes to put on." You tried to sound as normal as you could.

"I'll help you with that, My Lady." You took a sit on the leather couch while he opened your wardrobe, dozens of shoes for every occasion and others to create them. "And no, I know you abhor the life you were, not given, but placed upon you like a rock you must climb to the top over and over again." He took a Miu Miu black pair of stilettos, and he smiled while putting the heels on your feet. "Like a feminine, aristocratic Sysiphus"

"How dare you?" Your cheeks burned in embarrassment, and you stood up with a growing pain in your stomach. Now you think about not remembering the last time you properly ate, besides cigarettes and an occasional toast.

"I dare because I know, not only about your boycott but about how you feel about me."

"Oh, please." You laughed so hard you worried the servants outside might hear you. Your trembling hands trying to put on a subtle silver necklace. Taken back when the rough hand made you turn around, the other pressing hard on your cheeks to see him, your fragile body falling to the couch next to you.

"I've seen you looking, I've seen what you read and what you wrote in your journal; read every page of that day. That summer in the chateau by the lake. You couldn't stop thinking about me, finding me in the bathtub jerking off." He laughed erratically. "I read every little note you made about it: the length, the girth, your opinions on my crooked moans. A very thorough essay, I must add."

"If you keep talking I will yell and tell everyone that you tried to rape me." This was absolutely ridiculous. So ridiculous that both of you went completely silent.

You never thought you could say something like that, even less to Jungkook, who respected you more than anyone else in the Bass house. You were a pariah because of your age, because your husband found you on vacation, and when he got home he already signed all the papers to make you his Lady. Almost 28 years apart, but you loved him more than yourself...until you didn't. Until he started treating you like he treated every ex-wife, but he fucked up; and know the coffin must be a closed one because the lovely Nova took a bite at his cheek, leaving the teeth exposed with a wide smile, the eye came out of his socket; the cops never found it.

The stoic expression Jungkook ported broke, shattered into pieces by the force of his sudden laughter; leaving you awestruck by his decadent beauty and the raw force of his devilish smile.

His long legs started getting closer in elongated steps, your nails digging into the fleshy brown of the leather couch when he got so close to your ear that the warm mist coming out of his lips made you tremble.

"I dare you."

The outline of a scream was the only thing you could create before your butler's hand sealed every orifice, you couldn't breathe. You fell to the floor trying to crawl, his knee pressing into your lower back until your entire body was flat on the carpet.

"Sh, sh, sh. Don't make this any harder than it should be."

You heard the ripping of your underwear, the corset stabbing into your lungs, causing the edges of your vision to turn black.

"God, you're wet." He said it as a surprise, expecting you to be a tough catch.

You shook your head, gasping for air, your nails useless with the gloves. His index finger moved so that you could breathe, the air entering and leaving your pits with a cry.

The sting of his cock entering your pussy made you scream, your body felt trapped between Jungkook's weight and yet you tried like a caterpillar to get out of its confines. You denied and denied and more juice came out of your pussy with each crash, it was sinful.

"Open that little hole for me, I'm going to do what your husband couldn't do."

You opened your eyes when you felt the hot liquid run down your thighs and into your dress. You grabbed Jungkook's hand when the brush of the carpet against your clit betrayed you and your pussy started pumping his cum out. A spanking, you moaned, raising your ass in the air looking for more.

"We could have done this like civilized people, but you never understand." He whispered in your ear before turning you around. A soft kiss to your needy lips, the hand-painted on your skin. You closed your eyes, letting your back arch at the strange sensation of being kissed with so much love.

"What I do not understand?" You whispered, brittle.

"Now that you have killed your husband, you have destroyed the only wall that protected you, which means you are just one more object in this mansion full of monsters that all they want is to kill you." His explanation was expressed so lovingly, that the caress on your cheek made two tears fall to your temples. "And I'm going to take advantage of how little you will be now. Like a hole in a wall, just a fucking bother." Another kiss, wet lips molded in heaven, the dark stains from your lipstick leaving evidence.

His smile warmed your chest, it sounded divine. To belong.

ps: gotta be honest with you, chief. this fic is not it for me but i felt like i had to write something, even though words are difficult for me. if you have some constructive criticism, please go ahead. as always thanks for reading, bisou.

[3liza]

corset has become one of those things where I wonder why I feel so bleughhh and then I realize I'm not wearing it or haven't laced it up, stupid,

and then I do and instantly have blood in my brain again and start zooming around my house faster and thinking clearer. it's interesting how so much of this illness is purely mechanical. squeeze one part of your body to move fluids to another part of your body. apply pressure to an area that is sore and hurting and it feels better. idiot. moron

one of the lectures about POTS/EDS at the Dysautonomia Conference I think in 2022 ended with the presenter recommending corseting (she phrased it as "abdominal compression" because corset scary) by using waist trainer wraps for patients to immediately get some relief and restore homeostatic fluid dispersal to the parts of the body that need it. compression garments are recommended in the scientific literature for tons of stuff that doctors don't communicate to patients, including autism. not necessarily a corset corset with steel boning that looks like a fetish club item, but just general physical mechanical support for all these patients whose problems are either rooted in or comorbid with tissue laxity and bad orthostasis. if it's loose, add reinforcement. very simple mechanical principle we all understand intrinsically but somehow don't think of applying to our daily EDC of shit to handle our problems.

I have a friend with Problems Syndrome who describes the sensation of something being pulled downward uncomfortably from their chest and throat when they aren't tensing their abdominal muscles constantly. I do that too, it all has to be held in, held still, tensed and gripped or you feel like your body is collapsing like one of those string toys

anyway this is not to say "get a corset", because it's not the right thing for everyone obviously. also it's a lot of trouble to buy them and try them and break them in and not everyone wants to look like an extra from Sweeney Todd every day. I have that option because I'm a goth that works from home. I'm just blogging, don't take this as medical advice or even casual advice. I was just inspired to jot down my thoughts after thinking "why do I feel so shitty" today, lacing up the corset I had loosened earlier, and immediately regaining about 15% of my function.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Rhysand x reader: Peacock Feathers[*]

A/N: yeah, I like this one.

Summary: he always has something fun planned for Date Night.

Warnings: heavy voyeurism, heavy exhibitionism, fingering, not wearing seatbelts, sexual tension, 5.2k words

‘The most flamboyant lingerie set you have. Wear it for me.’

You huff at your husband’s minimal description for the dress code of tonight’s date. You rummage through your draws, flinging open the armoire, even the wardrobe in the corner, riffling for something. What did he even mean by flamboyant? Did he want you to strut out into the night cloaked in nothing but some sheer lace and heels? You bite your lip at the idea. It would be just like you husband to arrange something like that.

Flamboyant…flamboyant…

Flamboyant!

You rush back to the armoire, digging through the neatly set clothes, fingers searching for the material until you find what you’re looking for. You hold it up, and nodded. Yes, it would do. It would do quite well, in fact. Now, to find a way to conceal it…

You know he’s taking you out…somewhere. And unless he’s planning on smuggling you in, wrapped in a body bag, then you will need to find a way to hide the finely made lingerie from prying eyes. You sigh at yet another task to fulfil. You’re honestly going to bite Rhys’ cock off if this fails your expectations—for all the trouble he’s putting you through.

Once again, you search through your wardrobe, gazing at the menagerie of gowns and dresses. An array of satin and silk, garish and gaudy, jewels glimmering in the warm lamp light, winking at you temptingly. But no, you would choose something simple, something that would enhance your underclothes. You think about what your husband is likely to adorn himself in. If he asked you for flamboyant…it could be anything. Still, bright pops of colour weren’t really his style, preferring the brush of dark sleeves and silver cuffs than splashes of sparkling yellows or velvety oranges. The most flamboyant you’ve seen him in is a dark red suit, in celebration of a dear brother—and even then it had been so dark the crimson only showed if the light hit from a particular angle.

Having ruled out most options, you figure your best chances are either white or black, if he’s going to dress in a suit. White or black. You scan the wardrobe for anything that would fit with the lingerie. The choice is easy.

————

“Ready, darling?”

You silently move yourself to the top of the curved staircase, taking the one closest to your dressing chambers. Your husband’s eyes sweep over you, glinting with feline satisfaction as he drinks you in. One step at a time, you descend toward him, moving with elegant precision. You keep his eyes the whole while, basking in the heat of his keen gaze, and you wonder if you’ll even make it out the front doors.

A subtle string of rose quartz beads decorate your throat, the white satin of your gown flowing in smooth cascades behind you. The dress slims to your waist, the mini corset accented with small iridescent sequins that decorate the floral jacquard fabric. The heels you’ve selected hold a thin stilt to balance on, platinum lace weaving around your ankles, ensconced with silver thread keeping tiny beads wrapped snuggly against the ties. A single ring adorns your right glove, resting with grounding weight on your thumb. The band is silver, set with a moonstone, tiny amethysts framing it against the creamy silk of your gloves. Beneath the smooth fabric on your left hand lies your wedding ring, a beautiful sapphire welded delicately into the metal.

He drinks in the dusty red of your lips, matte in their texture and slightly dulled to not pull away from the rest of you. Divine. Enchanting. Refined. Perfectly attuned to him, having not gone too over the top when he’d requested flamboyance. Keeping in mind that you were a pair and would be seen together.

“You look positively delicious,” Rhys purrs as you reach the bottom of the staircase, gliding over to him. You give him a sultry smile, one that has heat shooting straight between his legs. He’s brought back to the Soirée last month, when you’d been sat on your knees between his thighs, dark rouge lipstick blurred at the edges of your mouth, perfect replicas stamped on his cock from where you’d kissed up and down the length of him until he couldn’t take it any more. He remembers how you’d swiped at the smudged tint, glaring up at him teasingly, “why is it whenever you take me out somewhere I always end up with my makeup out of place?”

Then there had been the masquerade party the month before, where you’d been set on keeping those damned masks on, hiding the beauty of your face from him. You’d insisted the anonymity had been thrilling, given a dark edge to the experience. It was this in particular that had him thinking. Turning over different venues and activities until he’s found one he believed would be pleasingly satisfying to your slightly sinister tastes.

“I could say the same about you, husband.” He looks ravishing. Charmingly debonair in his black suit, complete with smooth bow tie and crisp white shirt. Not a crease to be found. A kerchief makes a soft triangle atop his breast pocket, complete with a peacock feather decorating the smooth lapel of his jacket. “I don’t suppose you plan on informing me of tonight’s venue?” You inquire, settling a palm over his heart as you lean against him.

His hand raises to your jaw, tilting your lips toward his. “And ruin the surprise at the last minute? I think not.” He presses his lips to your own, coming away vaguely rosey from the rouge staining your mouth. You pout, fingers circling over his chest, “you like watching me squirm, don’t you? How cruel you are, truly. I cannot fathom—” you press another kiss to his lips, “—why I ever married you.” He offers you a feline grin, “maybe you enjoy the tension. The edge.” His fingers grip your hips, pulling you against him.

You’re pleased when his eyes darken as he feels the pattern of something thin beneath the satin. “What did you choose?” His voice has dropped, roughening and you suppress a shiver at the timbre. You peer up at him innocently, “and spoil the surprise at the last second? I think not.” Your teasing spurs him on, fingers deftly catching on the low collar of your dress, moving to pull it from your skin so he can catch a glimpse of what lies beneath.

Rhys gets as far as bringing a wash of cool air down your front before you’re jabbing two fingers into his chest—down his sternum. “Ah, ah, ah, husband.” You push him back, preventing him from peering down your top. “Leave something for dessert,” you chastise, a low growl sounding in the back of his throat. Pleasure sings beneath your skin at your husband’s antics.

Your fingers waltz upward, delicately hooking beneath his perfectly wrapped bow tie, pulling him downward toward your mouth. “Wouldn’t want to spoil your appetite now, would we?”

“I assure you my appetite is depthless when it comes to you, wife.” His fingers latch onto your own, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. You flush with pleasure, “shameless flirt.”

“Promiscuous madam.”

You raise a single, neatly groomed brow, “a madam?” You echo, then press against his chest, allowing him to feel the soft plushness of your breasts. “And what’s a refined gentleman like you doing in the arms of a lady of the night, hm?”

He growls, grip tightening on you possessively. “She’s taken something from me. Something very precious. Plucked it straight from my chest, weaving her sinful fingers between the bones of my ribs.” His mouth brushes over your own, an erotic caress of his lips. “I fear the day she returns it, for the pain it will bring.”

Your eyes dip as they follow their quiet movement. “I took yours as payment for my own.” You whisper back, “I am merely human, and cannot survive without it.” His arm snakes around your lower back, forehead pressing to your own, sharing in the intimacy. “You took mine first, Rhys.” He releases a soft breath at his name on your lips. “It’s only fair.”

He laughs softly against your mouth, and you keen beneath the sound, pushing up onto your tiptoes, desperate for another taste—

“Shall we?”

He’s pulled back, leaving your chest cold, heat warming between your legs. Your husband holds out an arm, waiting for you to latch onto him, arrogantly expecting. You gift him a saccharine smile, already planning how to overthrow him for the evening, “lead the way.”

————

The lamplights reflect in the puddles as it drizzles. Already you can make out the faint wisps of fog rolling through the dark streets.

“What’s on your mind, darling?”

You turn, propping your chin on your hand as you gaze at him before straightening, looking ahead. “I was thinking whether you’d enjoy the silk of my hands or the velvet of tongue.” You glance at him sidelong, pleased when he stiffens. You could swear you see his demeanour shift to match the darkness of the night. “Do you think it wise to begin this dance so early?” He drawls. You return your gaze to peering through the chauffeurs window, watching them cut through traffic. “That is true,” you contemplate, “it is usually your role to insist on foreplay.”

You turn in your seat, catching the dark glint in his violet eyes. You offer a coy smile, enjoying rilling him up before the event has even begun. He leans over, across the space between you, mouth lowering to brush the shell of your ear, “did you follow my orders for tonight?” You swallow as he pulls back to look at you, shifting to be beside you, the powerful lines of his body pressing to your own shape. “Are you so desperate to see me in my underthings?” A serpentine smile twists the edges of your rouge mouth, “I chose an appropriate set. I think it will appeal to your tastes.”

Again, his eyes dip to that teasing window of your chest, dress cut low enough to reveal mouth-watering skin, but not enough for him to catch a glimpse. No matter, he’ll find out soon enough.

Rhysand straightens, reaching to his pocket, “I forgot to give you this, for the night.” He retrieves a headband, accented with a single peacock feather at it’s crest, set with clear jewel you believe to be a diamond. “Put it on for me?” Your heart beat increases at the deftness of your husbands fingers, brushing strands of hair from your cheeks before setting the circlet atop your brow. “Perfect,” he murmurs, and you wonder if he meant to say it aloud.

His thumb brushes beneath your lashes as he stares into your eyes. You lean into the touch, indulging in the heat of his large palm over your jaw. He looks as though he’s considering kissing you, eyes dipping lower, a deep hunger roiling in their depths. “Go on,” you encourage, shifting your body to face his as your arms snake over his shoulders.

But the chauffeur pulls up a driveway, bringing the vehicle to a stand still.

Your husband pulls away with a grin, “enjoy.”

————

The red windmill.

An interesting name.

He’d guided you to the entrance, your silk encased hand gripping the satin hem of your dress to keep it from dragging on the floor. When the receptionist had asked for a name to place for the reservation, he’d given it over, and then the two of you had been escorted to a private suite. The server had shown you around, where things were, and then left you alone, together.

When the door clicks, you turn to Rhys. “Care to reveal your secrets now, sir?” His lips quirk as he settles in a large armchair, a deep red to match the atmosphere of the chamber, lit by warm lights and accented with blacks, reds and oranges. His legs spread as he gets comfortable, facing you. “Every garment you remove, I’ll let you in on a little more,” he purrs, readying himself for the show you’ll give him.

You roll your eyes, but pull the glove from your left hand, wedding band glinting in the light. He raises a brow at the small movement. “I didn’t take you for a coward,” he taunts, but you simply peer down at your nails, examining them. “Secret, please.” His mouth neutralises into an unreadable line, “we’re here for entertainment.” You roll your eyes again, “obviously.” He grins, silently ordering you to remove another item of clothing.

Teasingly, you remove the other glove, staring him down from across the room as you perch on the arm of the chair opposite him. You drop the silk onto the cushion, the pure white an erotic contrast to the dark colours shrouding the suite. “Both your voyeuristic and exhibitionistic tendencies will be satiated.” You blink, then narrow you eyes at the man. “Have you brought be to a sex club, Rhysand?” He chuckles at the use of his full name—you only use it when displeased with him. “Rhys, you haven’t,” you gasp, “what if someone sees?” Sometimes you really could strangle your husband.

But then he stands from his reclined position, prowling forward, hands wrapping firmly around your waist as his shadow swallows you. “Isn’t that the point?” He purrs, your spine arching against him. “Don’t you delight in their attention? Revel in it?” Heat flushes your cheeks at your husband’s accuracy. “I know how you like being perceived as an object of desire. Isn’t that why you didn’t bat a single, pretty eyelash when I made my request for the night?”

His hands glide up, tracing over your breasts until they cup your jaw, “I’ll ravish you in front of the whole world if it pleases you.”

“But a sex club!” You hiss, making him laugh. “Am I laughing, Rhys?” You snap, making him calm himself.

“I give you my word, it’s nothing as disreputable as a sex club,” he purrs, but the lilt in his voice suggests a loophole. “Why don’t you remove that dress of yours so you can get to the big reveal, hm?”

He steps away, allowing you to stand. To proceed with the show. You huff, turning your back to him as you begin slowly unslotting the tiny satin cushions from their holes. One at a time. Piece by piece.

Gradually, the smooth material begins its descent off the slope of your shoulders. His mouth dries as he finds the thin, platinum straps that loop atop your arms. The satin slowly gives way, showing off the latch of the brassiere you’ve donned. Pure, glittering white. He swallows as the gown lowers over your waist, caressing the intimate skin of your waist; hips.

The dress pools at the poised set of your heel adorned feet, the silver ensconced lace matching the delicious underthings you’ve selected. His breath catches as you glance at him over one shoulder, giving him a partially concealed view of your beautiful face. Your slim fingers waltz over the skin of your arm, trailing down as your eyes follow teasingly. The other hand is wrapped over your hip, playing with the thin band of your underwear: matching lace that clings to the plump curve of your rear.

“Turn around, darling. Let me see you.” His voice sounds rougher; more strained.

Ever so slowly, you step out of the waves of satin, turning to reveal yourself to him.

A low groan sounds at the back of his throat as he slips two fingers beneath the collar of his shirt, apparently in need of some cooler air. You smirk as you begin prowling closer, stopping only when you’re positioned between his muscled thighs.

Your husband enjoys himself as he drinks you down, eyes dragging so slowly over every fine detail, and you swear you can see the plans in his mind fading back to dust. He wets his lower lip, gaze darkening as he imagines where you’d enjoy being touched, whether you would prefer his fingers or his mouth over your perky nipples. Whether you’ll insist on keeping your lingerie intact, or whether you’ll be so desperate as he is by the night’s end that you won’t care about it being hastily removed. Strewn across the rouge carpet.

Sequins and pale glass beads are woven to the brocade fabric, indentations of peacock feathers shimmering in the light, iridescent thread glimmering. Tiny sets of diamond are dotted at the base of the brassiere, looping around your back and over your shoulders. Strings of pearls dangle from the base of the lingerie, hanging in crescent circles like ribs made of moonstone—reconnecting at the clasp. The underwear matches perfectly, accented with the same glittering platinums, silver embossed feathers curling over your hips.

“You’re divine,” he breathes, violet eyes reflecting your warm light. His hands reverently pull you closer, your own settling on the corded muscle of his shoulders as he places a kiss to your navel. “Divine,” he whispers, shakily. Your husband looks up at you, your fingers weaving through his blue-black hair, so soft to the touch. He keens at your touch, revelling in the press of the pads of your fingers, feather-light as you trace the sharp cleft of his cheek.

“What’s the big secret, husband?” You murmur, hooking one leg over his thigh as you slide into his lap. He moves for your mouth, lips parting, eyes sliding closed but you set a firm hand on his chest. “Now, now, Rhys. Behave.” He groans softly at the command, eyelids lazing open to look at you. Lust and hunger dance intimately, barely hidden in the now indigo hue of his irises. Your fingers settle either side of his chin, tilting his jaw toward you, his pupils dilated and burning.

“It’s your turn, Rhys,” you whisper alluringly, hips winding over his. He stifles another groan, “wicked, wicked woman.” A thrill of excitement brushes down your spine at his pained tone. His strong arms snake around your waist, clutching you to his body, hand settling between your shoulder blades, indulging in the drag of your breasts. He grips your ass, pulling you tight to his hips, feeling the prominent outline of something delicious between your thighs—against your stomach.

“Come on, now,” you chide, mouth dancing over his own, a sensual caress of breath. “Make good on your word, husband.” A strained sound of pleasure rumbles in his chest, eyes flicking up to yours. He swallows, and you trace the roll of his throat. Then both his hands drop to your ass, hauling you against him as he stands, your thighs wrapping snuggly around his hips. “Rhys…?” Your tones shifts to irritation and he chuckles.

Your husband moves fluidly through the suite room, opening a door the server hadn’t shown you. You try to turn but he presses your face to his shoulder, hiding the view from you. All you’re able to make out is the general volume of people, but it’s a bit far away, as if from a lower floor. Music rolls up to your ears, fiery, rhythmic, and you want to set your heels to the floor, if only to spin with your husband to the syncopated melody.

“Rhys? What is that?” Your husband sets you down on what feels like a balcony, his grip loosening, allowing you to peer about. “Look for yourself,” he smirks, stepping back a little. Your thighs tighten around him, tugging him back to your chest harshly as you take in your surroundings.

He’s seated you precariously on what is indeed a balcony, thick mahogany supporting you. Large, champagne coloured chandeliers hang from the ornate ceiling, light refracting through the glass diamonds, casting their golden glow throughout the hall. You’re on the highest floor, the room is cavernous compared to the booth he’d taken you to. Below, people chatter and make merry, dressed finely in anything from night robes to stunning silk dresses to flimsy underthings with a fan of feathers haloing their heads like crowns. A menagerie of fluidly colours: purples to yellow, stripes of pink and cream, splashes of oranges and greens, the glittering sparkle of sequins and jewels gleaming in the low light.

At the front of the hall lies what appears to be a small orchestra, and you zone in on the figure at the forefront of the music, just ahead of the elderly conductor. He’s playing what might be an accordion of some kind, the music frenetic, a frenzied tango of notes. “Is that a squeezebox?” You peer closer, still wrapped tightly around Rhys’ hips. He peers with you, “I believe that’s a copy of a French Flutina. Popular in the 19th century.”

You listen closer to the music, trying to place it. Your husband smiles as recognition sparkles in your eyes, “Libertango, Astor Piazzolla.” He nods, hand cupping your cheek, “indeed.” Your hold relaxes on him a little, allowing you more leeway to watch the crowd. His mouth drops to your throat, kissing a slow trail from your collar bones to your jaw. Your breathing deepens, then catches. His lips lift into a smile over your neck, “see anything interesting?” Then he receives a light smack to his shoulder, “Rhysand!” You scold, fuming, “it is a sex club!”

Sure enough, he can make out the groping hands on the floor below, the bent over bodies, the kneeling legs, the harsh snap of hips. All while the musicians play on. A symphony of pleasure singing through the room, a harmony of moans for accompaniment. “They prefer the term massage parlour. The clientele are free to engage with other participants in whatever way they wish. No one here is paid to do anything.”

Your raise a brow sceptically, “you’ve done your research, husband.”

“Only the best for my wife.” Your lower body tingles at the title. “I hope you know I refuse to step foot in that…pleasure hall. These heels are white. And very dear.”

He laughs against your skin, “why do you think I reserved a private room for us, my darling?”

You pout at the cunning man. “How obnoxiously sly of you,” you remark. “I’m always ten steps ahead of you, dear,” he murmurs over your lips, giving you a serpentine grin before twisting you round, so your back is pressed against his broad chest. “Rhys!” You squeak, hands flying for something to grip onto, feet weaving through the wooden beams withstanding the balcony railing.

“Enjoy yourself,” he drawls, opening his mouth over the unmarked skin of your neck, pressing hot, wet kisses to you. You moan softly. All those people, indulging beneath you, hardly an idea of what’s happening above them. “Relax,” he instructs, nipping at the pearled lobe of your ear. You whine. “You try relaxing with the potential of falling to your death,” you manage, even as his arm tightens around your stomach, letting you know you’re safe with him. “You know that, should you fall, I would plummet with you,” he whispers against your skin, drawing a bark of laughter from your throat, the rose quartz beads ringing at the sound. “I would have preferred reassurance you would not let me drop, Rhys,” you snap playfully.

“That too.”

You huff a laugh that turns into a hitch as his hand cups you through the finely woven lace. A moan slips from your lips as heat warms your skin, his fingers deftly rubbing over the apex of your thighs. “Rhys…” He kisses your jaw, “look below you. All those people revelling in one another, taking what they want until they’re drunk on pleasure.” Your breathing becomes shallow.

“Any one of them could look up—some already might’ve—see you spread out on the balcony, with my hand between your thighs.” You preen against him, melting into his warmth as his fingers dip lower, oscillating over your entrance. He pushes the damp silk to the side, scooping up your slick on his middle and forth finger before raising it to his lips, groaning at your taste. You release a sultry laugh at your husband’s actions, spreading your legs a little wider, “take more, if you want.”

Rhysand growls at the invitation, gripping your jaw, forcing you to look at the people below. “How many people do you think are watching you right now, huh?” You. Not us. You. “How many people do you think have seen how you’re dressed—how you’re acting—and hoped to themselves you’ll be gracing their mouths later?” The heel of his palm presses to the top of your thighs, rubbing gently as his fingers circle you, before pushing in. “How many people down there, do you think, are pleasuring themselves to you?”

Your back arches against him, his clever fingers curling and dragging against your walls. You swallow, desperate to find your words, “I…I don’t know…” you manage, and his teeth nip at your throat, biting lightly. “Have a look, darling. Seek them out.” You moan, trying to follow his orders, but the light is fairly minimal, and the bodies are fading to an erotic dance of shadows. “Can’t do it?” He drawls, pressing his fingers deeper, up to his knuckles.

He laughs darkly beside your ear, “down near the front, a little away from the cellist.” You follow his directions, landing on a figure with their head raised, pleasuring themself. “Beside the third exit on the ground floor, wearing red.” Again you follow, finding a figure strewn over a table, gazing upward. “The floor below is, opposite.” You moan loudly, the sound getting wisped away in the music.

In the booth he’s talking about, a woman is bent over the railing, her petite breasts exposed to the air—to the audience below—while an older gentleman stands behind her, and you can see how her body is pushed forward with each snap of his hips. Her lips are parted, and were the room silent you’re sure she would be moaning as you are. Her eyes are hooded, but watching you, watching as your husband’s fingers push into you, how your back arches.

He does something wicked with his digits, and you gasp, head tipping backward onto his shoulder as he presses against your clit. “Rhys…” you moan out, feeling so high already, practically weightless, as if you could fly away. “Easy,” he orders, arms tightening around you as your hips buck. “Not tipping over that edge just yet.” The possibility has your heart rate increasing, adrenaline thrumming beneath your skin, buzzing at your fingertips.

Your eyes return to the couple on the lower floor. “Do you think she’s an escort?” You manage, noting her scandalous clothing and exquisite gems adorning her throat and wrists. “Does it please you to fantasise about their outside lives, hm? Create a story for them, to get off to?” You moan at his words, nodding your head. “What do you think she’s thinking right now?” His fingers fuck into you harder, keeping their pace though the pressure increases over your clit. “I—…” you can’t manage anything: it’s so overwhelming.

“I think she’s wondering how you taste, what it would be like to have her fingers burying into you like this,” he punctuates his words with a flick of his wrist, digits dragging against that glorious spot inside you. “I bet she’s wishing you were coming on her tongue instead.”

You whimper, nails digging into the banister as you draw nearer and nearer. “Maybe she’s fantasising about you, what your story is. Perhaps she’s winding a filthy tale in her head of you being stolen away by a dark stranger, auctioned off to the highest bidder for your virginity.” You pant heavily, delighting in the wet squelching coming from between your thighs, proof of your arousal for your husband. At some point, dancers had appeared onstage, dressed in thinner and even skimpier clothing than you. Jewels, gems, and peacock feathers waltzing across the skene.

“Perhaps she’s creating a story of a failed marriage, love abandoned, so you’ve left to seek out some real pleasure, from someone who will treat this cunt right.” You whimper, so close to unravelling from his silver-tipped tongue. He’s always been quick on his feet when it comes to this, perfectly attuned to the darker parts of your mind, the more private thoughts you have. “Perhaps she’s telling herself you’re nothing but a dirty whore, trying to scrape together a penny or two by selling your pretty pussy.”

You suck in a sharp breath of air as your high hits you, fully seizing your body as you tighten wildly around his fingers, grinding your hips against his hand as he pulls you through the euphoria. “That’s it,” he encourages, “show everyone what a filthy whore you are.” Your cunt is still fluttering around his steadily moving fingers. The hot breath from his mouth brushes over your ear, fanning across your neck, “you’re no better than a prostitute, are you?” He whispers, circling your clit slowly, working you down.

You pant heavily as your heart beat begins to even out in the aftermath. You swallow as his fingers drag out of your slick heat, coated in glossiness that shines in the low light. “Open.” You hardly have time to follow the command before the pads of his middle and forth finger are sliding over your mouth, like an obscene lip gloss. He pushes them in, against your tongue so you can taste your own arousal. His hips buck against your ass.

“So good, aren’t you. My good, little wife.” You whine at the title, and he helps you down from the balcony—carefully. He spins you around, pulling you tight to his hips, pinning you to the railing. “Think you’re all warmed up for me now? Or do you need some time to cool off?” He taunts. You buck against him, “I can take you.”

He chuckles at your enthusiasm but his eyes flick to the stage, filled with dancing song girls. “Looks like some of the entertainment is starting,” he drawls, giving you a light pat on the ass before he’s guiding you to a chair. Your legs give out when he pushes you, collapsing into the soft cushions. “Why don’t we resume after this brief intermission, hm? I’ll fetch us some refreshments.”

When you look like you’re about to stand to follow after him, he sends you a look over his shoulder. Promising more. “All I want you wearing is those gloves when I return.” His eyes darken as they drag over your body, male satisfaction glinting in his sharp gaze as he notes the slick glossing your thighs. “After all, you were so keen on finding out whether I would like your silk or velvet more.”

Heat flushes your cheeks at the reminder, excitement zipping beneath your skin. Your eyes dip to his hips, “do you think you’re appropriate?” You smirk, noting the obvious outline of his cock, your tongue wetting your lower lip. He mirrors your grin, “think I should send you out there in my stead?” He drawls, sparking arousal in the pit of your tummy. “Maybe a dark stranger will whisk me away, auction me off to the highest bidder.”

“Precisely why I will be getting refreshments,” he smirks. “I’ll knock thrice, slowly, when I return.”

“Maybe I should lock you out. Make you wait like you’re doing to me,” you drawl, watching lazily from your half reclined position. His laugh is a lovers caress between your legs, “if you have the heart to.”

“It’s your heart,” you remind him, smiling.

“Exactly.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[satancopilotsmytardis]

Drabble-A-Thon 2 Prompt #14

Pairing: Shigadabi

Rating: Explicit

Prompt: Piercer!Tomura giving Dabi a temporary corset piercing (and then fucking him stupid)

Contents: OnlyFans!Dabi, Piercer!Tomura, BDSM club, sex work, anal plugs, anal sex, genital piercings, lingerie.

"So what's the occasion this time?" Tomura Shigaraki is, possibly, the hottest man that he's met in his life. Dabi hadn't given him a second glance when he came in here at twenty-two and Shigaraki was a scrawny eighteen year old with an unfortunate haircut and an attitude problem. Then something happened with his adoptive father, he disappeared for about eight months, and he came back fucking ripped, hair bleached white and grown out wild past his shoulders, snake bites, dimple piercings, and, he's sure, plenty of others underneath his clothes based on how he talked about the options for genital piercings when Dabi came in to get his ladder done. He's got bright red eyes that make him look so intense and dangerous, and Dabi is absolutely gaining a reputation of spending way too much on body jewelry just so he can come into the shop more often as he tries desperately to get the other man to take a fucking hint and blow his back out. Dabi doesn't know how many times he has to drop his Just4Fans account handle and make jokes about how Shigaraki is the only person in the world who has been paid to see his dick instead of the other way around, but it is not working and he is losing his mind. 

"I hired one of my photographer friends to do a special shoot at La Vénus." The fancy BDSM club in the city is a very pricy venue for him to have booked a room for a photoshoot but, thankfully, when he had called to inquire, he had left his contact information and handle and they had been impressed enough with his numbers to do a collaboration and comp the costs for a few additional deliverables. 

"V, really?" Shigaraki and he have been texting for a few days to set this up, so he doesn't beat around the bush and brings him back to the room they'll be using. 

"Have you been?" He hopes the answer is 'yes', and if it's not, he really, really, hopes that he can convince him to go check it out. 

"Not recently." But then he is having Dabi strip out of his shirt and coat. "When is the shoot?" 

"Two months, you said I wouldn't be able to lace it right away if I didn't want to fuck them up." 

"You heal well so that should be alright, but you will have to take them out sooner rather than later and you won't be able to lay on your back." 

"Worth it. Besides, plenty of people love to have me face down." 

Shigaraki doesn't take the bait, and focuses on walking Dabi through the work that he's going to be doing. If it turns out that Shigaraki is straight as an arrow, Dabi would still come back here for more piercings. He's good at his work. 

Still hurts like a motherfucker when he convinces Shig to give him six sets instead of four when he sees the spacing. 

///

Two months was a longer time than he thought it would be, but when the piercings are healed, he goes back to the shop. He does it under the guise of wanting Shigaraki to check the rings to make sure they're all good and show him how much tension the lacing can take, but he also does it so he can drop another hint that he's going to be at V that night. He brings a little baggie of the things he wants to try for the photoshoot, blue satin and red velvet ribbon, delicate gold and silver body chains with little crystal beads hanging off of them. Things that will look so pretty and sparkly against his burns and pale skin. 

Shigaraki isn't wearing his gloves for once, not needing to be sterile to help show him the tension he should keep if he wants to keep from straining his skin. Which means when his knuckles brush along Dabi's spine as he traces one of the loops of ribbon to the next connection point, Dabi can feel it. Barely a touch, but one that makes him hot even as he shivers slightly. 

"Sorry." The hands retreat and Dabi still can't ask for them back when he's here. But if Shigaraki is at V, if he comes to see him, Dabi is throwing subtlety out the fucking window. "Good luck. I think your fans will really enjoy this. It's a very striking piece on you." 

"Thank you. You always outdo yourself." 

He doesn't think he's imagining the heat in Shigaraki's eyes as he pulls his shirt back on, leaving the red velvet laced between his piercings. 

///

The photoshoot goes fantastically. The room that V put aside for their use is one with the two-way glass that goes out into the viewing hall, the massive window framed with red LEDs and the mirror there, the on the ceiling above the lavish black bed, toy display on the wall, and sex swing in the corner gives them so much to work with. Dabi probably gets a dozen sets out of it and he's also been given the go-ahead to actually use the room for the night. He won't tell anyone else that he's here to avoid any stalker problems, but it will be fun to get up to his nonsense in an environment that is absolutely steeped in this culture. 

He's only just gone back out into the main area, hoping to get a drink and find a partner or two, when he immediately spots white hair in the crowd. Shigaraki is wearing black slacks, a suit jacket, and a deep red shirt left unbuttoned almost to his navel. His hair is half-tied up, and the second that their eyes meet across the room, Dabi knows that the other man really did come here for him. 

"Is your shoot over?" He asks as soon as he's standing in front of him. 

"Yeah, want to come to the room they gave me and admire your work up close?" 

Dabi is pretty sure they don't manage a single other word before they are stumbling back to the room, their hands against each other's bodies. Dabi didn't put on a shirt before he went out, he just pulled his leather pants over the little red panties that he was wearing for the shoot to match the ribbon, and he kicks those and his boots off quickly as Shigaraki's mouth moves over his neck as his hands tease at his nipples, at the rings he put through those. He tastes the stud he put in Dabi's tongue, pushes him on the bed on his knees as his hand slips into his panties and he fondles his aching cock and strokes the ladder he gave him. His hands run up his back, thumbing over the piercings as he growls against his skin, 

"So pretty in my color, baby boy," and Dabi thinks his brain is going to melt as he moans and spreads his legs wider, showing the other that he opened himself up for a plug while doing the shoot. Tomura catches the base and fucks into his hole a few times. Until Dabi's cock is leaking against the sheets and he's begging, 

"Please, please, please," because he's been dreaming about having Tomura's cock for years now and he doesn't want to wait for it anymore. 

Worth the wait that did precede it when he twists his head to see their bodies in the mirror above the bed. When he gets to see how lovely his skin looks with the ribbon stretched between it and gets to see Tomura's thick, long cock, decorated with a PA through his head, a ladder of his own, and a pubic piercing as well, just before he gets to feel all of his hardware as he slips the plug from his body and replaces it with his cock.

Thanks for participating! If you'd like to join in, consider checking it out here!

[miksterrr]

the ninja as things me and my friends have texted each other

Zane

"it was between sex, lobotomies, or death- I figured death was the safest option."

Jay

"Pirate hat one day, student loans the next"

-

"The cloak looks like a dick."

"Sorry"

-

"Thoughts are hard to grab and they come by fast"

-

"My med doctor increased my meds again, idk why"

-

"My dad got me another bag of edibles lol so now technically i have 23"

-

"I almost forgot our swords Cole"

"I KNEW I SHOULD"VE REMINDED YOU"

Kai

"Is it bad that it took me toget drunk to be convinced that i have adhd ??"

-

"I AM NOT PUTTING THAT CORSET BACK ON"

-

"Lloyd talk to your fucking deities/spirits istfg."

-

"So I haven't skipped any of my class this week, but this is also the week where ive gotten the least amount of hw done"

Nya

"What's life w/o a little mind fuckery"

-

"I think I might have a caffeine problem"

"oh NOW you realize what we've been saying"

-

"I've only hit one thing so far"

"did you just call kai a thing?"

Lloyd

"Don't you have a stable income rn?"

"lmao no"

-

"Bucket list: go to the mothman festival"

-

"When the tarot cards tell you to go to therapy"

-

"Worse case I get hit by a car"

"I don't think being hit by a car would be very fun"

"but then I wouldn't have to deal with my family"

Cole

"The poem we read in class today was abt tentacle porn :/"

-

"I had a dream last night where yall gave me a mullet"

"Let's do it"

"Let's not!"

-

"How the fuck did I bruise my shoulder"

-

"Being an adult is a fucking scam"

Bonus:

"I got a fifty on my midterm!"

"Out of??"

"110!"

"Yikess"

"I thought i was gonna get a thirty!"

"I mean congrats then?"

"good job"

[fandomnerd9602]

Arranged

Princess!Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Thanks to @aloneodi for the prompt!

Wanda hated this arrangement. Marriage between her family, House Maximoff and it's closest neighbor House (L/N). It was a disaster in her mind.

Not only would she have to marry a man she just met but what she had heard about the crown prince of the house was even worse. Rumors had circulated that the crown prince was a womanizer, a prince who would chase all the maids and young women of the land.

"I refuse!" she stated before her father King Erik.

"I beg your pardon?" the monarch asked in response.

"I refuse to be married to some man who will not respect me. A man who would only see me as another notch in his bedpost." Wanda stated defiantly. "Mother raised me to be better than that! I refuse to be the prince's wife!"

"Our nation is on the brink of war with House Stark" the king argued, "in case of attack, we need allies and House (L/N) is our only option."

"What about Pietro?"

"He's pledged to take the throne, along with his betrothed Lady Crystal. Will you at least meet your betrothed?"

Wanda huffed, there wasn't much a choice. She simply nodded. Quickly, she went to her room and changed into some civilian attire.

"Please tell me you're not planning on running away" Natasha, her protector, waltzes in.

"I need some fresh air and some new paints. will my guard care to join me?" Wanda asks her oldest friend.

"I'd be beheaded if I said no" Natasha smirks as she quickly takes off her armor and slips on a cloak.

Wanda loved to see her kingdom, but the only way to remain safe was to go in disguise. Her favorite stop was the painter's shop. New colors and variations for her artwork, it was like being able to create new worlds with the stroke of a paintbrush.

She and Natasha stepped into the shop to find a new customer talking with the owner, purchasing a vial of scarlet red paint. Wanda ran to the back of the store to find the same color. But lo and behold, it was gone.

"Thank you so much" the new customer called out.

"Wait!" Wanda called out as she ran back to the front, "I need that color!"

"Scarlet?" the customer looked at her curiously. "you paint?"

"Yes. What is it unusual for a woman to love to paint?"

"Not in my mind." he smiles before handing it to her, "I was going to paint some roses but I think violets are better in bloom this season"

"Thank you" Wanda fishes for some coins, "allow me to pay you what-"

"Think nothing of it" the customer smiles, "I have all I could need. Pleasure meeting you miss-"

"Wanda" she found herself blushing. Natasha raised an eyebrow, finally someone to get straight to her heart.

"I'm Y/N" the customer smiles, "or at least that's what father calls me when he's not angry"

"And what do you do?"

"A-Apprentice mostly" Y/N shyly replied. "Still learning. But I play the lute and write poetry"

"I love to paint and writing song lyrics" Wanda lets out a chuckle. "I hope to see you again, Y/N"

"As I hope to see you as well, miss Wanda" Y/N replies before offering a bow and heading out.

Natasha lets out a little laugh, "you should've seen your face, Wanda. Your corset looked ready to drop"

"Shut your mouth" Wanda blushed as she walked back to the castle.

She walked into the throne room to see her father talking with a cloaked figure. The two were sharing a little laugh.

"I must've misunderstood the letter" King Erik laughs, "so no marriage required"

"Your majesty" a similar voice answers back, "my family is built on the Knight's Code. Despite what my brother's womanizing actions may say. I would rather have friends than a forced marriage"

Wanda approached the two, trying to be as quiet as a mouse. The king turned to her, "darling you must meet Prince Y/N"

"Y/N?" Wanda looked to the hooded figure who pulled down his hood revealing the friendly customer from before. The two young royals found themselves gasping.

Y/N couldn't wipe off the smile forming on his face.

"But-! How?"

"Your majesty" Y/N bows before her, "It appears our next meeting was sooner than we would think."

"Were you tricking me?" Wanda eyed the prince.

"Never ma'am." Y/N explained, 'I like to visit potential allies as a servant, i can get more places as such."

"So you're the one I am to marry?"

"I-If that is your wish" Y/N blushes

"You're not a womanizer"

"That's my older brother" Y/N huffs, "My mom raised me better than that."

"You're not an apprentice" Wanda giggled.

"I am actually. An apprentice monarch" Y/N laughs, "and I am still learning."

"Perhaps you could show me some of your poems," Wanda offered the young prince.

Y/N holds out his elbow to her, "only if you'll show me your paintings."

Wanda found herself blushing again. She looked to her guard who gave her the thumbs up.

The two young royals walked off arm in arm. Maybe there would be a marriage some day, for Wanda and Y/N. But for now, their kingdoms were safe and a blossoming love could take the time to fully bloom.

THE END.

[fettuccinealfred0]

Til Death Do Us Part | Epilogue

Series Masterlist

Astarion x f!reader, Arranged Marriage AU

Word Count: 13k

(CW: SMUT 18+, face sitting, cunnilingus, overstimulation, blow jobs, fingering, unprotected p in v, some cute role playing, Astarion really likes the sound of his own voice)

Summary:

You feel Astarion’s hand move, his thumb running along the length of your palm up to brush against the ring on his finger. 

“We met at my ball. A year ago, tonight.”

Though the beat of your heart is missing and it no longer flutters away inside your chest, a familiar warmth spreads through your veins all the same. 

“Happy anniversary,” you say and you feel a goofy smile spreading across your face.

“Not yet, my love,” Astarion says, but he smiles just as wide. “Not for another two days.”

Read on ao3 here

You could watch Astarion sleep forever. His mouth hangs open slightly and his gentle breathing mixes with the sound of waves. His face is so soft when he’s asleep and with the sun shining off his hair, he can only be described as angelic. 

The two of you are still on the beach, laying on the blanket spread out over the rock. Your feet are tangled with Astarion’s as you curl on your side to watch him doze. Touching. Always touching. The thought makes you smile.

When he wakes up, his long, pale lashes blink open slowly and his arms reach out to pull you tighter against him. You shower his face with kisses and he basks in your affection. 

By the late afternoon, the two of you decide to finally head back to the cottage. There had been a tentative plan for your first day in the sun which most certainly did involve you and Astarion making love on the beach, but which did not account for how long that would take. You probably should have woken Astarion up if you wanted to stick to the schedule, but he was sleeping so peacefully beside you and it seemed like a crime to disturb him. 

And besides, it’s not like the two of you were in a rush- being immortal meant there would be endless time for you both to explore the abilities that Mephistopheles had returned to you.

As you watch Astarion lazily pull on his trousers and shrug back on his shirt, you can’t help but think that he can be a little right sometimes- it is rather devastating to lose sight of his perfect body.

After watching him dress, you push yourself up from sitting on the rock, sliding your chemise and your loosened corset over your head. 

“Help, please,” you say, turning your back to Astarion so he can help lace up your corset. 

“Now, why would I do that? Helping you back in your clothes doesn’t benefit me in the slightest.”

“Astarion,” you whip around to face him with narrowed eyes. “If you aren’t going to help me, then you’re the one that’s going up to the house to fetch Shadowheart because there is no way I am walking back up there with my corset in hand like some kind of cheap harlot. And you know Shadowheart is going to be exceptionally ill-tempered if you bother her since I gave her the day off.”

You watch as he weighs out which option he finds more annoying in his head. 

“Turn around,” he grumbles. He drops a kiss to your shoulder and sighs. “You know, I have a love-hate relationship with this thing. I can’t deny that it makes your breasts look wonderful, but if you’re wearing it, that means I can’t actually see them, which is a travesty.”

“Poor Astarion,” you tease. “For he cannot always be touching his wife’s perfect breasts.”

“No,” he teases back, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Sometimes, I have to touch her cunt instead.”

“You’re too clever for your own good.” You playfully shove his head off your shoulder and he laughs, hands finally moving to help with your corset.

You know he does a purposefully bad job lacing it up. It doesn’t bother you too much because you also know that Astarion would likely be encouraging you to shed the offending garment from your body almost immediately upon your return to the house.

You reward him for his troubles with a peck on the cheek. Astarion seemingly deems it not enough payment for his efforts because he grabs your hips and dips you back into a bruising kiss that leaves you a bit weak in the knees. After a few more kisses, the two of you take your time walking back up to the cottage, your entwined fingers swinging loosely between you. 

When you enter, there’s a lavish spread of food in the kitchen- meats and cheeses and fancy chocolate desserts. The two of you had told the kitchen staff to make everything but evidently you had underestimated how much everything there was. 

When you sneak a peek at Astarion’s face, he looks a bit too overwhelmed by all the choices so you take over, instructing the kitchen staff to bring wine and to load a tray full of berries and sweet little tarts and the fancy chocolate desserts and deliver it all to your and Astarion’s bedroom. You aren’t sure why, but you have the sneaking suspicion that Astarion has a bit of a sweet tooth. 

When the staff ask what to do with the rest of the food, you tell them to throw a feast of their own tonight. 

And as you expected, the moment the door is shut to the bedroom, Astarion is pulling his shirt back off and helping you strip back out of your clothes to pull you onto the bed with him. 

As the two of you lounge on the bed together, you press different fruits to Astarion’s lips for him to taste. It hadn’t been that long since you’d eaten, but watching Astarion was something special. The way his eyes closed in pleasure. The way he would let out a little moan when he tasted something he really liked. The way he would lean over to lick the up the juices that ran down your arm when you fed him a particularly juicy strawberry. 

Eventually, you both grow bored of the food and the tray lays discarded on the other side of the room. The two of you curl into one another, sated and content.

Astarion’s hand rests on your stomach and you absentmindedly roll his wedding ring around his finger as you watch the curtains swaying in the breeze. The sun dips back down over the horizon. 

Astarion knocks his head lightly against yours to guide your attention back to him. 

“It’s been a year now, you know.”

You turn your head to look at him quizzically. “A year?”

You aren’t even sure you know the date, let alone why it holds any special significance outside the fact that it was your first day in the sunlight. You had unfortunately lost track of time in your haze of being a newborn vampire.

You feel Astarion’s hand move, his thumb running along the length of your palm up to brush against the ring on his finger. 

“We met at my ball. A year ago, tonight.”

Though the beat of your heart is missing and it no longer flutters away inside your chest, a familiar warmth spreads through your veins all the same. 

“Happy anniversary,” you say and you feel a goofy smile spreading across your face.

“Not yet, my love,” Astarion says, but he smiles just as wide. “Not for another two days.”

You roll your eyes affectionately but the two of you continue smiling at one another until Astarion leans over to kiss you. The sweet press of his lips against yours deepens as his tongue slides into your mouth. You whine when he pulls away.

“Always so needy, always so desperate for me,” Astarion murmurs.

You huff out a laugh and stretch lazily, playfully elbowing him. “Keep talking like that and I’ll rescind the comment I was going to make that I like you better now than I did at this time last year.”

Astarion simply smiles at your insincere taunt and props his head up on his hand, looking down on you with the hungry eyes of a predator playing with its food. 

“I don’t know, I found it rather amusing when you held that butter knife up to my throat.”

“That’s just because you thought I didn’t know how to use it. You know better now.”

He gives you a condescending, arrogant smile. “It’s cute that you still think you can get the upper hand on me.”

And because you like nothing more in this world than proving people wrong, you reach out, quickly wrapping a leg around Astarion’s hip and pressing on his shoulders to push him backward so you are sitting on top of him, straddling him. You catch his hands with yours, lovingly threading your fingers together before you wrench his hands over his head. 

He doesn’t even try to fight back, which is boring.

“Still don’t think I have the upper hand?” you ask.

“No, I know you don’t.” Astarion’s arms flex underneath yours, pushing back against your hold. There’s a hidden strength there.

“And yet, I’m the one who came out on top.” 

You squeeze his hands to accentuate your point, a silent reminder that he is the one at your mercy right now. 

“Cute,” Astarion says and you shoot him a glare. 

And then, with the graceful elegance of a cat, Astarion manages to flip the two of you so that he is the one pinning you down on the bed. 

“But just know, darling, the only reason you were there is because I adore having you on top of me.” 

You test his hold on your arms but he’s stronger than he looks and your hands are locked in an iron vice.

“Fine, you win,” you admit reluctantly.

“And what do I get as my prize?” Astarion’s got a mischievous little gleam in his eye that spells trouble.

“What do you want?”

He drags his nose down your throat, inhaling your scent. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to ask for a bite. A silly request considering you had never refused him in the past. But Astarion simply retraces his path up your neck, gliding his tongue along your skin.

“Touch yourself,” he rasps, tongue skimming the shell of your ear. “Let me watch.”

Astarion rolls off you, sprawling among the pillows on the bed. His gaze trails along your body like a caress. Down the curve of your shoulder, over the valley of your breasts. Perfect, he had called them earlier. His eyes continue lower, staring expectantly at the juncture of your thighs.

“Well,” Astarion says impatiently. “I’m waiting.”

Beneath his cocky veneer, you recognize that this is Astarion asking your permission, presenting you with the opportunity to deny him. But what idiotic person would ever do that? Who wouldn’t allow the moon and stars to worship them? 

You sit yourself up to lean back against the wall of pillows on the bed and you spread your legs open before him. Astarion inches closer ever so slightly, staring at you with the same awed fascination of a man looking upon the divine.

You really put on a show for him, too- taking the time to let your hands wander your skin. His tongue darts out, wetting his perfect red lips, almost as if he is already fantasizing about the taste of you on his tongue.

When your hand finally makes contact with your cunt, you move your fingers in the way that you have taught yourself over the years, chasing after climax in moments of pent up frustration. Straightforward. To the point.

“No, slow down,” Astarion instructs. “I want to watch you struggle. Only when you have reached the heights of your desperation, only when you have gone delirious with need, only when you beg for it, will I grant you the release you so desire.”

You slow your movements. It’s a poor imitation of what you know Astarion is capable of- all clumsy where his hands are deft, all amateur where he is pure grace. 

“Tell me how it feels,” he orders, propping himself up to move closer to you. 

“Good,” you tell him, honestly. Because it does feel good. Just not as good as you know it could.

Astarion’s eyes narrow when he senses your hesitance. “What else?”

“Not the same as yours…” you confess in a whisper and you feel your skin flushing with heat. “Gods, the things you can do with your hands could bring the world to ruin.”

“Would you like that?” Astarion’s fingers stroke along your ankle, sending streaks of pleasure curling up around your legs, straight to your aching clit, which you roll slippery circles against with your fingers. “Would you like for me to bring you the world, bloody and bruised in my hands, and present it to you as a token of my love?”

You aren’t entirely sure whether Astarion genuinely means this or if this is a role he is adopting for this moment. All you know is that the desperate whine that forces its way from your chest is agonizingly real. 

“You liked that, did you, pet?” Astarion chuckles, all dark and deep and sending a chill down your spine. “You want to hear how I’d burn the world for you? How I’d take the charred remains and mold it in your shape?” His thumb traces little circles around your ankle bone. “I would have blotted out the sun for you. I would have made it rain death and darkness and chaos if we had not found our cure. I would have drowned the world in corruption and laid the soaking remains at your feet.”

And you know he’s not lying- that in another life, all these words are true. It shouldn’t turn you on. It does anyway. 

Astarion’s hands burn where they brush your calf. He touches you possessively, as if your body was simply an extension of his own.

And if he will not touch you where you need him the most, you will let yourself drown in his voice. You will let his words caress your skin where his hands will not. You will hear more of how this man you love would destroy the world, if only you asked.

“More,” you plead with him and he grins arrogantly.

He speaks with a newfound confidence, fingers running up and down your calf, but never any higher. 

“Just think of what we’re going to do to them, my beloved. All those fools… They think they know what true power looks like, but we’ll show them. We’ll rule from the shadows. And you, my queen, only need to point. I shall be your weapon. I shall be the one to enact your ruthless judgment upon the world.”

Astarion is relishing in the sound of his own voice, as well. His other hand falls down to languidly stroke his cock. There’s a lovely bead of moisture at the tip and your mouth waters, you want nothing more than to lean over and take him in your mouth, to let his hands thread in your hair as he guides your mouth along his hard length…

Astarion gently nips at your thigh, drawing your attention back to him. 

“And do you know how I plan to begin my crusade?” he asks, but doesn’t give you any time to answer. “I’ll start with all those men. Anyone who ever looked at you as less than the goddess you are. Any of them who spoke- No, dared to even think of you in a degrading, vulgar manner. Any of them who merely wasted your time by boring you with their presence.” 

Astarion’s hand curls around your knee, slender fingers brushing the sensitive skin along the back and making you shiver. He wrenches your leg open wider, giving himself a better view of the way your fingers slide along your cunt. 

His gaze stays transfixed on your cunt as he speaks. “I’ll kill them all.”

You shouldn’t want that but oh, you do. That bloodthirsty, hungry part of you wants nothing more than to watch Astarion rip those men limb from limb, to watch him bathe himself in their blood and allow you to lick it clean from his skin afterward. 

You reward Astarion by sinking one of your fingers into yourself and his mouth hangs open in awe. Slowly, his head has moved closer to you and your obscene wetness makes you acutely aware of each panting breath he releases. His grip tightens desperately around your knee, as if he is having to clutch onto you to hold himself back from reaching out to touch you. 

You move your finger slowly, letting the palm of your heel continue to graze against your aching clit. It’s not enough. It’s not Astarion- you aren’t full enough, your fingers don’t curl and hit that spot Astarion always manages to find.

“Gods, you’re perfect,” Astarion whispers in breathless praise and you feel the way your cunt tightens around your finger. You know that if he was buried deep inside you, that would have made him moan and his hips would stutter before he rutted into you even faster, even harder.

“What did I ever do before you?” He turns his head, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Do you have any idea how it feels to gaze upon perfection?”

Yes, you think. You know that feeling intimately as perfection is gazing up at you right now, his head resting in your lap as his blood-red eyes devour you. 

His voice is low and dark. “For months, I kept myself away from you, spent my time longing and pining and waiting for you to return to my arms. For months, all I had to sustain myself on was the memories of your silken skin. Of the pool of nectar hidden between your thighs. Of the noises you make. Oh,” Astarion cries out and his hand picks up speed where it strokes his cock. “Those pretty noises. I missed those the most.”

You make one such noise now- a desperate, gasping moan.

Astarion’s eyes are ruthless when they dart up to your face. “If you ever left me-”

“Never,” you cut him off.

You’ll speak with him about that insecurity later- assuage him and assure him until every doubt has been killed from his mind. But not now. Now is the time to feed into this wonderful power fantasy the two of you are discovering together. 

You let out another sound, a pitiful whine, annoyed that your hands have brought you teetering so close to the precipice of bliss with no hope of falling over it.

“Do you need me that badly, pet?” Astarion chides, his hand mercifully moving higher up your leg, closer, so close, almost right there, nearly at the spot you need him to touch you. He stops. You nearly sob.  

“I wouldn’t have let you leave me anyway,” he hisses, fingers digging into the flesh of your hip so hard that you worry it would leave bruises if you were still human. And thank the gods you aren’t if it means Astarion can clutch at you with such desperate abandon with little to no consequences to you. “Besides, if you had, I would have followed you. Anywhere you went, to the ends of the earth. Understand?”

You nod.

You know there is a metaphorical truth to his words. If you wanted, Astarion would have let you leave. But his heart would have followed after you. Just as surely as yours would have stayed with him. 

“You have to say it if you want me to touch you.” You feel Astarion smirking where his mouth rests against your thigh. He has enjoyed this- has enjoyed watching you back yourself into a corner. Now, it was time for him to pounce. 

“I understand.”

Astarion descends with the ferocity of a man whose very last shred of control was hanging on by a thread. He sucks your fingers into his mouth, messy and ravenous, as if he doesn’t want to waste a single drop of your arousal. His own hand quickly takes over, slipping a finger inside you and curling it so good. Your hands claw desperately at the sheets. 

You come almost immediately. After so much build up, it was little wonder it would happen so quickly. What is a wonder is that Astarion immediately pulls his hand and mouth away from you rather than driving you repeatedly to the brink of madness like you had expected. 

For lack of a better term, the whole thing is anticlimactic.

Astarion, seemingly sensing your disappointment, reclines back on the pillows behind him.

“Well, come on, then.” He gives your ass an affectionate pat, silently instructing you to move on top of him. “I’ve given you one. You’ll have to work for the rest of them.”

You crawl over to him, moving to sling your leg around his hips, wanting nothing more than to grind yourself against his cock and guide him into you.

“Not there, pet,” he catches your leg, reflexes still somehow lightning quick even when you know he has to be distracted by how hard he is. 

“Sit on my face,” Astarion says, using his grip on your leg to pull your knee up by his shoulder. 

And out of everything that has happened today- from making a deal with an archdevil to watching a breathtaking sunrise to discovering Astarion has a penchant for blackberries- this request is what has shocked you the most.

 “But what about you?”

Astarion laughs, his soft fingers stroking along the back of your leg. “My motivations are not selfless, if that’s what concerns you, little flower. Your cunt is my favorite meal. I need to spend time appreciating it with these new taste buds. And besides, this bed is just so comfortable. You’ll forgive me if I want to lay back and relax while I feast for once.”

“But I want you to feel good, too,” you pout.

“I assure you, I do.” Astarion tugs more insistently on your hip and you move, knees framing either side of his head. 

“You can stop whenever you want.”

“I know, my love,” Astarion’s face softens and he catches your left hand, bringing it to his lips so he can press a kiss to your knuckles, right under your wedding ring. “Now, as much as I appreciate you checking in with me, you’re keeping me from my plans of drowning between your thighs.”

His arms, soft and surprisingly strong, wrap around your hips and pull you down. His nose brushes along the thatch of hair on your pubic bone before he continues to move it lower. And for a moment, the two of you sit like that, with you shivering in anticipation and Astarion simply breathing against your cunt. 

And then, his mouth is on you and there’s lightning running through your veins. He presses an open mouthed kiss to your cunt before his tongue flattens and he licks.

You feel his strangled groan reverberating in your own bones as he continues lapping. His nose brushes against your clit and you have to reach out one of your hands to steady yourself on the headboard. Your other hand winds its way into Astarion’s hair, tugging at the white curls whenever he does something especially wonderful. Which is… pretty much always. 

When the gods made Astarion, they surely started with his tongue. 

The whole time, his hands stroke and knead along the flesh of your thighs and ass, guiding you to start rolling your hips. It has his nose moving against your clit in a way that has you seeing stars and gasping for air.

Astarion leads to climax again. And again. And again.

Astarion plays your body like it is a violin and he is your virtuoso. He plucks and pulls at the strings, creating a symphony of music that threatens to overwhelm you. Your thighs ache and burn and still you continue rolling your hips against his face. Still, he continues to lap at your cunt with the fervor of a dying man.

At some point, you have transcended your corporeal form. Nothing else exists but these waves of pleasure- constant, unending.

Surely, the ringing you hear in your ears is some form of holy communion. Surely, the gods in the heavens have finally noticed Astarion missing from their ranks and have come to summon him home.

Your grip in his hair slackens. Your head bows in reverence.

It takes you far too long to register that Astarion’s mouth is no longer upon you.

“There you are,” He says, voice a low rasp. “You were missing from me for a moment.”

His beauty is stunning. His chin is glistening, his lips are red and swollen, his white curls are messy and wild. And best of all, he’s got that pretty, pink blush on his cheeks.

Astarion’s hands continue rubbing soothingly along your thighs, anchoring you back to your body.

“Too much, too good,” you slur out. 

Your whole body feels all delightfully fuzzy and light as air. 

Astarion slides out from underneath your legs and gathers you in his arms. You’re sure that you are very moldable and easy to move around right now since you think you might have turned into liquid.

You feel Astarion lips brush against your forehead as he wraps his arms tighter around you. Faintly, you register him praising how good you did, how you listened so well, how you gifted him with yet another lovely moment to cherish forever. The whole time, his fingers knead gently into your muscles, easing away the dull aching in your hips. You simply sigh and curl further into him.  

“We should have a ball,” you say, tracing your fingers in little heart shapes over his chest. “To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

“Our anniversary.”

Astarion’s lips press against your forehead. “We’ll have as many balls as you want. Gods, you can have whatever you want, you only need to say the word and I’ll get it for you. Or, well- I’ll have someone else get it for you, more likely.”

You giggle. “What about a kiss?”

“Hm, I think I can handle that by myself.”

—-----------------

FOUR YEARS LATER

The dress you're wearing tonight truly is breathtaking. In the past, the price of the red silk alone would have nearly made your jaw drop, but you had gotten used to prices like that after years of Astarion waving them away like they were nothing. 

‘What’s the point of money if you aren’t going to spend it,’ Astarion had said. 

After the dressmaker had finished construction, Astarion had spent weeks embroidering the material. The front of the gown only hinted at the masterful craftsmanship- just a delicate chain of flowers along your waist, but the long train which followed you was decadent to the extreme. The lovely red had been nearly covered in the shimmery gold thread, a garden following behind you. 

Astarion had said it was some of his best work to date and had praised you as his muse. 

And the past few months, you had gotten to enjoy a lot of time watching him as the two of you sat out in the gardens in the sunlight, entranced by how his fingers were able to move the tiny silver needle so easily, spinning gold seemingly out of thin air. He never pricked himself, like you and the roses. 

And of course, Astarion had insisted that the two of you matched. His waistcoat was the same blood red fabric covered in flowers that he had embroidered.

Astarion had even humored you by letting you sew some little stars onto the inner lining of his waistcoat, right over his unbeating heart. He had feigned that he had been doing you some big favor, allowing you to put your mark on his body, but you caught how his eyes went a little misty when he saw your work.

“You look wonderful, darling,” Astarion slides up behind you as stand before the mirror, attempting to clasp the ruby necklace behind your neck. His hands meet your own and he deftly clasps the chain into place before wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you back against his chest.

Your reflection grins back at him.

“We can see our reflections and still, the mirror doesn’t do you justice,” Astarion says, nose trailing over your collarbone to the juncture of your neck where he always likes to bite down. He surprises you by redirecting instead, coming up to whisper huskily in your ear, “The way this fabric hugs your body, the way the silk brings out the red in your eyes, the way the diamonds in your hair shine like stars in the night sky, those are all things too lovely to be captured by a simple pane of glass.”

You turn your head toward him and Astarion lips move closer and closer to yours with each word until they are just a hair’s breadth away. The anticipation is killing you, but you hold steady, daring him to meet you. 

He brings his hand up to gently cradle the back of your head-

“Don’t mess up her hair!” Shadowheart yells from across the room, where she’s fiddling with all the leftover hairpins. She huffs quietly to herself, “I spent forever on that.”

You and Astarion are shocked out of your trance, his hand immediately dropping away from your hair. Astarion is so startled by her presence that his cool facade even slips for a moment as he mutters out a quiet ‘sorry.’

“What’s she still doing here?” He whispers to you just loud enough that you know Shadowheart can hear and roll her eyes. 

You use the opportunity to slip out of his arms and continue getting ready.

“I asked her to stay,” you tell him, pulling the gloves up your arms. You watch the twin marks on your wrist disappear as you slide on the silken white fabric. “I don’t trust myself around you and I’m determined to get down to the ball on time this year.”

You hold out your wrist so Astarion can clasp the slippery little buttons along the side. He just stares at you for a moment, giving you a look like ‘you know this kind of task is beneath me’ and you jut your wrist at him a bit more insistently and he rolls his eyes as he grabs your arm. 

“I assure you, little flower,” Astarion says as he buttons your glove, placing a delicate kiss to your wrist before he moves on to the other. “You would have made it to the ball on time.”

“That’s what you said last year. And then we ended up being an hour late.”

No, if you were allowed to be alone with Astarion, he would surely have already bent you over your vanity by now and your throat would be decorated by a necklace of his bite marks. And as beautiful as blood and jewels go together, it would have certainly distracted from the ornate ruby necklace Astarion had given you as a fifth anniversary present.

Five years. Has it really been that long already? Or have you simply been too happy to notice the time passing?

“I don’t recall hearing any complaints from you last year, my love. In fact, I do believe you said ‘more’ quite a few times,” Astarion’s hand drops and rests heavily on your hip. “And besides, who cares what those idiots think?”

“We have to at least pretend to care about propriety, darling,” you remind Astarion and he rolls his eyes. You know he’s going to say something like ‘fuck propriety, let the world know how a true man satisfies his wife,’ so you gently rearrange the folds of his cravat as you speak, “There’s going to be a lot of important people here tonight. We need to uphold their high opinion of us if we hope to continue to use them.”

“I love the way you think,” he says with a wicked gleam in his eye, pulling you back into his arms. 

Shadowheart loudly clears her throat and Astarion glares at her but steps away from you.

“Don’t be upset, husband, there’s still plenty of time to let you plant your seed in my garden tonight,” you say, giving Astarion a big wink at your double entendre.

He looks mortified for a moment before he’s practically falling over in laughter. “Be honest, little flower, how long have you been waiting to use that line?”

“It just came to me.”

Astarion tilts your chin up, a devilish smirk on his beautiful face. “That won’t be the only thing coming in you tonight.”

“You two are strange and… off-putting.” Shadowheart has a look of disgust on her face that has you burying your head in Astarion’s chest to laugh.

“Speaking of strange, Lae’zel is going to be here tonight. I’m sure she’d love it if you made an appearance downstairs long enough for her to ask you for a dance,” Astarion says and Shadowheart’s face turns bright red as she tries to excuse herself from the room as quickly as possible. 

“Look at what you did!” You cry out. “You chased off a perfectly good Shadowheart!” 

“Yes, but now I can finally do this.”

Astarion leans down to kiss you, careful to keep his hands resting on your hips and far away from your ornate hairstyle. You sigh happily against his lips and he presses a soft kiss on the corner of your mouth before he pulls away.

“You ready?” he asks, holding his arm out to you. 

You tuck yourself into his side and the two of you make your way down to the party.

Of course, because this is a ball hosted by Astarion, there’s a big fanfare at your entrance as your names are announced. The two of you descend down the stairs with the grace and elegance that only two vampires can possess. When you reach the ballroom, people are swarming the two of you immediately, begging to speak with you and offer their congratulations on your anniversary. 

The gentry were practically throwing themselves at your feet and what were you supposed to do? Stop them? No, not when it was so much more fun to encourage them. 

You and Astarion make your initial rounds, but your eyes continue scanning the crowds. You hope your father comes again this year. It always fills you with glee, the fact that he shows up every year and is forced to celebrate your anniversary with Astarion. Forced to watch you be happy and in love and thriving. That he continues to grow old and wither away while you and Astarion retain your youthful glows. 

You spot him over by the wine and you’re filled with the wicked thought that maybe one year, you would kill him, make it look like a drunken old fool had stumbled out into the woods and been attacked by an animal. 

Astarion’s hand comes to the small of your back. Touching. Always touching. His breath whispers against your ear, “Oh, I’d hate to be on the receiving end of that glare. Tell me, wife, who do you want me to kill for you tonight?”

“No one,” you think for a moment. “Yet.”

A sly grin spreads across your husband’s face. “Only speak the words and it shall be done. I am yours to command.”

“Oh, I know you are, pet,” you tease him, trying to sound like him. You even give him a little pat on the cheek for added effect. Astarions bares his fangs playfully at you.

“Come dance with me, I’m bored,” you tug on his hand.

You let Astarion wrap you in his arms and spin you around the dancefloor.

“Should I be hurt that you aren’t tripping over your feet at the sight of me anymore, little flower?”

“No, I just have expensive tastes now,” you giggle. “I fear I’m growing too used to awe-inspiring beauties such as yours.”

Astarion’s hand moves down your back, just a bit too low to be acceptable. “Sounds like you’re getting too spoiled.”

“I’m not the one to blame for that problem, star. Not when you insist on buying me far too many lavish gifts.”

“You might be right,” Astarion agrees with a chuckle. “I just can’t help myself. My gifts always look so beautiful on you and your face always lights up so bright. It’s addictive, your smile.”

You smile brightly up at him and Astarion looks upon you with adoration. 

“Pardon the intrusion,” Wyll interrupts with a friendly hand on Astarion’s shoulder. “But I believe I was promised a dance?”

He bows elegantly and extends his hand out.

“Wyll!” You cry out happily. “You know that I always save a dance for you!”

“Who said I was asking you?” Wyll playfully holds his hand out to Astarion, who feigns a delighted shock. “Lord Ancunin, if I may.”

“Cute,” you say, looking between the two of them and pouting. “But you can dance with Astarion later. Right now, it’s my turn.”

They both laugh. 

“Have fun.” Astarion drops a kiss on your cheek and passes you off to Wyll. “I’ll go speak with Lord Idril about our stance on the upcoming council vote. He’s the last person we need to sway.”

The upcoming vote was about providing relief to farmers after a particularly long and harsh winter. You and Astarion really did try to use your influence for good from time to time honestly.

The two of you simply had your own methods for doing good that others might qualify as ‘morally questionable’ and ‘deeply manipulative.’ 

Astarion glides away with a charming smile on his face, waving at adoring nobles as he passes by like he’s the king himself.

“I can’t even imagine the size of his ego by the end of the night,” Wyll says.

You don’t mind too much, Astarion with an ego in public turned into a mouthy Astarion in the bedroom later. The ego boost of the ball was most certainly worth it if you were the one to reap the rewards at the end of the night. 

But you’re fairly certain that Wyll doesn’t want to hear about your methods for taming a wild Astarion so you turn the conversation back to him with a friendly smile.

“How have you been?” you ask as the two of you begin to step in time to the music. 

“Can’t complain. Karlach and I have been traveling along the Sword Coast, as of late.”

“Ah, yes, the formidable Blade of Frontiers,” you tease but you catch the way Wyll’s chest puffs out proudly at the nickname. “That’s what they’re calling you now, right? I’ve been keeping up with your adventures through Volo’s books.”

Wyll rolls his eyes. “Volo… If I fought half as many battles half as valiantly as he writes, I’d wholly be dead.” 

You laugh. Volo was always known for his exaggerations, but you had been so proud when he decided to start following Karlach and Wyll since it kept you up to date on their valiant adventures.

“It’s good storytelling. His books are always best-sellers for a reason,” you say with a shrug. “And besides, I quite like to imagine you and Karlach out there slaying dragons and hunting down devils.”

Wyll laughs, “Yes, devils have become a bit of a speciality of ours.”

“Where’s she at by the way? I haven’t seen her yet this evening.” 

“She’s here, but she’s doing her own dancing,” Wyll grins when he speaks of Karlach and you wonder if his smile is a bit too affectionate to be considered friendly. “She doesn’t like all the stuffy rich-people small talk.”

“Gods, and who could blame her?” You groan when you and Wyll hear the couple next to you discussing how they think you and Astarion sourced the shrimp. “They seem to be exceptionally dull this evening.”

The two of you giggle together and Wyll spins you in a delightful twirl.

“So,” he asks when he brings you back from the twirl, “How are the renovations on the Szarr palace going?”

“Ancunin palace,” you correct him. 

In the interests of venturing into the political landscape of Baldur’s Gate, you and Astarion had decided to renovate the old Szarr palace to use as a secondary base. It had been sitting vacant in the years since Astarion had left and a couple bands of rogues and thieves managed to find their way inside, tearing the place apart. 

A part of you was almost glad when you and Astarion had discovered the disrepair- it felt like poetic symbolism of how his life as a spawn was dead and behind him and that now, he could build something beautiful in its place. 

You and Astarion had spent a long time hiring new staff to work at the palace and even longer working on plans for the renovations. Astarion leaned toward opulence and grandeur in all areas of life, so his ideas were rather… ambitious. It had taken a while to find guild artisans who met his high standards of craftsmanship (and that’s not even mentioning the headache of how few people specialize in gold metalwork, which Astarion would still complain about at length when the mood struck him). 

But aside from your husband’s expensive tastes, the whole process had been mostly fun. The two of you had spent many afternoons laying out in the gardens, swapping fantasies of how you pictured each room in the palace looking. It felt like the two of you were building a home together.

A very expensive, very gold home, but a home, nonetheless. 

Your visits to the palace were still infrequent, however. Astarion still had nightmares and episodes that always seemed to get worse after a visit. You hated to see him in pain and you knew he was frustrated at the fact that he couldn’t simply will himself out of those moments. 

You both knew it would still take time. Luckily, time was the one thing the two of you had in abundance. 

“It’s been slow progress,” you answer Wyll. “There’s lots of memories there, so I think it will take us a while. Though, we are planning another trip to the city soon. How’s your father doing?”

“He’s well,” Wyll smiles and you know he is grateful you asked. Both he and his father adored talking about one another. It was wonderful to see a family with that much love, even as the two of them attempted to navigate past their previous differences.

Astarion had told you about Wyll’s complicated relationship with his father soon after you had met him. Since you and Astarion were beginning to make a name for yourselves in Baldur’s Gate and Wyll’s father was the Duke of the city, it only made sense to introduce yourselves. It didn’t hurt that Duke Ravengard was surprisingly refreshing company in a city full of pompous nobles. 

“He’s sorry he couldn’t make it tonight but he wanted me to extend an invitation for you and Astarion to dine with him again next time you visit Baldur’s Gate,” Wyll says. “Father said that he’d be sure to buy more wine this time so Astarion doesn’t bleed him dry again.”

“I do apologize, bleeding people dry is a particularly nasty habit of mine,” Astarion interrupts.

You know your face lights up when you see him, even if you have only been parted for a few short dances.

“If you’ll excuse me, Wyll.” Astarion’s hand rests on your lower back and you lean into his side instinctually. “I think I’d like another dance with my wife.”

“Of course,” Wyll smiles at the two of you. “And congratulations on your anniversary.” He leans in to whisper conspiratorially to you, but loud enough that Astarion can overhear. “Somehow, you’ve made Astarion considerably less insufferable to be around. We all owe you our thanks for that.”

“I’m not insufferable,” Astarion pouts, pulling your body against his far tighter than most of the other married couples dancing together. 

“No, darling,” you reassure him. “Not unless your feet are cold.”

He was a particular sort of monster when he was cold. It was lucky that you knew a few good ways to warm him back up. 

“Little minx.” He pinches your hip affectionately. “You’re far too much trouble. I’m not sure why I bother to keep you around.”

“Cause you love me.” You move your hand up from his shoulder to cradle the back of his head, stroking your thumb along the sharp line of his jaw.

Astarion’s eyes soften. “I do, don’t I?”

He looks so handsome, you think to yourself. The red in his waistcoat really does bring out the shade of his eyes and when he’s staring at you like this, his heart nearly bleeds out of them. You let your hand drop from Astarion’s face when it is time for Astarion to twirl you in the dance. He pulls you back into him, your back against his chest.

“Got the vote by the way,” his voice is a whisper in your ear. 

He means to disguise his true intentions of political scheming as a loving husband whispering words of affection in his wife’s ear. And he really did whisper in your ear often enough that his actions hardly turned any eyes. 

“Turns out Idril really doesn’t want his wife to find out about the bastards he’s left around the Lower City. Thanks for that bit of gossip by the way.” Astarion twirls you out again and you miss the cool line of his body pressed against your back. 

You give him one of your ‘I told you so’ smiles. “I knew that damned sewing circle would feed me something good eventually. It’s all about playing the long game for you and I.”

“Be honest, darling,” Astarion smirks, “you really just like taking credit for my embroidery, don’t you?”

He’s only partially right. You mostly like showing off his work because you’re proud to have such a talented husband. It’s a very small part of you that does enjoy passing it off as your own since your own attempts at needlework were typically abysmal. 

You laugh. “Oh, don’t pretend you aren’t listening through the walls as they praise your work.”

“Do you really think so little of me as to believe I need the approval of a group of old married hags?” Astarion gasps in faux offense. You giggle and he drops the act to laugh along with you. “Did you enjoy your dance with Wyll?”

“I did. Wyll’s an excellent dancer,” you answer. And then, because you can’t resist teasing Astarion, you add, “Some might say he’s better than you.”

“Oh, really?” Astarion raises his eyebrows. 

“Some might. But not me.”

Astarion looks so pleased with himself, like he could exist off your praise alone. 

“It’s all about the right partner,” he says, repeating one of your favorite phrases back to you.

“And I’m lucky that I found mine.” 

The smile he gives you is radiant. 

Over his shoulder, you catch sight of Gale, trying to get Astarion’s attention. “Looks like Gale is here with your little snack.”

You give both Gale and the woman standing next to him a friendly wave. Now that you are a more experienced vampire, you have better control over your bloodlust and so, about a year ago you had started feeding from the townspeople that you and Astarion payed. It has allowed you to develop tenuous friendships with a few of them. 

But tonight, the two of you had a plan. This snack was for Astarion alone.

Astarion kisses you in a way that is far too scandalous for public eyes. Over the years, that kind of behavior has come to be expected from the two of you, so people simply avert their gazes. And anyone that is staring at you in shock, you simply ignore, choosing instead to enjoy the way Astarion’s fingers curl underneath your chin to tilt your face up to his and the way his lips slide sweetly against yours.

“See you in a few minutes,” he murmurs before he’s walking over to Gale. 

You mingle a while longer before you leisurely make your way out to the gardens, following Astarion. The warm summer night doesn’t feel quite as hot against your skin as it did when you were human. It’s easy to find Astarion now. You know the path in the garden and, more than that, you can smell him. You can practically taste the sharp metallic sting in the air from the woman he’s drinking. 

But it’s not your job to find him easily tonight so you wander, slipping your gloves down your arms and discarding them on a bench to be picked up later as you let your hands brush along the delicate rose petals. You need to make Astarion a new bouquet soon, you think absentmindedly, the one currently in his study was starting to droop.

Eventually, you round the corner to the spot where you know Astarion will be.

He has the woman in his arms, his mouth on her throat. You think back to that first night you saw him, when your heart had shuddered with fear and dread and beneath that, some carnal desire that you couldn’t yet name. You make sure to step loudly so Astarion will hear you but deep down, you know he is just as aware of you as you are of him, even if he is a bit distracted by feeding right now. 

His eyes tear up to look at you, all crimson red and blood dripping down his chin. The shiver that runs down your spine is caused by elation rather than terror, like all those years ago. Looking at him, you cannot help but be filled with love and warmth.

Astarion practically drops the other woman to the ground as he moves to chase after you.

You laugh, a twinkling, sparkly thing that belongs like a star in the night sky, and you have to stop yourself from practically skipping with delight back up to the manor. You remind yourself that you’re supposed to be acting scared as you sneak a peek at Astarion over your shoulder. 

He catches your wrist in his grasp just when you’re about to slip inside and he drags you to that familiar closet. It’s cozy and it’s dark and there’s not much room inside unless Astarion’s body is pressed tightly against your own. His arm presses deliciously against your throat to pin you in place.

His eyes are ravenous as they flit across your face. “Tell me, sweet flower, what’s an innocent thing like you doing out in the gardens all by herself at this time of night?”

“My husband left me all alone,” you say demurely, looking up at Astarion from underneath your lashes.

“He must be a stupid man, indeed, if he ever dared to leave a treasure as precious as you unaccompanied.”

“Yes, he’s very stupid,” you say, poking at his ribs. It’s just so hard to resist teasing him when he presents you with so many wonderful opportunities. 

Astarion rolls his eyes, moving his arm from your neck to rest his hand on the wall, next to your head. “Well, that’s not fun, pet. That’s just being mean.”

“I’m playing along! Like you told me. It just gets too self-referential and confusing if I think about it for too long, star. Somehow you’re both my husband and the seductive vampire that lures me into dark corners.” You whine, your hand moving to squeeze his ass and pull him closer to you. “Just tell me pretty things and fuck me, please.”

Astarion’s hand cups your cheek. “I do that all the time, my love. I was trying to make tonight memorable.”

“Every day with you is memorable in its own way, even without the role playing,” you promise him. You nuzzle into Astarion’s hand and his thumb strokes softly along your cheekbone. 

“You’re sweet,” Astarion says and his face melts into a soft smile. 

“I think I just need more rules about what I’m supposed to say. I’m not you- I can’t just whip up seductive lines full of dirty innuendos at the drop of a hat.”

Astarion laughs. “I am rather gifted at that, aren’t I? We don’t have to do it if you don’t want to. I can take you upstairs and make love to you like I normally do if you’d prefer.”

It’s a tempting offer. Astarion making love to you was likely one of your favorite activities. You liked it almost as much as when Astarion went on a bit of a power trip and whispered lovely, depraved things to you while he fucked you like you were his entire reason for existing, which was exactly what he was offering you tonight.

Besides, when Astarion had brought up this idea, he had been so excited to try it out, so excited to recreate the night you first met in a space where the two of you could act on all the perverse desires you had been holding back. 

And you truly loved seeing Astarion enjoying and having fun with intimacy, watching his comfort zone expand with time and listening to the new desires he whispered that he wanted to try. 

Sometimes, he didn’t end up liking the outcome nearly as much as the idea. There had been that… unfortunate time where Astarion’s hands had only been bound to the bedposts for a few minutes before he was already pulling himself free from the loose restraints, pleading with you that he was sorry. You had simply wrapped your arms around him and held him against your chest, reminding him that he never needed to apologize for setting boundaries. 

No, from then on, restraints were saved solely for you. 

“No, let me try again.” You drop your hand from his ass and smile sweetly up at him. “Can we go back to the beginning, please?”

Astarion presses a quick peck on your lips. “Just follow my lead. I’ll make it easy for you.”

He takes a moment to compose himself before he’s pressing his arm against your throat again, looking down at you with dark, hungry eyes. It sends an immediate spark of arousal straight to your cunt.

“Tell me, sweet flower, what’s an innocent thing like you doing out in the gardens all by herself at this time of night?”

You look at him with your best impression of wide, scared eyes, like you are a rabbit caught in the jaws of a wolf. You speak, voice barely a whisper, “Chasing after monsters, it seems.”

“A monster?” Astarion laughs, all dark and condescending. “Is that what you think you saw?”

He presses his leg between yours, pinning you to the wall with the full weight of his body and your cunt is aching and it would be easy, so, so easy, to just grind yourself down against his thigh. 

“I don’t know what I saw,” you say and your voice comes out surprisingly breathy and naive. You tilt your head up a bit to look at Astarion, exposing more of your neck and your hand clings desperately to the hem of his coat, pulling him tighter against you. “All I know is that you’re simply too beautiful to be human.”

And in another life, perhaps these are the exact words that you would have said to Astarion in that closet when you first met. Perhaps if you had put up less of a fight or been brave enough to say what you were truly thinking, you would have confessed how you thought he was a beam of moonlight come to life, how you thought that there was no way that the perfect man in front of you could exist because he had to be the embodiment of all your childhood fantasies.

“And yet, I was not the most beautiful person in that garden tonight.” His voice is smooth and silky and feels like a caress on your skin. 

His arm flexes where it sits across your neck and his fingers brush along your collarbone, just the hint of a touch. You roll your hips down upon Astarion’s leg and apparently he’s feeling benevolent tonight because he pushes his thigh into you a little bit harder and it provides just the amount of friction you need. 

“Yes, the woman you were with was very pretty.”

It’s a bit too boring if you just feed Astarion compliments. He deserves to do some work here, too.  

“Don’t go chasing after compliments. It’s unbecoming of you.” Astarion’s arm presses harder into your throat and he narrows his eyes at you. You don’t even need to breathe but the slight impact on your airflow has you feeling dizzy. Or maybe that’s just Astarion’s scent, all bergamot and rosemary and the hint of blood on his lips. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur and you both know that you don’t mean it because your hips don’t even stutter where they grind against Astarion’s leg. 

“You already know that I meant you,” he continues, ignoring your insincere apology. “All those roses, all those flowers, and they looked pale and lifeless compared to you.”

His voice is low and hungry in your ear. He licks along the shell of it before he whispers, “Don’t all the great poets compare cunts to flowers? I fear they’d run out of words if they ever saw yours. I’d have to kill them all, obviously, but at least they would gaze upon perfection before they died.”

Yeah, that line was a little too ‘your husband’ Astarion and less ‘vampire cornering you in a dark room’ Astarion. It sends a victorious trill singing in your veins because you know he’s fighting just as hard as you to keep himself composed. 

Astarion takes a shuddering breath and corrects himself. “It’s truly a shame that I’m going to have to kill you.” 

“No, please. Perhaps I can find some way to convince you that I’m worth keeping alive.” 

You really play it up, too- pouting your lips, looking up at him from underneath your eyelashes, tilting your chin up to expose your neck just so. Astarion loved to spoil you normally, but he was always so especially susceptible to your begging.

Astarion releases his arm from where it had been pressed against your neck, tracing one of his fingers down his favorite artery. You can feel Astarion’s cock where it presses into your stomach, hard and heavy. 

And although his body betrays his desires, Astarion manages to keep his voice flat and unimpressed when he speaks, like this negotiation is beneath him. “I already have more than enough blood, my sweet treat. I’m afraid you’ll have to be more creative about what you can offer me.”

“I’ve been told that I have a very talented mouth. Let me show you. Maybe that will change your mind.”

And thank the gods Astarion released his arm from your neck because now you have more freedom to move. He moans when you catch one of his earlobes between your teeth and his hand comes back up, wrapping gently around your throat and pushing you away from him. 

Gods, you can only imagine how wonderful his hand looks wrapped around your throat, accentuated by the lovely ruby necklace he had given you. Maybe you would have to ask him to do it again later in front of a mirror, so you could actually see it. 

“Hm, you’re a clever one, aren’t you?” Astarion asks. He shifts his hand so his thumb presses heavily against your bottom lip. His eyes feel like they’re burning into you. “Go on, then, show me.”

You part your lips, letting his thumb slide into your mouth. You suck on it greedily, letting your tongue swirl around it teasingly in that same way you know he always likes around the head of his cock in a silent promise of what is to come. You can feel Astarion’s hips grinding subtly against you as he watches your lewd display and it makes your cunt move so wonderfully against his leg.

“Very well, pet, you’ve proven your point.” His breathing is ragged as he slips his thumb out of your mouth. He leaves a wet trail as he slides it along your chin, all the way down your throat. “Now it’s time for you to really convince me.”

Astarion’s hands fall down to your hips and he pulls you with him, moving until his back is against the wall and your body is leaning into him. His mouth grazes yours as he purrs, “Your lips are going to look so pretty wrapped around my cock.”

He continues to trail teasing almost-kisses along the length of your neck before he bites down. You gasp at the shock of cold, but his mouth retracts from your skin almost immediately. You whine in protest- the bite was too quick, you didn’t even get to really enjoy it.

“On your knees, darling,” he commands, voice all deep and heavy with desire. 

You obediently sink down to your knees in front of Astarion and look up at him as one of your hands reaches out to run along the outline of his hard cock straining against his trousers. Your touches are light and fleeting and his hips jolt involuntarily as he tries to press himself harder into your hand.

You’re the one on your knees for him and yet you are the one who will control his pleasure. What a lovely dynamic.

“Promise you won’t kill me?” you ask, acting timid as you fiddle with the fastenings on his pants. 

“I don’t know,” Astarion’s eyes glint dangerously in the darkness. “Perhaps a little death is in order tonight.”

It’s a cheesy double entendre but he sells it with the way he’s looking down on you like he can’t wait to devour you. You feel electric, like all your veins in your body are sending molten fire straight to your cunt. 

You make quick work of the fastenings on Astarion’s pants and he helps you push them down enough to free his cock. He hisses when your hand wraps around his length. 

It’s up to you now, whether you want this to be quick and messy or whether you want to drag this out so long that Astarion is crying and begging to come. Or maybe a mix of both? You’ll see where the mood takes you, you decide, as you lean forward to kiss the base of Astarion’s cock. 

You trace a line of teasing kisses along the whole length and when you reach the head of his cock, you let your tongue slip out to run along the slit. Astarion groans, his fingers threading into your hair as a silent request to finally take him in your mouth. You ignore him, content to trace another line of kisses back down his cock. 

“Right now, I’m leaning toward killing you,” Astarion says and you can’t help but laugh. You apologize by licking a stripe along the underside of his cock before sucking the tip into the soft, wet heat of mouth.

“Gods, your mouth,” Astarion groans. 

You hum in response and Astarion’s hips give a little buck. You take the cue and begin bobbing your head slowly, swirling your tongue around his tip a few times in between each drag of your mouth up and down his cock. You’re trying to take your time, you want Astarion to enjoy this as long as possible, want to make this moment good and special for him.  

You take more and more of his cock into your mouth as you move, hollowing your cheeks and bringing your hand up to assist where you’re unable to fit him in your mouth. Quickly, too quickly for what you have planned tonight, you’re able to get a good rhythm going and Astarion’s cock pulses in your mouth in response as he lets out a long string of curses.

Because you are a bit selfish and you don’t want this to end just yet, you pull your mouth off Astarion with a gentle pop. You keep pumping your hand up and down at a slow pace- enough to feel good, but not enough for him to come. Not yet. 

With Astarion’s fingers still loosely threaded in your hair, you sneak a peek up at him. He’s breathtakingly gorgeous, of course. His head tilts back against the wall, eyes closed in rapture, and his beautiful pink lips are slightly parted as soft gasps and breaths escape his mouth. 

Gods, you want nothing more than to bite him, to taste his little snack from earlier for yourself. 

You grab his wrist with your other hand, bringing it toward your mouth. Pushing up his sleeve, you run your nose along the veins in his wrist. 

“Let me taste you,” you plead. And then because you know Astarion is weak for you, especially when you’re on your knees for him, you add a breathy, “please.”

He looks down at you with half-lidded eyes and his voice is so deliciously condescending when he says, “Only since you asked so nicely. Drink up, pet.”

With his permission given, you sink your teeth into the soft flesh of his wrist. It tastes divine. You let your tongue lick away the blood until his wounds have closed and then you set back to work on his cock with a renewed vigor. 

When you take him back in your mouth, you lift your hand up to pat on Astarion’s thigh three times, the signal between the two of you that it was okay for him to start moving however he wanted.

His fingers curl in your hair a bit more insistently as he starts guiding your motions and you relax your jaw, letting him fuck into your mouth as he chases after his orgasm. You wish you could get to your cunt more easily around the skirts of this heavy ball gown because you’re practically aching with need. 

“That’s- fuck, so good, my love,” Astarion pants out. 

His hips quicken and you know he’s close so you move one of your hands to cup his balls and you feel them tightening beneath your fingers. 

“Fuck, I’m going to-” Astarion gasps. “That okay?”

And it would make you smile, if your mouth wasn’t currently otherwise occupied. It was sweet, how even in the heat of the moment, Astarion still found the time to check in with you. Even now, after years of assuring him that was unnecessary. 

You pat on his leg thigh again, another okay, and it only takes a few more thrusts before his cock is twitching and he’s coming in your mouth. 

When you finish swallowing, Astarion is guiding you to stand again, pressing his mouth to yours in a messy kiss. Gods, are you ever grateful that Astarion is not shy. It certainly helped you over the initial awkwardness you felt at moments like this very quickly. 

Astarion groans into your mouth as he tastes himself. The metallic tang of the woman’s blood still remains faintly on his own lips. You find yourself fighting against Astarion as you both try desperately to chase after the taste in the other’s mouth. 

Between your messy kisses, Astarion ungracefully works to bunch the gorgeous fabric of your dress up to your hips, shifting again to push you against the wall. 

“Hold,” Astarion instructs you, passing your bunched up skirts off to you. You collect them in your arms and hold them up around your waist. His lips slide slowly and deliciously against yours before he murmurs, “I can smell you. I can practically taste in the air how wet you are. And we don’t want you making a mess out of your pretty dress, now do we? I imagine someone worked very hard on that.”

Astarion’s leg presses against you and for a moment, you wonder if that was his hidden plan for the night all along- if he was going to make you rut against his leg in the dark closet, guiding you to ecstasy with just the sound of his voice. You start rolling your hips again and the relief you feel at finally giving your cunt some attention nearly makes you sob.

“Now, now, pet,” Astarion tuts. “I know your cunt is just aching for me, but now is the time for patience. If you can wait just a little longer, I promise to reward you handsomely.”

And oh, how you adored being rewarded by Astarion. It usually involved at least a few orgasms that left your legs shaking and your mind spinning. Astarion accentuates his words by kicking your legs a bit wider apart with one of his own feet. His hand moves down between your body, fingers brushing against your cunt.

“Just like I expected, you’re practically dripping. You like sucking my cock that much, don’t you?”

Your eyes fall closed as you let yourself drown in the soft strokes of Astarion’s fingers along your folds. It feels like you might very well burn alive.

Astarion’s other hand gently weaves through your hair. You’re sure the rubies that Shadowheart spent hours weaving into your hair have long since been scattered across the floor. You can’t bring yourself to even begin to care. 

“Answer me when I speak to you, pet,” he commands in that wonderful low voice. 

It’s accompanied by a sharp tug on the roots of your hair that have you offering up your neck to Astarion. His mouth dips down to suck at your throat and you mewl in delight when he finds a particularly sensitive spot. 

“You know I love your cock,” you tell him. 

You’d add how much you love the rest of him, too, but that doesn’t seem to fit the mood right now. No, you’d save that for later tonight while you rode him, forbidding his hands from roaming your body. With his hands tightly gripping the sheets, you would shower him in praise and be those lovely, pathetic whimpers he made as he fought to keep his hands off you. 

Astarion hums, tilting your chin up to press another deep, slow kiss to your lips. “And you know I adore your mouth.”

His hand keeps moving in maddening, feather-light patterns along your cunt, occasionally moving up to brush against your clit before his fingers are darting away again. It seems Astarion has not finished having his fun with you tonight. 

He speaks against your lips, “You look so pretty on your knees for me. I’d keep you there forever, pet, but I think I’d grow tired of not being able to properly kiss you.”

And if anyone else said that line, you’d be rolling your eyes and grimacing about how corny it was. But this is Astarion and he commits and says it in the low, hungry voice that has your toes curling and heat pooling in your cunt.

His mouth is hovering just centimeters away from yours. You can feel each panting breath on your lips. You move forward to kiss him, but Astarion tugs on your hair again, keeping you just a hair's breadth away from what you want. 

Trying to outsmart Astarion, you use your free arm that is not holding your skirts to pull him down by his cravat and seal his lips against yours. He actually seems rather glad that you managed to work around his grip in your hair as he hums happily into the kiss. 

And either Astarion is extra observant tonight or you’re just being extra obvious about the way you chase after the taste of blood in his mouth.  

“She tasted divine,” Astarion says, his thumb making a slow circle around your clit before it’s gone again. “But I doubt you want to hear about that, do you, pet? No, I think you’d much rather hear about how she paled in comparison to you.”

He dips just the tip of one of his fingers inside you before pulling it out again almost immediately.

“She was nothing. They’re all nothing,” Astarion hisses. Gods, how did that even manage to sound attractive coming from him? “No one else has ever made me feel as good as you.”

For a moment, his pure, unadulterated love breaks through on his face and your chest burns with love- you know how devoted he is to you, you know how much he adores you. 

For a moment, it is just the two of you in a little bubble of love. And then Astarion finally, mercifully pushes a finger into you, working it in and out so agonizingly slow. You whimper and Astarion smiles wickedly down at you. 

“They all bow to us, you know?” Astarion asks, knowing you are in no state to answer. “They bow to me. To you.”

You pull his lips down to yours again and slip your tongue in his mouth. He knows exactly what he’s doing- he knows this line of speaking always works you into a state of frenzy. And you know that arrogant side of him enjoys the sound of his voice just as much as you do. 

It had been so easy, too, to work the nobles onto your side, to start poisoning their minds with your and Astarion’s ideas. A few carefully placed smiles, a few favors promised and repaid, a few veiled threats. The two of you worked together so easily- Astarion charmed and you schemed. 

Astarion chuckles, slipping another finger into you and curling them in a way that makes you unsteady on your feet. He seems perfectly content to keep his other hand threaded in your hair, delivering your mouth to his whenever he wants a kiss. 

“Oh, you liked that, didn’t you, pet? You like thinking about them on their knees for you, just like you were for me a few moments ago.” The heel of his palm brushes against your clit. “Do you want to hear more? Do you want to hear about how even the sun herself bows her head in deference to your light and beauty? About how even I bow down to you, surrendering myself to you in worship?”

“Show me, then,” you pant out, pulling on the back of his neck to press his forehead against yours. “Show me how you intend to worship me.”

That has Astarion cursing under his breath and reaching down to give his cock a few pumps before he’s pushing into you, already hard again. 

The fullness and the stretch of him finally inside you soothes the ache that had been plaguing you all night. And when he moves, you can’t help the barrage of moans and gasps that fall from your lips.

“Quiet, little flower. We don’t want everyone to hear, do we?” Astarion asks, bringing his fingers up to your mouth. They’re still wet with your arousal and you follow his silent cue, sucking them into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he purrs and it sends a spark straight to your cunt. You feel yourself tighten around his cock and Astarion groans in response, his hips thrusting into you with even more desperation. 

The thought of who’s the one being loud now? passes through your mind as Astarion groans and tells you how good you feel. And then, because deep down, you’re a little bit vindictive, you let one of your fangs scratch along the skin of Astarion’s fingers in your mouth. You greedily lick up the blood, enjoying the way it mixes with the taste of your wetness on your tongue. 

What was it that Astarion always called the combination of your blood and your cunt? The nectar of the gods? He might be onto something there. 

Astarion’s eyes lock in on you with a single-minded focus before he’s wrenching his fingers from your mouth, capturing your lips with his own. He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and bites down, lapping up the blood until your wound closes.

“I love you,” you whisper when he pulls away.

His cock pulses inside you and his hips stutter a bit before he can recover his rhythm. You would never get tired of that- of reminding Astarion of how deeply you loved him and watching how he never failed to viscerally react to those words. 

“Love you, too,” Astarion says, pressing a peck to your cheek. You can feel him smiling against your skin. It’s a total contradiction to the obscene way his cock drives into you.

You grab Astarion’s hand from where it had been gently cupping your face and drag it down between your bodies. 

“Need your hands.”

“I know just what you need,” he assures as his magical fingers begin circling your clit. 

There’s that lovely heat building low in your stomach, rising into a great inferno that surrounds you. And with Astarion’s whispered promises of how he loves you, how good you feel, how you shine brighter than the sun, you come. 

Astarion fucks you through your orgasm before his fingers fall away from your sensitive clit and his hips continue to drive into you as he chases after his own high.

“Come for me,” you tell him, half a command and half a begged request. “Want to feel you inside me.”

Astarion’s forehead rests against yours as he comes.

He keeps you pressed to the wall with the full weight of his body for a few moments longer as the two of you fight to steady your breathing. 

Frankly, it’s a miracle that you managed to hold up your dress the whole time. You had been so worried about damaging the lovely needlework that Astarion had spent so long embroidering that you had kept the fabric clenched to your stomach in an iron-vice the whole time. 

Astarion ensures you are steady on your feet before he shuffles around the closet in search of a rag to wipe between your legs. He finds one and helps you to clean up before throwing it in a bucket with the other dirty rags. You finally release your skirts and flex the muscles in your aching arm as you lean back against the wall, grabbing Astarion’s wrist to pull him back toward you. 

“I love you.”

“I’ll never get tired of hearing you say that,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he pulls you into a hug. “I love you, too, now and forever.”

“‘Til death do us part,” you tease, because the idea of death to a vampire seems nothing more than a joke. 

Astarion laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “And even after then.”

----------------------

Notes:

Me? Ending a fic on the title? It's almost like I planned that from the beginning... This chapter could alternatively be called 'I let Astarion have a delusions of grandeur as a treat for working on himself.' He's still the Astarion we know and love and of course he's still a little bit evil, but now he's got a wife to help him channel all that energy in healthier ways!

Wow, I can't believe this story is over and this is my final note. I'm getting a bit teary eyed as I write this. Know that I will never be able to fully express my appreciation to everyone who has read/liked/commented on this story. This whole experience has been so much more fun that I ever could have imagined and I have all of you to thank for that!!!

As always, hugest thank you to my beta-writer (and real life friend) AliensNSuch on ao3. She has put up with my insane text rants about obscure details and she has logged many, many hours editing this thing and hyping me up over the parts I hate. I owe her a lifetime of boba for her service!

I've also got some plans for a new fic that I'm gonna start. I'll have a follow up post on my blog talking about my plans if anyone is interested in that. I'm not quite done with Astarion yet!

Thanks again. I love you all!

Taglist: @ayselluna@idkbrodontaskme@maruichio@fanfic-share@the-littlest-bruja@asterordinary@divineknightmare@fandomarchiveilyd

[thedevilrisen]

Offensive In Our Own Ways.

jack hughes x fem!reader: Jack meets a girl in a bar whose got so pretty good comebacks.

word count: 0.5k

a/n: This is my first ever piece, I hope I did well! Constructive criticism is very welcome :D.

 CREEK. The sound of my bedroom door opening, followed by the light from the hallway spilling in was what pulled me away from the assignment I was so frantically editing for next week.

“Y/N-”

“no.”

“but-”

“I said no Tahlia.” 

“Just listen.” I sighed in defeat, I wasn’t going to be left alone long enough to finish this assignment if she didn’t get whatever spiel she had in store for me tonight off her chest early. 

“Go on then” I said, shutting my laptop.

“Okay, get ready, we are going to a new bar that opened tonight in 20 minutes.” she finished with a cheshire cat grin.

“Tahlia-”

“no.”

“but-”

“Get ready Y/N.” 

“You’re a pain in my ass, and please do remember that I know where you sleep.” she sheepishly grinned and nodded enthusiastically at me acknowledging my second remark. I groaned as my sore and cramped muscles cracked, popped and stretched back to their natural positions as I dragged my tired body over to my closet. “What to wear, what to wear.” I mumbled under my breath. Flicking through different options. Dress, not feeling it, plus it’s way to fucking cold for this. Skirt and corset top, fuck that. Down to the last dregs of my closet I found a pair of black straight jeans and a magenta elbow length blouse, perfect, that a pair of black combat boots, a few rings, necklace, nose ring and all of my pieces of jewelry for the various piercings in my ears and we are good to go. Pulling my waist length brunette hair out of its disheveled plait, I brushed it till it was presentable. Satisfied, I trudged over to my bedside table and grabbed my phone and anxiety remedy pastels and turned around to walk out of my room and down the stairs to be greeted by my three friends.

“There she is!” Tahlia exclaimed.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s go, I now have a dire need for alcohol.” If I'm supposed to deal with you lot of fuckwits for an extended period of time. Drunk Tahlia is enough to deal with by herself, now I’ve got two more on my radar. Great.

As we wandered down the driveway to the Uber all three girls were looking into a makeup-smudged handheld mirror one of them had in their purse and were stating how hot they looked and how they were definitely getting laid tonight. This continued all throughout the Uber ride to the club and right through the front door. 

“I’m going to get a drink. Stay out of trouble, and please for the love of god text me if you are leaving the club with someone else, plus make sure your location remains on so if need be, I can come find you.” There was no room for negotiation in my tone so the three girls nodded and promised to do so. With a tight lipped smile directed to them I took off in search of the bar, Tahlia hot on my heels.

Jack POV

“... Well done tonight boys, ‘m very proud of you and your efforts, couldn’t have done it without you.” Nico commended as he finished his ‘mandatory post game captains speech’. All the boys cheered and most took a swig of their drinks in response, I downed the last contents of my beer and looked down the bar to find the bartender to get another. I waved him down and ordered another beer,

“That's all for you mate?” he asked in a monotone voice. Someone could do with a drink themselves.

“Yep.” I responded in an equally dry tone, if the jackass wasn’t going to make an attempt to be sociable then nor was I. He rolled his eyes and walked off to hopefully get my drink. 

“Jack, come dance with us!” Dawson bellowed in my ear while he tugged half-heartedly on the back of my shirt sleeve.

“Don’t feel like it tonight. Get Nico, I’m sure he’d love to embarrass himself with you.” I recommended in a humorous tone. 

“Fine, your dancing next time then.” he countered

“I’ll look forward to it.” I responded albeit half-heartedly. The joyous bartender wandered back over with my beer in hand and placed it roughly on the bench in front of me with a barely grunt of acknowledgement before his eyes shot up behind me and plastered a sleazy smirk on his face. 

“Hey ladies, can I get anything for you?”

“I’ll have a martini and she’ll have..” silence followed and then some mumbling,”straight vodka.” 

“Alright girls, I’ll have them sorted out for you in a minute, just wait here.” he said through a smirk, “and don’t worry about paying, this one’s on me.”

“ Oh, you don’t have to do that!” One of the girls exclaimed. 

“Anything for a couple good lookin’ girls like yourselves.” he flirted back, a semi-enthusiastic smile on his face.

“Hear that Y/N he also thinks I’m hot!” One girl mumbled to the other, Y/N, pretty name I thought as I brought my beer to lips for a sip.

“Stop calling yourself hot Tahlia, the only thing you can turn on is the microwave.” the girl, Y/N bit back at the other girl. I suddenly regretted taking a sip of my beer as it was involuntarily snorted up my nose in response to this girl's pure bluntness toward her friend. Coughing and spluttering I wheezed out a sorry and looked down at the bar, intent on minding my own business. 

The bartender showed up at the perfect time handing both of the girls their drinks and while winking and handing over a napkin with a pen on top of it. “You’re both clearly interested, so I was wondering if I could grab your numbers?” The twat asked, flashing his best wink, talk about poor customer service.

“I’m sorry I’m going to have to decline.” Y/N replied politely.

“C’mon sweetheart you know that you can’t say no to someone like me.” he crooned.

“Y’know, you’re talking a lot of shit for someone with two perfectly good eyeballs, each would sell for around 16,000 dollars on the black market.” she replied in a matter of fact tone. The bartender's face went from cool, calm and collected, to absolutely petrified and scurrying away in about .5 seconds. 

“Y/N!, why would you say that! He was cute, and you’ve just ruined all my chances!” Tahlia huffed and stormed off. I heard a sigh and saw someone sitting down on the barstool next to me in my peripherals, I looked over and the girl sent me a small smile that I returned.

“Just so you know, if that were my friend I would’ve done the same. Not as.. Offensively,” I cringed at how I sounded. “But something along the same lines, though, I do have to admit, you being as blunt as you were was slightly humorous.” She smiled at that, her cheeks flushed red and the corners of her eyes wrinkled, cutie. 

“Thanks, I’m Y/N by the way and I think I’ve just royally pissed off my roommate.” We both laughed at that statement,

“I’m Jack, and I think you could be correct, she should forgive you though.” I responded hoping that could ease some of her concern.

“Fingers crossed Jack, fingers crossed.” She looked around, surveying the area, “What do you do for work?” She asked, turning back to me.

“I play hockey professionally, for the New Jersey Devils.” Her face lit up.

“Your Jack Hughes?” She asked excitedly.

“Yeah,” I responded, “What do you do for work?”

“Oh, I’m still a student.” She said with a smile.

“Cool what do you-”

“Y/N!”

“Oh God,” She mumbled. “Yes?” Two very drunk girls and her roommate from earlier approached us. Y/N’s eyes flick over both of the girls as she nods to herself, standing out of her seat to help hold up one of the girls, “I think it’s time to go home.” She announced. I couldn’t help feeling sad, I wanted to get to know this girl. 

“Hey Y/N, could I maybe get your number? We could get coffee sometime? Only if you want to though!” I rushed out not wanting to miss my chance.

“Sure Jack, one sec.” She responded, lowering her friend onto the stool she was previously sitting on. Grabbing the napkin and pen the bartender so conveniently left for us, she scribbled down some numbers followed by call me :D and slid it across the bench top to me. 

“Thanks, I’ll text you.” 

“I’ll look forward to it.” She smiled while picking her babbling friend off of the stool and turning around to help them drunkenly waddle out of the bar. I’ll look forward to it too. I smiled to myself, having something to be excited about besides hockey.

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Eleven

Summary:

You and Astarion have a little check-in about your preferences.

Pairing: Astarion/f!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 6.1k Tags/Warnings: mentions of many, many different kinks, slightly less than ideal kink negotiation, choking, blood drinking, fingering, rough sex, honestly all the standard stuff at this point

I swear I'm not doing this intentionally, but I'm finally posting chapter 11 when the draft for chapter 12 is up on my Kofi. Eventually I'll get my shit back on schedule.

As always, the professor screenshot is from @zipzoomzaria.

Read it on AO3 ~ Masterlist

The sky outside your living room window is streaked with orange and purple from the nearly set sun. Lying on your couch with your feet propped up on the coffee table, you open an incognito tab on your phone. No sense in ruining your algorithm. You search ‘BDSM checklist’ and click on the first result, an extensive PDF that looks relatively promising. You’re trying to not be judgmental, but as you scroll through the list you’re plagued with thoughts ranging from “Wait, that’s a kink? Isn’t that just standard?” to “People are actually into that?” to “Oh. Oh.”

Your eyes scan down the list. There are just so many options that you hadn’t considered. 

Bondage – light: yes. Bondage – heavy: maybe? Bondage – all day/multi day: definitely not. Collars – worn in private: absolutely. Collars – worn in public: …maybe?

You picture yourself walking around with Astarion in public with a collar on. Maybe not something so explicit as a dog collar, but like a little choker? Just for you and him? The thought sends a small thrill up your spine. You keep scrolling.

Fetishes: boot worship, cock worship, corsets… sure. Cross dressing? The image of Astarion wearing lacy lingerie and giving you a come hither stare over his glasses brings a light flush to your cheeks.

You open up your text messages and stare at your sparse conversation with him. The picture of His Majesty chewing on The 48 Laws of Power is still prominent, making you smile. Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, but you have no idea what to say. Come over so we can compare kinks? I want to tell you in explicit detail all of the depraved things I want you to do to me? You drop your head back on the couch and stare at your ceiling for a few minutes while you try to sort through your thoughts. Better to be simple and direct, right? After a heavy sigh, you type:

-Do you have plans tonight? Do you want to come over?

You pause before hitting send, suddenly unsure. Why is this the thing giving you anxiety? It’s still hard to be so forthright with him while every instinct screams at you to play it cool. With another huff you clench your jaw and hit send.

You put your phone face down on the couch next to you so you’re not tempted to stare at it. You start to feel antsy without anything for your hands to do and your eyes trace the dents in your worn down popsocket. The seconds stretch on for what feels like hours, and you’re convinced that you’ve said the wrong thing. That he’s changed his mind and decided that you’re not worth the effort after all.

Finally you hear the soft hum of your phone buzz, and you frantically flip it over to read his answer.

-I’d love to. Shall I bring anything? A leash, perhaps?

You giggle and squeal and press your thighs together all at once. You settle back on the couch and tuck your feet beneath you, smiling like a schoolgirl with a crush. An apt comparison, honestly.

-Not yet, but maybe one of those fancy expensive wines.

Your heart thrums as your eyes dart around your apartment, making sure it isn’t too messy. You generally keep it fairly tidy, although compared to Astarion’s place yours is downright spotless. The briefest image flashes through your mind of the two of you living together before you internally scold yourself. Absolutely not, it’s way too soon for those thoughts.

Your phone buzzes again, and you look over at it, surprised.

-You’re still my favorite vintage, darling. 🤍🩸

If someone had been around to hear the noise you just made, you would’ve vehemently denied it.

***

You nearly jump out of your skin when you finally hear the knock on the door. You quickly check your hair in the mirror before opening it, and there he is, looking as dashing as ever in a lavender button down and forest green trousers. His collar is undone just enough to get a peek of the delicate silver chains resting on his collarbone, and his sleeves are rolled up, showing off his sinewy forearms. You take the bottle from his hand, your fingers lingering on his wrist momentarily, and gesture for him to come inside. You put the wine down on the counter and turn back to him as he slips his hands around your waist, his cool hands resting on the skin of your lower back below your crop top. You stand on your toes and loop your arms around his neck, gently pressing your lips to his. 

“Hi,” you murmur with a shy smile.

“Hi,” he repeats, resting his forehead against yours. You pull away reluctantly and open the cabinets to take out glasses for wine. Astarion glances down at your socked feet and then over to your shoe rack by the door.

“Oh, erm… would you like me to remove my shoes?” he asks, uncertainty apparent in his voice.

“Oh!” You didn’t consider that he probably hasn’t spent much time in other people’s spaces, and you don’t want to push him outside his comfort zone. “Well, uh… you don’t have to, I guess.” He studies your expression and frowns.

“I feel as though you’d like me to,” he says carefully, and then before you can respond, he walks over to the shoe rack and slips off his shoes, placing them neatly on top of the rack.

“Thanks,” you mumble, and he crosses back to you and kisses your temple. You linger in his scent for a moment longer before turning toward your tablet resting on your kitchen island. You unlock the screen and pull up the checklist you had been perusing earlier, then slide it over to him to look at.

“So in the spirit of, you know, being on the same page about things,” you tell him as you pull out your kitschy pirate-shaped corkscrew, “I wanted to look at a list of like, things to try, and I dunno, talk about it.” You don’t know why you’re so nervous about this. You certainly don’t have much experience with being so explicit about your desires, preferring instead to rely on nonverbal communication with partners. Which, in retrospect, might explain more than a few disappointing experiences.

Astarion brushes your hair back from your neck and lightly runs his nose along your ear, eliciting a shiver. “You wouldn’t just rather have a repeat of the evening at the bowling alley?” You lean your head back into him for a moment, savoring his touch, before steeling yourself and pulling away.

“No, we should actually talk about it,” you sigh heavily, barely able to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

“Having a conversation, how novel,” he says with that high-pitched giggle you find so very charming. You pour generous servings of wine and take a long sip before settling yourself onto a barstool. 

“So they split it into different categories, and then there are a lot of subcategories,” you explain, trying to be chill about it and only mostly succeeding.

“People can get very specific about their wants, it’s true,” he agrees sagely, and you’re suddenly reminded of his centuries of experience over you. You try not to let that make you feel even more insecure than you already do.

“Right. So um… blindfolds, light bondage, chains.” You make little check marks next to the ones you’re interested in with your tablet pen.

“Collars, I believe you articulated something along those lines,” he smiles at you salaciously, and you take a deep sip of your wine to hide your embarrassment. He places his hand on your lower back reassuringly, and you muster the resolve to continue scanning down the list.

“Various cuffs sound good to me, although I’m not sure if I know what ‘handcuff style’ means,” you say, putting the pen to your lips in thought. 

“May I?” he asks, holding out his hands to indicate that he’s asking for permission to demonstrate it on you. You nod and slip off the barstool, and in an instant he has you spun around and your wrists pinned together behind your back. He’s gentle enough, but uses just the right amount of force to make you gasp. “Do you like that?” His voice is low in your ear and your heart threatens to leap out of your chest.

“I, uh… think you can surmise the answer to that,” you tease a little breathlessly, and the puff of air from his chuckle tickles your neck.

“Perhaps, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that I want to hear you say it.” He punctuates the sentence by tightening the grip on your hands ever so slightly.

“Then yes, I do.” The words come out a little strained but he deems your answer satisfactory. He releases your wrists and you turn back to him to see him with an incredibly smug grin. You playfully shove his face and return to the list, and he leans over your shoulder to read along with you.

“Thoughts on gags?” he asks, and you think it over for a moment. 

“I think probably not, although maybe tape, just none of these other ones. I don’t want to get all drool-y.” You throw him a mischievous glance over your shoulder. “Although on you, I might reconsider.” You stick your knuckle in his mouth and he closes his lips around your finger, sucking on it while keeping his eyes trained on you. He pulls your finger out with a lewd pop and pulls your wrist into his lips, grazing his fangs along your pulse point. 

“You’d be hurting yourself more than helping, darling,” he murmurs into your skin, and you bite your lip in an attempt to control your breathing. He uses your momentary distraction to snatch the pen out of your hand. “And I’ll go ahead and put a tick next to ‘leashes’ right here.”

“I thought you wanted to hear me say it,” you needle him back, pressing up against him unnecessarily to retrieve the pen.

“Oh I most certainly would,” he purrs, and you feel a heat creep up the back of your neck. You continue scanning down the list, adding checkmarks to some of the things you’ve already done. You reach ‘blood play’ and add a check. Astarion leans down and gives your neck a quick little nip, not enough to break the skin, but enough to make you yelp. 

“Fetishes,” you read, tapping the pen to your lips. “You know, I’m definitely into some of these things, corsets, high heels – I might even still have some of the costume pieces from when I was in Venus in Fur that they let me keep.”

Astarion’s eyebrows disappear into his hairline. “Venus in Furs, as in, the Sacher-Masoch book?”

“Based on it, yeah. Venus in Fur, singular, by David Ives.”

“I certainly wouldn’t mind seeing some production photos from that,” he teases, running his fingers along the waistband of your skirt.

“Well maybe I should just model the costume for you in person,” you murmur, turning into his chest and tilting your chin upward. He follows your lead, capturing your lips into a heated kiss. Your head grows foggy with lust and you finally push him away. “Focus,” you scold yourself as much as him.

“I am extremely focused right now,” he hums, looking down at you through heavy-lidded eyes. 

“Hmm, prove it,” you retort, and tap the pen on your tablet screen. “What are your thoughts, um. On crossdressing.” You’re a little embarrassed to ask, but you continue to barrel through your shame. Jaheira would be proud.

“Would you like that?” His voice remains just as lust-filled and you flush a deep red. “Seeing me in a cute little skirt and thigh high stockings?”

The image in your mind is vivid: Astarion straddling your lap, a miniskirt flaring out from his hips and his cock pressing against you through thin satin panties. You nearly start hyperventilating.

“Uh-huh,” you breathe heavily.

“Duly noted,” he says with a giggle. You blink to focus your eyes back to reality and return to the list.

“Humiliation?” you ask, and he shrugs. “Yeah, me neither. Impact and rough play. Uh…” you scan through the list, putting down a few checks – face slapping, riding crops, spanking. “Oh. Um. Non-monogamy.” You turn to him to gauge his expression. He returns your gaze equally carefully.

“Is that something that interests you?” he asks, his voice neutral. 

“Probably not dating… um… but I could consider a threesome, like, with the right person. Unless you’re not into that,” you add quickly, and his lips curl into a smile.

“We can cross that bridge if we come to it,” he replies and plants a kiss in your hair. 

“Okay, I like that,” you hum appreciatively. You move onto the next category. “Role play. None of these are of particular interest to me, probably… ugh, schoolroom scenes, I can’t.” You shudder and he lets out a cackle.

“Not interested in a professor/student roleplay?” he asks with a roguish smile. “No looking for extra credit to get your grade up?”

You have another visceral reaction. “Too close to home, no thank you. Although…”

“Reconsidering?” he narrows his eyes playfully.

“No! I was just looking… Well, two jump out at me. Uh…” you struggle against your internalized shame and let out a growl of frustration. He takes your face in his hands and forces you to look at him. His cool touch is a soothing balm against the fiery heat in your cheeks.

“Darling, you can tell me. Trust me, I’m sure it isn’t anything I haven’t already heard.” His voice is gentle, but there’s almost a sadness behind it that you can’t place. You take a deep breath and hold onto his hand, keeping it pressed against your cheek.

“Okay. The first one is fear play. Like… I like when you get a little animalistic. Almost a predator/prey kind of thing.” You avoid his gaze despite his insistence, but you power through. “The other one is switching roles. I may have… fantasized… about you being a bit of a needy sub.” You almost swallow your last few words before looking up to his gaze again. His red eyes are completely inscrutable. 

“Well, I’m more than happy to hunt you down, love,” he leers at you and your breath catches. Then his expression falters, shifting into something more contemplative. “As for the second…” Your whole body tenses in anticipation of the ‘but.’ “I’d have to think about it. I don’t relish the idea of giving up that much control.”

“Ohmygodsnoit’stotallyfinewedon’thavetotalkaboutiteveragain.” The words pour out of your mouth in a barely coherent jumble. He laughs and pulls your face into his, giving you a tender kiss.

“I said I’d think about it, darling, not that it’s an outright no.” He searches your eyes for any indication of understanding, and you nod. He looks back at the next category on the list. “Sensation play, non-impact,” he reads, and he laughs when his eyes fall on ‘biting/being bitten.’

“Yeah, I guess that one’s pretty obvious,” you say sheepishly, putting a check next to it. He looms over your shoulder and you feel the electricity crackling between the two of you.

“Now, I’d like to ask for a point of clarification,” he considers while pointing at ‘breath control (choking)’ and ‘breath control (mild restriction.)’

“Uh-huh?” you ask, barely trusting yourself to articulate words. He maintains eye contact with you as he brings his hand to your throat hesitantly, a silent question. You give him a shallow but prolonged nod, your breath quickening with excitement. He closes his hand slowly, testing the pressure. Your mouth falls open with a silent moan.

“Mild?” he asks, his voice husky. Your fingers curl and flex on the counter, dropping the tablet pen.

“Yeah,” you squeak out, your blood pounding in your ears. His eyes glint with a devilish fire and a smile slowly creeps onto his lips. 

“Good,” he hums, low and dangerous. He studies your face for a moment longer, turning your chin left and right, almost like he’s examining you. Your body trembles, waiting for his next move. He suddenly pulls you up onto your toes, your face close to his, his nails digging into your flesh. You whine, high and loud and undeniably aroused. 

He continues with his interrogation. “And how is this? Yes or no, pet.” Under any other circumstances, his voice might be considered gentle. 

“Y-yes,” you stammer, your voice cracking. 

“Yes, what?” he spits through gritted teeth, tightening his hand and tearing another wanton moan from your lips.

“Y-yes daddy,” the word tumbles out of you before you can even think to stop it. 

Evidently it was the correct answer because his features split with a feral grin as he snarls, “That’s my good girl,” before crushing your lips into his. You grasp weakly at his hips as he devours you, and you’re more than happy to let him. He slides his hands under your ass and plunks you down on the island. He grabs the hem of your shirt and yanks it over your head, pulling your hips in closer to his waist as he continues to ravage your lips.

He snakes his hand into your hair and pulls your head back, exposing your neck to his destruction. “Little love, tell me what you desire,” he growls into your ear, and you clutch your arms around his shoulders.

“You,” you manage to gasp out, “I- ah- I want you. To have your way with me. Destroy me, consume me, take your fill. I want you, Astarion.” You tense up, waiting for his bite, but instead he leaves a trail of sloppy kisses and nips down your chest. He closes his lips around your nipple under your bra, sucking on it through the lace. You run your fingers through his curls and drop your head back with a moan. 

Before you can adjust to the feeling of his tongue on your nipple, his lips continue their journey down your stomach and to the waistband of your skirt. He hikes it up to your hips, hooking his fingers into the band of your panties and pulls them down past your knees, discarding them onto the kitchen floor. He hovers his mouth over your slick cunt and shifts his gaze up to you. You can feel his cool breath and you whimper and squirm, aching for any part of him. 

“Your hand, love,” he purrs as he reaches out for your wrist, pulling your fingers to your swollen clit. You groan as you make contact, instinctively rubbing little circles to give yourself the relief you crave. He slides his nimble fingers into your cunt and you jerk your hips into him, clenching around him and breathing heavily. He slowly pumps his fingers as you massage your clit, never taking his eyes off you. It’s almost too intense and you want to look away, but you’re transfixed. His lips drift to your inner thigh, his fangs ghosting over your skin.

“Please,” you mewl, and the breath from his laugh tickles your thigh. He straightens up and puts his lips to your ear, his fingers never straying from their tortuous pace. 

“You’re going to listen closely to what I’m about to say and you will follow my instructions, understood?” You whimper out a noise of assent, trying to match your fingers to his. “I’m going to bite you, and you’re going to continue touching yourself while I drink. And you’re not going to be stingy with those needy little moans of yours, my sweet, I want to hear and taste you come.”

“Yes sir,” you squeal, and your breath quickly turns into a groan when he sinks his teeth into you. Your fingers slow at the overwhelm of sensation, but when his own fingers speed up as he takes in long greedy pulls of your blood, your need becomes almost unbearable. You clutch at the back of his head with one hand as the other services your clit, and you pant in his ear as he drinks. “Fuck, Astarion, gods, yes,” you gasp the explitives into his hair. Your hips buck into your hand as you bring yourself closer, aided by his fingers dragging against your walls and his tongue lapping at your neck. You quickly grow dizzy with lust and blood loss, your vision clouding you ramp up to the edge. Your fingers tangle into his curls as your whimpers and whines grow high and needy. When you feel the vibration of his own groan against your skin, your orgasm crashes down on you, your cunt and neck both throbbing with pleasure. He rides it out with you, lazily licking your wounds closed.

He pulls away from you and the sight of his lips red with your blood sends another surge through you, and you grab his face and kiss him roughly. He wraps his arms around your waist, the fingers on his left hand still sticky with your cum. You claw at the buttons of his shirt, desperate to feel his cool, smooth chest. Once you’ve rid him of the offending clothing, you break the kiss to catch your breath, sliding your hands over his shoulders and down his arms. He growls with a low appreciation.

“My darling, you taste delectable,” he hums and swipes his thumb across your lips, collecting a drop of your blood and sucking it off lasciviously. You pant and look at him through blurry eyes, your legs still shaking. He pulls you off the counter and your knees buckle as you land, barely able to hold up your weight. “On your knees, my treasure.”

You happily drop to the floor, never taking your eyes off his. He towers over you with a sinister smile and you slide your hands around the back of his thighs, just trying to brace yourself. Your mouth hangs open, hungry for him but waiting for instructions. He cards his hand through your hair, letting it run around your ear and down under your chin.

“So eager for me,” he says in a low voice, and he slips his thumb into your mouth. You suck on it fervently, keeping your carnal gaze on him, aching to please. His eyes flutter closed briefly and he lets out a long breath. You keen into his thumb, a nonverbal plea for his cock. He yanks his digit back from your mouth and closes his hand around your throat once more, bending over for a heated kiss. When he finally releases you, you’re panting again, the whimpers practically uncontrollable.

He begins to unbuckle his pants and you pull up on your knees, begging like a needy pup. “Little love, is this what you want? My cock shoved down your throat?” He pulls out his erection, engorged and flushed pink with your blood, as you nod with a whine. “Good. Open,” he commands and you dutifully obey, taking him as far into your mouth as you can. You swallow down your gag reflex, keeping your eyes trained on him as his head falls back with a moan. You bob your head on his cock, your nails digging into the back of his thighs. He tangles his hand into your hair and you hold still as he thrusts into your mouth. 

“Fuck, Tav,” he hisses and you moan around his cock, spurred on by that jolt of electricity you only get from hearing him say your name. He yanks your hair to pull you off his cock, and he looks at you with wild eyes for a moment before pushing you down onto your back. The kitchen tile is hard and cool against your skin, and you’re all too aware of every knot and point of tension along your back. But your legs fall open for him anyway as he pulls his pants down to his knees and positions himself at your entrance. He teases your slit with the tip of his cock, gathering your wetness and spreading it down onto the shaft with his hand. 

“Please,” you croak, your hips canting upwards towards him. He lets out a shuddering breath that’s almost a laugh. 

“Use your words, love.” His voice is thick with lust, which just sets you off more.

“Please,” you beg with even more desperation, “please fuck me and choke me, Astarion. Please.” You’re almost crying with need at this point, and the noise you make when he finally buries himself into you up to the hilt is utterly obscene. He grabs your throat and digs his fingers into the side of your larynx, just barely restricting your air supply. He pounds into you with long, powerful strokes, and you claw at the kitchen floor to keep yourself from sliding backwards. You let out a strained cry with each thrust, pleasure and sensation overwhelming your body.

“Look at me,” he snarls with a slight squeeze on your throat, and you snap your gaze to him. He looks borderline bestial, his eyes wild with bloodlust, his hair falling over his glasses. His expression alone would have been enough to get another orgasm out of you, but the look paired with the feeling of his controlling and possessive hand around your throat sends you careening off the edge with a cry. A few more broken thrusts of his hips and he’s following, his cock throbbing as he spills into you. He falls forward onto your stomach limply, breathing heavily as you push the curls back off his sweaty forehead.

You reach across your alleyway kitchen and grab a dish towel hanging off your oven door. Astarion slides out of you and you gently wipe your combined spend off his cock. When you look up you catch him staring at you adoringly. 

“What?” you shy away as he pulls his pants back up, and he chuckles.

“Nothing. You’re just beautiful like that, is all.” He takes the towel from your hand and returns the favor, wiping down your inner thigh before crawling toward you and planting a featherlight kiss on your lips. A thousand different thoughts run through your head before you resolutely decide to continue the conversation from earlier. You strain your neck up at the kitchen island above you and frown.

“My tablet is so far away,” you pout, reaching upward pathetically. He rolls his eyes and stands to retrieve your tablet and your wine glass, handing them to you as you lean your back against the island cabinets. “My hero,” you croon as he sits down beside you, taking his own glass with him. He takes a long sip while watching you out of the corner of the eye and you pull the list back up.

“Now where were we?” You scoot over towards him and loop your arm through his, resting your cheek on his shoulder.

“I believe we got side tracked right around ‘breath control,’” he says as he takes the pen off the side of the tablet and puts checks next to the relevant entries. You shove him with your body and continue your journey down the list. You consider a few more – temperature play, sensory deprivation, teasing… 

“Ooh, this one is specific to elves!” you squeal with delight when your eyes land on ‘ear play - elves.’ You quickly nip at his earlobe and he makes a shuddering moan, a somewhat disproportionate response for how relatively tame your action is.

“Ah- yes, I thought you had figured that one out,” he quavers with a laugh, and you suddenly redden.

“Oh. Ohh.” It suddenly dawns on you that the differences between elf and human anatomy are more than just visual. “Is that something you like? That you’re okay with?”

He laughs. “Yes, very much so, just be cautious with it if you don’t want things to come to a sudden, messy end.”

You nod and then add mischievously, “Good to know.” You turn your eyes back to the list. “What the fuck are vampire gloves?” You google the phrase while Astarion scoffs.

“There’s nothing more desirable in the world than a vampire, is there?” he spits, venom apparent in his voice. You look up from your phone, which is displaying pictures of leather gloves with spiked palms.

“What do you mean?” you ask, a little nervous. His vampiric nature has become an integral part of your relationship, but it’s never come up so explicitly.

“It’s nothing,” he exhales heavily. “I’ve just had more than my fair share of lovers who were more interested in my fangs than in me.”

You freeze beside him as he continues to scroll through the list with his finger. You’d like him regardless of whether he’s a vampire or not – in fact, you didn’t even know when you first discovered your attraction to him. But you certainly don’t feel neutral about it, and now you’re worried that you’ve fetishized him.

“Love?” He turns to you, since he must have heard your heart stop. You chew on your lip uncomfortably.

“I’m sorry if I, like, made it weird,” you mutter, your cheeks red hot.

“What? Darling, no,” he hushes you reassuringly. “It’s different when it’s you.”

You wrinkle your nose with incredulity. “I don’t know, it doesn’t feel like it is.”

“My sweet, you have a stunning pair of tits,” he begins, and the non sequitur makes you bark out a laugh. “What I’m saying is that it’s something that I like about you, but it’s not the only thing I like about you. And I’m sure you’ve met your fair share of people who only saw you as a walking rack.” You smile, but you’re still not fully convinced. Your eyes linger on the right side of his neck, hidden from view but you can see the bite mark with perfect clarity in your mind’s eye. He brushes a lock of your hair behind your ear.

“Darling, I haven’t exactly been subtle about how I feel about your blood,” he says in a smoky voice, and a shiver runs up your spine, “even moreso when you’re aroused. I wouldn’t change that, not for all the moonstones in Evereska.”

You pout for a moment longer while he gazes at you earnestly. “And you promise to tell me if I get weird about it?”

He chuckles and presses a kiss to your hairline. “Yes, I promise to tell you if you get weird about it.” Your words sound odd in his posh accent, but it gets a smile out of you nonetheless. “Now, I believe the next category is ‘Service and Restricted-slash-Controlled Behavior.’ Well, that’s certainly a mouthful.”

“Funny, you were a mouthful not that long ago,” you say with a licentious grin. 

“Hmm, points for clever wordplay, but reduced marks for low hanging fruit. B+.” He glances at you over his glasses and you gawk at him.

“Excuse me, did you just grade my dirty joke?”

“I hold myself to a higher standard, and I expect the same of you,” he says haughtily and you roll your eyes.

“I think it was at least an A-,” you mutter and he laughs.

“Of course you would, professor,” he smirks at you.

“Are you calling me an easy grader?” you gasp, your affront over the top and theatrical. 

“No, just easy,” he hums, leaning in for a kiss, to which you respond by biting his lip. You snatch the pen out his hand and look back at the list. One in particular jumps out at you.

“Oh, the dress that you got me, you know, the night you did the meanest thing anyone has ever done to me?” you say, and you can feel him tense up beside you. 

“Have I mentioned how sorry I am for that? And also how wonderful and talented and intelligent you are?” His words carry an air of jest but the concern in his eyes is real.

“And funny?” You widen your smile in an attempt to set him at ease.

“Well, let’s not go that far.” He visibly relaxes when it’s clear you’re just teasing.

“Anyway,” you glare at him playfully, “I was going to say that I liked that. I like when you pick out clothes for me.”

“Then I’ll keep that in mind,” he says with a raised eyebrow. Then his voice drops as he breathes, “You truly were a vision in that dress. I’ll have another one made, if it’s to your liking.” You close your eyes contentedly as he nuzzles your ear, and all you can do is nod. You finally clear your throat to shift your attention back to the list.

“Oh, how about chores?” you muse, tossing him a snarky grin. “Do you think you’d want to don a cute little maid’s outfit and clean my apartment?”

“You could sell me on the maid’s outfit, but darling, you’ve seen my home, you know that I’m not one for cleaning.”

Your mind supplies the very unhelpful image of Astarion wearing a French maid outfit and your brain short circuits. Astarion catches you glitching and laughs.

“Someone is very enthusiastic about seeing me in a dress,” he says, glancing at you out of the corner of his eye. 

“Shut up, you’re just really cute,” you mumble, and he wraps his arm around your shoulder and kisses the top of your head.

“Serving other Doms, supervised only,” he reads. “Well, as long as I get to watch.” His voice drops salaciously and you stifle a giggle.

“Like the idea of watching me beg for some big strong Dom?” you volley back, trying to keep your cool.

“Darling, I just like watching you beg.” His voice rumbles low in his chest and you shiver. You move onto the next category, sexual activity and penetration, and wordlessly check entries that, for you at least, just feel pretty standard. Astarion takes the pen from you and puts a check next to ‘strap-on-dildos.’ You glance at him with raised eyebrows and he just smirks in response.

Despite the amount of semi-public sex the two of you have had, you don’t give the next category, ‘Voyeurism and Exhibitionism,’ much attention. The final category, ‘Magic in the Bedroom,’ gives you pause.

Astarion scrolls through the list with his finger, musing, “Since neither of us are magic users, I imagine we’d simply go shopping for scrolls together.”

“Hey Astarion,” you say, and he turns his head to you.

“Hmm?”

“The charm person potion. That I found in your trash.” You keep your voice even, and he frowns.

“Ah. Yes. I, erm… I’m still very sorry for that.” His voice is uncharacteristically stilted.

“Why did you do it?” you ask quietly. You’re pretty sure you know the answer, but you still want to hear him say it. He exhales a deep sigh and waits several moments before finally answering.

“I’ve had more than a few close calls with, ah, potential lovers, shall we say.” He stares off into the middle distance and your eyes trace his profile. “I didn’t think you were secretly a Gur, but also, I’d rather not take my chances.”

“And the thing you said about wanting to seem more charismatic?” You put your hand on his knee in an attempt to soothe both him and yourself.

“A lie. Well,” he corrects himself, frowning, “a half-truth. If I could guarantee that you wouldn’t want to ram a stake through my heart, then you finding my otherwise grating personality slightly more charming was merely a bonus.”

You study his face for a moment longer and then take your hand and turn his chin so he’s facing you. “Hey. Thank you for telling me. I appreciate it.”

“I was selfish,” he growls, the self-hatred pouring out of him in waves. “I was so focused on my own safety that how you might feel about it didn’t even occur to me.” He clenches his jaw and you put your tablet on the floor and sidle yourself between his legs. You wrap your arms around him, pressing your bare skin flush against his.

“I wish you hadn’t,” you murmur into his ear. “But I understand why you did. I’m certainly no stranger to feeling unsafe on a date. There are other ways to guarantee your safety, but I think you know that now.”

He lets out a shuddering breath followed by a quiet laugh. “I don’t relish you seeing me like this.”

“Too bad, get treasured, idiot,” you giggle and he pulls out of the hug to take your face in his hands and give you a sensual kiss. You melt into his arms, breathing in his scent deeply. “Bed?” you ask, and he nods silently. You stand and help pull him to his feet, leading him into your bedroom.