#staring with the vampire king and his court

[nohomie]

Character intro:

Wally

Extra lore dump below

So yeah, Vampires are special because theyre actually manmade.

Vampires where created centuries ago, long before Human and Mythic agreed to live together peacefully. There were still fights between the two and Humanity was on the losing end. It was due to this that led to some royal family trying to play god and turn themselves into a mythic only for it to cause disaster and destruction.

Fun fact, the term vampire stems from their place of origin, Vamais. While not all vampires come from there, there are few that still exist who once lived in Vamais. You can easily tell if a vampire was once a Vami from their unique facial features (no visible nose and facial hair, not even eyebrows) and striking blue hair.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Blood Bag

DC vs. Vampires AU, but The Vampire King won. ~3.2k words

There's no warning, no notice for an apocalypse. There wasn't any preamble, when vampires established a new order to the world.

Jason, your Jason, had only whispered the basics as he held you to his chest. Had only told you he has to try and stop their leader, that if you knew anymore, it would be dangerous.

You knew being Red Hood was risky, but you had hoped, as you watched him leave your apartment, that he would be safe. That his family would protect him where you couldn't.

You waited for him to come back to you. To come back with the world saved and him unharmed.

He doesn't.

The world ends. It was quick, bloody, and ruthless. The world ends, and something new rose from the gore and destruction left in its wake. A new world begins, one led by The Vampire King, who reigns over it with sharpened claws and even sharper fangs.

The lucky ones got to continue with their lives, struggle to adapt to the new normal, their new rulers. The really lucky ones, the ones who were already powerful and godly, got changed into something unkillable.

The unlucky ones, you, got chosen for a far worse fate. Blood Bag. Vampires and humans alike spit it like a slur, like you're something less all because the bite marks that litter your skin. As if any one of you were given a choice.

You hadn't asked to be taken to the castle fortress that the Vampire nobility called home.

You had been in your apartment, watching the world fall apart from the safety of your home. Watching in a dazed horror as Dick Grayson's signature smile, now adorned with pearly fangs, flashed across the news, when he just appeared in front of you.

You'd said his name, jumped to your feet to touch him– to hug him, grateful he was safe and alive.

But he'd stopped you. Said he wasn't Jason anymore. Said he was just Red Hood now. It didn't make sense at the time.

Jason was Red Hood, and Red Hood was Jason. You didn't realize how wrong you were until you ended up kneeling alongside other humans in front of The Vampire King.

He had given a lavish speech about your new place in the world. That the humans staring up at him in fear and awe were special. Chosen to serve in his court. That being a Blood Bag was an honor and a privilege.

You might have believed it if they hadn't dragged you to the dungeons after.

You were left there, cold, confused, and hungry for almost a week. Your cell mates come and go, but the ones that return always come back with their skin covered in deep, telltale puncture wounds.

They whisper stories of the grand parties, the growing crowds of spawns, the brutality of The Vampire King, and his court.

You wait for your turn, and wonder if maybe when you are chosen, you'll be one of the prisoners that don't come back.

You don't get any warning, when it's your time. Two spawns with sunken eyes drag you from your sleep, hauling you from the dungeon and across marble floors.

They taunt you, proclaiming that you're a gift for The General. That you'll make a fine pet, a good blood bag, if he manages not to kill you tonight.

A part of you wants to scream. To cry. To beg. To hope as you have every night since Jason brought you here, that he'd come back for you. But your hope runs out as they force you into a lavish bedroom.

Two new spawns take over from the guards, they wash you, dress you, and soon enough, you almost look like you haven't spent a week in a cell. They leave you sitting on the soft bed and an order to not disappoint.

A part of you wants to use the moment, to seize the opportunity to escape. But you're so tired. So hungry. So thirsty. And the bed is so comfortable. But whatever comes next for you could be worse than that cell.

The door swings open, and you jolt from your thoughts. You're expecting someone fearsome. Someone terrible and evil and threatening. But it's Jason.

You think he's going to free you, save you. You believe it wholeheartedly. Until you see the glint of his fangs.

He steps towards you, eyes focused and dark, and you realize who The General is. You realize what he's going to do.

The first time Red Hood feeds from you, you feel nothing but pain. It's agonizing, to feel your life being dragged out of you and drank down by someone who could so easily kill you.

There's no ceremony. He sinks his fangs into your throat and leaves you exhausted and dazed on the bed while crimson drips haphazardly down his chin.

The second time isn't any easier, he only takes what he needs. His fingers don't brush over your skin to soothe you. He doesn't speak a word of comfort. He only presses gauze to the bite wound before leaving you to recover alone.

The third time is different. He lingers when he's done. You might be crying. You're too tired and dizzy to be sure.

But you're not so far gone that you don't notice the way he presses a kiss to the puncture marks. Like it's a twisted apology.

His hand traces lines over your back. He holds you close, even after he's done draining the blood from your veins.

The way he feeds from you changes after that. He treats you like you're precious. He presses kisses to your skin before he bites.

He licks away the trails of blood and tears. He presses his face to your pulse and doesn't move until your heart finds a steady pace.

He still doesn't speak. He hasn't since he told you he's not Jason anymore, but he hovers when he's done. He brushes his fingers along your jaw, watches you as you fall asleep.

It's not until you're brave enough to leave the room that you learn your status as Red Hood's Blood Bag has privileges.

It turns out the bedroom you've constantly been left alone in is yours. You can wander most of the castle and its gardens freely. No one else tries to feed from you.

But it doesn't stop the taunts and jeers. Doesn't stop the spawns or the high-ranking nobles or human servants alike from spitting curses at you.

But no one touches you. No one seems to want to earn Red Hoods, and in turn, The Kings, ire.

You hadn't realized the protection that his marks had offered you.

Not until you started to hear the whispers that followed you, the murmurs that warned of sinking their teeth into the only Blood Bag Red Hood seems interested in. How any bites or scratches not his would be a death sentence.

The months of faded scars that mark your skin serve as a warning to them. But to you, they're a stark reminder of the new world you're forced to navigate.

They become memories, in a way, of the mistakes you've made.

The bite on your palm marks the day you spoke to another Blood Bag out of turn. You can't forget the panic that sparked in their eyes as a spawn dragged them away. (You haven't seen them since)

The bite on your shoulder marks the night you tried to run. You had barely made it to the garden walls when Red Hood had lazily appeared at your side. It didn't take words to know he'd been aware of the moment you left your room.

Mistake after mistake, bite after bite, create a sick patchwork of art over your skin.

You try to cover the ones you can see, for your own piece of mind, but the extravagant outfit you're wearing now? The one that's been picked out for tonight's ball? Does little to hide exactly what you are.

It's rare for you to make an appearance at any of the Vampire Kings events, and the times you have gone have been incredibly short and spent entirely at Red Hood's side.

But the chatter that floats about you in the ballroom suggests The Vampire King had expected your presence. Each snide smile and quiet laugh sends a chill down your spine.

You'd expected this night at court to be like any other, one or two dances, and then a quick return to your room.

You're proven wrong when Red Hood is pulled from your side at the request of The King.

You're not completely sure how long you've been left waiting at the edge of the grand dance floor, but it's been long enough that your feet ache, and your shoulders feel tight.

Long enough that you don't think twice to slip out of the loud, music filled room and into the darker, quieter halls.

It's another mistake.

A spawn, drunk on blood and his own immortality saunters into your path. "A pest," he drawls, eyes eerily fixed on the juncture of your neck, "a pretty pest, but a pest nonetheless."

You offer a customary nod, safe under the illusion of safety the marks scattered over your body brings.

The spawn shatters the illusion when he snatches your hand with supernatural grace, "Be still, pest, I thirst."

"You can't," You protest quickly, the words spilling before you can think on them.

He pauses, head tilting in a mockery of interest, "and why ever not?"

"I'm–," You start, then pause, saying it aloud feels too real. "I'm Red Hood's," You finish, voice weaker than you mean it to be.

The spawn drags his claw over the palm of your hand, laughing as the drops of blood begin to form in a line of ruby dots, "You? Pretty pest. Not even the lowest of us would want to keep a Blood Bag that's been shared by so many."

"I haven't been–" You breathe out, but his claws only dig deeper into your skin, turning your words into a wince.

You don't tear up, don't cry or beg. It hurts. It always does. Even the idea of being fed on hurts. But your next thought keeps you quiet.

Maybe this spawn will lose control. Maybe, in a way, you can finally be free. The thought makes your heart rate spike, and you're not sure if it's in fear or anticipation. You're not sure if death is something you're ready to face.

He doesn't give you a moment more to think on it. The spawn pulls your palm to his mouth, fangs glinting as he prepares to bite down.

He doesn't get the chance.

A flash of red catches your eyes, and suddenly, your wrist is no longer restrained.

Your mind can't quite keep up with what just happened, and by the time you've even registered his presence, Red Hood has his claws buried in the spawns chest.

If the sight of blood wasn't something so common in The Vampire Kings court, you would be sick. It's messy, loud, when Red Hood rips the spawns unbeating heart from his chest.

You stumble to lean against the wall, when Jason tears the spawns head from his body and crushes it beneath his boot. You don't get a good look at what's left before Jason is in front of you, blocking your view.

He grabs your wrist and presses you flush to the wall. He offers you no warning before his tongue traces the line of blood on your skin.

It's something you should be used to, but you still make a noise of surprise, still instinctively try to pull away.

Jason only shoves a leg between your thighs, trapping you between his body and the wall behind you. His grip on your wrist tightens, and his head bends down again. His gaze doesn't stray from yours, almost like he wants you to watch.

Jason slowly licks at the cut again, then drags his fangs down your hand and to your wrist. He never blinks as he bites into your skin, adding another mark among the many others that cover your skin.

He drops your wrist and steps back once he's had his fill, "You were letting him feed from you. No one else feeds on you. Haven't I made that more than clear?"

"It's not my fault," You protest weakly, "He didn't believe me when I said I was–"

"That you were what," he asks, voice low and almost threatening. You find that entirely unfair, considering you're the only that almost had their life drained.

"That they're yours," a happy voice supplies with a chirp, "Maybe it's time you did something to show that, don't you think, Little Wing?"

You immediately drop your head at the sight of the Vampire King leaning against the wall. You can't help but think, by the cocky grin growing on his face, that he witnessed the entire thing.

Red Hood scoffs, like the idea is ridiculous, "They're covered in my bites. What else could they need? That idiot should have known–"

"But they didn't," The King supplies with a smile and walks over to you to lift your chin with a sigh, "and your little pet could have died for it."

Red Hood stiffens, and you can feel the tension growing in the corridor. He shoots a glance towards the decapitated spawn, as if he's considering removing the rest of their bones piece by bloody piece. "So what do you suggest," he finally asks, voice low and measured.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was on the verge of ripping you away from the Vampire Kings clutches.

The King only shrugs in return, "You should have shown them off more. Taken them to court. Feed from them during parties."

Red Hood goes to speak, but The King continues to talk as he tilts your chin back and forth, "Blood Bags are symbols, after all. Power. But you've always kept the things you like tucked close to your chest. Haven't you, Little Wing?"

"I don't– I don't like them. I just don't want some spawn watching me eat," Red Hood counters, and neither you nor Dick miss the way his fingers twitch towards you.

The Vampire King nods sagely, "Then I suppose you won't be interested in keeping them."

Red Hoods head snaps up in the same instant the Vampire King spins you around, his fangs catching the skin above your pulse, "And if you're not interested in a Blood Bag," he drawls, voice low and lazily as he trails off, leaving the implications of his threat in the air.

It leaves you wide eyed and frozen. The Vampire King presses closer to your back, drawing you by your hips as his free hand curls around your neck. His fangs don't quite break your skin, but the cold promise of them doesn't waver.

The ball hadn't scared you in this way. The spawn hadn't left you with tears filling your eyes, terror tightening your throat. Not even the dungeons had made dread fill every cell of your body.

Jason drops to his knees, any facade, any lie he had been trying to maintain disappears, "I want them. I want them. Please–"

The Vampire King laughs, and his fangs leave your throat. He shoves you, and you stumble to the ground into Jason's waiting arms. He keeps you caged tightly to his chest, his hand cradling the back of your head.

"I was only teasing, general, truly, you're the only member of my court who's proven time and time again you're deserving of your status," The King drawls.

You can't see him as Jason keeps your face pressed to his shoulder, but you can hear the sick glee building in his voice.

Jason tenses as Dick continues, satisfaction dripping from his tone, "The resistance camp you personally slaughtered? The leader's head left on spikes? I couldn't have done it better myself."

"I'm– I'm honored to have impressed you," Jason says steadily, fingers digging into your skin. You think if he still had a heart, it would be beating just as fast as yours.

The Vampire King hums in response, as if he's suddenly grown bored, "Go enjoy the gala, Little Wing. Remind the raff who you are. And what that makes them."

Jason doesn't argue, just hauls you towards your feet and drags you towards the ball. You keep your gaze lowered, but you can still see him checking over his shoulder, as if he's worried the Vampire King will change his mind.

"What he said– about a resistance–" You begin to ask, desperate for knowledge, but more desperate to finally hear his voice again.

"Don't. They won't win," he answers sharply, not giving you a chance to ask more questions as he pulls you into the ballroom, and drags you to the dance floor.

He doesn't let you find your footing before he's spinning you around the dance floor, arm hooked firmly around your waist.

You try to ignore the remnants of blood, his boots leave on the sparking floor.

Every cell in your body screams at you to talk again, to demand answers. To know how he ended up like this. To know why all he seems to leave you with now are questions and scars.

You open your mouth to ask, throwing whatever decorum you should have in front of The Vampire Kings court to the wind, when Jason drops you into a dip.

Your breath hitches, and his lips find your pulse.

The sounds of the ball seem to fade around you as you stare up at the decorative ceiling lined with mirrors and gold.

He kisses down your throat, curls his hand tighter into your back and all you can think about is how odd it is, to know the room is so full and yet there's nearly no reflections in the mirrors above.

Jason runs the tip of his nose back up your neck, following the veins under your skin.

"You've always smelled so good," he murmurs. It's the only warning he gets before he sinks his teeth into your throat, drinking you down in the center of the ballroom for everyone to see.

It draws a whimper from your lips, and it only seems to encourage him to hold you tighter, to lick every trail of blood that spills from the marks on your neck.

He kisses the punctures his fangs left when he's done. It feels less like an apology this time, and more of a claim.

When he finally lifts you from the dip, when you're finally able to steady your vision even as it threatens to swim, he shows you his teeth, and his lips are dyed in the color of your blood.

"Brava," the distinctive voice of The Vampire King breaks through your hazy mind. Your eyes never leave Jason's, even as clapping begins to sound throughout the ballroom.

You're not sure what it means. You're not sure if The Vampire Kings' interest in you is just some passing folly.

But Jason's eyes are dark, intense, and they flicker with the weight of knowing. But there's more to it than knowing. It's clear in the way his eyes never yours either. There's a desire, a want, a need to keep.

To make it an unshakable truth, that whatever role you're meant to play in The Vampire Kings world, you're going to do it at Jason's side.

His eyes hold a promise, and he seals it with a bloody kiss to your pounding pulse.

[hisunshiine]

—eternal reign | knj |

🥀 pairing: vampire king!namjoon x concubine!namedreader 🥀 au/genre: arranged marriage au, joseon era au, s2l, fluff, smut, angst 🥀 rating: M 🥀 wc: 7,748 🥀 warnings: some Joseon Dynasty research, reader starts as a concubine, mentions of murders, minor character deaths (off screen, minimal detail), patriarchal society, this is a vampire story, so some things come with the territory, like: mentions of blood, dubious consent, blood drinking, bleeding, scars, predator/prey feelings, explicit smut: unprotected vaginal sex, blood play, marking, eating out, nipple play   🥀 an: I used some of the historical figures of the Joseon Dynasty, and while I researched a lot for accuracy of this time period to respect the culture to the best of my knowledge, some historical information has been shifted and molded as this is a fiction story. For more information on Korean Coronation Events. Dual POV of 3rd and 2nd person, but the reader is named.

special thanks to the beta readers: @moonleeai, @colormepurplex2, @downbad4yoongi, @heathfritillary-blog, and @pars-ley

🥀 summary: In the shadowed courts of the Joseon Dynasty, a new King rules—one who holds a centuries-old secret that could unravel the kingdom. Namjoon, cloaked in mystery, is forced into a political marriage with the cunning yet unknowing Taelani, who soon discovers that her husband is no mere mortal. Drawn into his dark legacy and a web of alliances that could seal their fate, Taelani faces a choice: fulfill her family’s long-hidden destiny or defy it in pursuit of a forbidden love. As whispers of blood and betrayal rise, the throne itself may be the ultimate sacrifice.

🥀 an#2:🎃This wicked treat was written for Theresa - @mrsparkjimin18 as part of the “Sweet Tricks & Wicked Treats” BWHQ Fic Gifting Event 🎃and was also written for the @bangtanwritershq’s 4th Quarter Writing Event: Monster Mash

masterlist ❁ ao3

Joseon Dynasty year 1483

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

Namjoon never expected to sit upon the sacred altar in Changdeokgung Palace, as the recipient of the Three Cheers from the crowd, where the people hurrahed for his longevity and for the dynasty. 

“We are meant to rule from the shadows,” the memory of his grandfather’s voice flits through his head as if he’s standing beside him. “An absolute and eternal reign relies on the eternal flame which burns with our dedication and loyalty, and which must remain out of sight from those who wish to douse our light.” 

And yet, mere hours ago, under the beating heat of the Korean sun, he participated in the Transfer of the State Seal with Queen Sindeok, listened to the Three Solemn Calls, watched as the Three Kowtows were performed, and returned it with the Four Ceremonious Bows.   

The room around him is loud, and Namjoon struggles to focus for a moment as he gazes across the crowded space. The gilded walls encapsulate the refreshments and revelry as the noble families celebrate his ascension to ruler of the country. He looks around, eyes finally landing on his family members split between being wall flowers blending in and meteor showers glittering as they shine across the night sky. 

He takes an unneeded deep breath, sighing in his discomfort. He knows it was his idea; something had to be done to maintain the balance in the realm, but he’s not used to being a figurehead for something so much larger than himself—for the very thing he sacrificed everything for to protect. 

“Ah, Yi Bang— I mean, King Namjoon, my apologies,” the greasy-haired Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon bows lowly in apology at using the given name of the prince and not his newly appointed royal title now that the transition to king has been completed. 

That is one upside to this position, Namjoon thinks as he stares at the man. Even if I must hide my identity, at least I am able to keep my true name. 

“I wanted to present to you my family’s gift for your coronation.” His eyes, small and squirrely, gleam with a dark intent that Namjoon has always detested. As one of the government officials appointed by the previous Queen’s father, Dojeon craves ultimate power, pushing for the Councillors to make decisions for the King, instead of enacting and enforcing the King’s decisions. “This is Jeong Taelani, my eldest daughter. She is now yours, Pyeha.” 

The honorific term is not lost on Namjoon. The Chief State Councillor’s schmoozing actions are as oily as his hair, but Namjoon’s not a squeaking door, and his disdain only grows as he tracks the sweep of Dojeon’s hand towards the girl next to him, as if he needs a concubine to loosen him up. 

But Namjoon has to work hard to school his features back to stoic boredom when his eyes fall onto the—unable to believe he called her a girl—beautiful woman standing a pace behind her father. 

Red hanbok lace and silks flow over her curves. Gold threading is woven intricately at the hem, along the cuffs engulfing her delicate hands, and at the lapels that tie above the swell of her breasts, glimmering, resplendent swirls that captivate him. He doesn’t show it, though. Despite his next words, his tone is full of boredom and his eyes barely linger on her. 

“Thank you, Dojeon, she is a true beauty.”

The older man smirks, rubbing his bearded face thoughtfully. “She has been trained for, ahem, her position—assisting your every need—in the palace her whole life, and vetted through the steps to be placed here just last week. I am sure that you will find her to be up to your standards.” He bows once more, this time much lower, before backing away from the elevated seating area and disappearing back into the party. 

“Emperor,” Taelani bows deeply, her knees gracefully meeting the floor as she pays him the respect of a ruling monarch. Her voice is a deeper honey sound, more seduction than the tittering pitch of the female nobles Namjoon is used to. 

“Jeong Taelani,” Namjoon tests her name in his mouth, her jasmine fragrance invading his senses as she resumes her previous standing position. Her large eyes look away from his gaze quickly, but that’s all he needs to feel the heat of the lightning they struck him with. He can feel his pants tightening—thankfully, his gujangbok covers his crotch from the view of both Taelani and his attendees. 

He stiffens, feeling something else begin to lengthen in need, and he turns his eyes swiftly away from Taelani, looking at the palace guards nearest him. 

“Please escort Taelani to her chambers, and send for the Huwon guards. I will meet them shortly.”

🥀

Sharpened ivory glistens under the moonlight before piercing the unblemished bronze skin of the woman’s throat, his venom silencing the beginnings of a guttural shriek before it can really begin. He settles in the gazebo with a jimil nain, or lady-in-waiting, straddled across his lap. Her throaty sounds transition instead to a pleasurable moan as she attempts to grip the lapels of his ceremonial robes. 

He grasps her hands, pulling them away from him and moving them behind her back, clutching both wrists in one hand so his free hand can resume controlling her head for his monthly feeding. One that he should not have needed just yet, thanks to the retaliatory massacre last week, but he ignores that fact for now. 

The blood fills his mouth, sharp pulls draining the essence from the woman as her movements against his body slow. He’s thankful—her body is not the one he craves to be writhing above him in pleasure, despite her lovely sounds and curves. 

He has to play this role smartly. His family’s legacy is on the line. He withdraws his fangs, feeling the dull ache of thirst dissipate fully as his blood lust retreats. The woman is nearly unconscious, and the two guards who brought her approach her limp form silently.

“Thank you,” he says to his younger brothers, both adorned in the traditional wear of the Naegeumwi Royal Guards. They take the woman from him as he stands before the youngest of the two, Jungkook, takes her fully and holds her almost in a lover’s embrace. Namjoon looks at them as he steps several paces away and Taehyung, his other sibling, approaches him and straightens his robes to help him look presentable again.

“NaBi was the only one we could get on such short notice,” he explains quietly as the sounds of Jungkook feeding crescendos and subsequently drops as he heals the bites on the now sleeping woman’s neck. “She was already in Kook’s room waiting for him.”

Namjoon runs his fingers over his silks, tightening the belt at his waist. “Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t mean to mess up his feeding schedule. The hunger just took over and I…”

“He understands.” Taehyung places his hand on his older brother’s shoulder. “We’ve never taken on something like this, so we didn’t know what to prepare for. We’ll move more of the feeders into the palace in various positions, and Jimin can oversee them. Your plan was the best one, and we will find a way to make it work.”  

Jungkook cradles the woman’s body in his arms bridal style as he steps towards the door. He and Taehyung lead Namjoon out of the garden and back towards the main palace. Jungkook turns to the left down a hallway after they enter shelter as Taehyung and Namjoon continue toward the Emperor's chambers. 

“Have Jimin order more of the blood tea for the feeders. I’m not sure how often I’ll need to feed now that…” he trails off as they walk, thoughts conflicted with this strange turn of events. He stops once he reaches the doorway of his room. “And Taehyung? Discretion, please.”

Namjoon feels the tension leave his body once he is in his own space. He didn’t expect to feel the voracious pull to feed so soon—he drank more than his fill merely a week ago. Typically, he feeds once a month, so the blood lust he just quenched is strange. Could it be because of his new concubine? Her scent is oddly alluring to him, and his attraction to her is undeniable. He hasn’t ever experienced such a thing, but maybe one of the elders knows something more. 

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

Confused. That’s how you feel as you are led away from the king, his eyes regarding you cooly before you disappear into the quiet halls of the palace. Your slippers and the silks you wear are the only sounds you hear as you are shown the pathway to your quarters, and then the low hum of the maids' voices as they help you undress and prepare for bed. 

The next week continues much the same as your first night in the castle. The other court members are seemingly always busy, leaving you bored and unsure of yourself. On the one hand, you are happy that you haven’t been called upon like you were warned would happen—like you’ve been trained for. Your womanhood remains intact, something you did not expect to happen, but it allows your time of the month to come and go without any issues. 

A part of you did fear that your menstrual cycle would agitate the new king should he come upon you that first night, but instead, he had shied away, allowing you time to spend in the royal library reading and writing letters to your sisters. At the end of the first week, you squeal with happiness when a courtier brings you a sealed parchment marked with your family’s crest. 

Dearest Taelani, 

How have you been? We are so pleased that you’ve had time to write to us. Is it nice there? I so wish we could have joined you on the trip, but Father said no. Are the rumors true? Is the king as bloodthirsty as his predecessors? Is there war on the horizon? Will you be able to throw a fancy ball so we can visit? I know you’re his only concubine right now, do you think you will become his wife? Father is not telling us much, and he’s making it seem like we shall never get to travel to see you. 

Don’t forget us!

As if you could ever forget your sisters. And a ball sounds like a lovely idea…really. You wonder if the king would allow you to do such a thing and if your father would allow your sisters to come. Maybe if the king demanded their presence. Your sister made a good point that right now, there’s no one else to compete with for his affections. If you can charm him, is there a possibility..? If only he would see you or talk to you. How else could you convince him of this one favor, or even that you’re worthy of a more legitimate role? 

It couldn’t be so easy as to show up at his bedchamber tonight and try and convince him with a well-placed massage? Could it?

Deciding to reign in all of your thoughts, you hold off on writing back so as to see first if you could plan a soiree of some sort, and turn back to the book you were reading before the courtier arrived. It was not written all that long ago, but it details some of the more recent history of the country, including the king’s grandfather. 

You had always thought it to be an urban legend, the stories whispered in the dark about when his grandfather was in power, but as you read through the history of the family, you realize with each story of the king’s grandfather that he truly was blood thirsty for power—he apparently murdered all of his older siblings for the throne. 

There is a massive family plot to the south of the palace that holds his deceased siblings, and ever since, despite the number of enemies the crown has acquired over the years, his family line has been the only one to rule. Every attempt to maim and murder the royal family has been thwarted, and the groups leading the coups are never to be seen or heard from again. Bloodthirsty isn’t even half of it. 

Closing the handwritten tome, you gather your skirts about you so that you can climb off the comfortable lounging spot. You have spent all week reading through to try and understand this family that you now reside with, but all you seem to find is death and despair. Through the window you can see the sun is setting, and now that you have a plan in mind, you decide to seek out the king instead of waiting for him to come to you. With your cycle gone, you feel confident enough to seduce King Namjoon. As his first concubine, you are sure you won’t be the last, but you want to make an impression. 

As a woman in this world, your power is lacking. The power you do hold will be in the sons you can bear for the king, and in the ability to wield your feminine wiles to seduce and keep the king wrapped around your finger. Best to start now. 

🥀

The palace corridors are well-lit as you traverse the pathway towards the king’s chambers. You made a quick stop at your own rooms, shedding the hairpins that bound your hair tightly, allowing your tresses to fall in subtle waves from the earlier styling. You also shed some of the layers you typically wear, allowing you to show off more of your curves. 

There doesn’t appear to be anyone outside the door to his room, so you slip in easily, taking a look around. The room is tidy, with barely anything on display on the walls or in cabinets to show his personality. Cold, just like he was the first time you met. A few minutes pass as you observe what you can, until voices outside the door alert you to the king’s approach. You position yourself on his bed, sitting at the edge with a leg crossed over the other and your palms behind you as you lean back slightly. 

Your loose hair is over one shoulder, and you attempt to flutter your eyes demurely as King Namjoon steps into his bedchamber. 

🥀 

Ten minutes later, you stand in your own room again, confused by what had occurred. The King, a young, virile man, sent you out after you all but threw yourself at him. If anything, he seemed in a rush to get you out of his rooms, all but promising that you had nothing to worry about when you voiced not carrying out your duties. 

“I know you worry about your standing in the palace, but you have nothing to fear. I will not be taking in any other women—you are the only one for me. You will be my Queen Consort. So please, you don’t have to stoop to these levels. You are excused.”

You definitely hadn’t prepared what to do in the event that the King said you didn’t need to seduce him and that you would be his Queen Consort. All of the stories the women told you about had prepared you for losing your virginity and other sexual acts to seduce the King and win his favor. Nothing they shared with you implied you wouldn’t have to do anything sexually with the man and he would raise your status one step, though a large one in the eyes of the nation. A wedding already in the works, unbeknownst to you. How strange this new king is. 

🥀

The royal wedding that everyone has been waiting for a month to arrive is nearly here, with you in your red gowns of silks and satin, awaiting your cue for the ceremony. As much as you’ve enjoyed not having to behave wantonly, a part of you is drawn to your betrothed, and you realize: you want to. His movements as he walks through the palace, the grace with which he moves and speaks, all of these small things seem to thrum through your body, lighting all of your nerve endings on fire. 

Why he denies himself the access he has to your body, you aren’t sure, but you hope that this wedding means that will come to an end. Maybe he’s just been waiting for tonight to consummate the marriage, instead of behaving how you were warned all men with power behave. 

Everything is a blur as the hours pass, the sun crossing the sky until it descends below the horizon, allowing the moon to rise into its rightful place. With all of the revelers now sated in thirst or hunger or desire, they’re all sequestered away in the places that allow them to unwind. Most of the palace is now quiet, and you tiptoe with feather-light steps across the bedchamber towards your newly betrothed. 

The King sits at an ornamental desk, metallic paints wrapping around the curves of the furniture as he leans over and writes, the scratches of the quill on the parchment revealing the short strokes he writes in Hangul. He’s shirtless, wide shoulders unblemished and you want nothing more than to mar the skin with signs of pleasure.  

Your fingers lift to lightly trace along his right shoulder, but before you can touch him, his left hand grasps your fingers as he half turns to face you. You let out a small gasp in surprise—you didn’t think he would have heard you sneak up on him.

“Perhaps you should head to bed, Taelani, it was a long day.”

He barely looks at you as he speaks, and you feel yourself wilting. It’s fascinating, but deeply disturbing to you that it seems like he’s attracted to you but keeps turning you away. Everything you’ve been told about men is wrong. You want him to have his way with you, and he can’t be bothered to even stop drafting a letter to look at you for more than a second. 

You feel yourself pouting, and it seems to work for a moment. Namjoon’s eyes soften, and he tugs you closer when you attempt to pull your hand out of his. 

“I know this is not the most normal of situations, but I won’t stop you from seeking out your needs. You can take up with anyone as long as it is discreet, and any children you should bear will all be raised as if they are my own.” You freeze as he releases his hold on you and turns away, back to his missive.

You step away from him, trekking backward until the backs of your thighs touch the silk sheets on the bed. Embarrassment heats your neck and cheeks, because you do not understand why your husband turns away from you. It makes you feel…unwanted. Sitting down, you can only blink as you attempt to understand the man before you. But nothing thus far has made any sense.   

🥀

The movement of the bed slowly wakes you, and you stretch your limbs out as your eyes blearily try to take in the low lighting in the room. 

“...need the Huwon guards as soon as possible, I will meet them there.”

You stay still when you hear his voice, your brain instantly becoming more alert as you try to hear more of his request, but it only grows quiet again as the door shuts. You can barely hear his footfalls as he flits about the room, and you sneak a peek through cracked eyes as you keep your breathing level. He’s grabbing his upper garments and re-dressing, and in only a few more moments, he’s slipping out of the door.

You get up, immediately grabbing for your robes as you slip from the satin sheets to follow your new husband.

You stay as far back as you can, drifting between shadows as you make your way towards what you now know is the Huwon Secret Garden. While the garden grounds themselves take up a large expanse of the palace area, there is a beautiful and intimate pagoda of sorts that lies in the rear after crossing a small bridge with a tiny waterfall. You lose sight of Namjoon, but you know he must be headed there, so you continue on your way, avoiding the minimal guard presence. 

Approaching the enclosed garden pergola, a gasping moan sounds and you quicken your steps, evermore the curious. Peering through one of the open slats of the enclosure, you see your king—your husband—with his arms wrapped around another woman. His mouth is to her neck as she straddles him, and though her face is hidden between the shadows and behind his bulky build, you know you heard the pleasure she felt. When he pulls back from her, you watch, entranced, as he laves his tongue along the skin he’s just marked. A burning jealousy shoots through your veins until a cloud moves out of the moonlight and a beam shines straight through. 

Your eyes widen as they take in the elongated fangs, the blood dripping from the corners of his mouth, and the way the woman now lay limply in his arms. Spinning on your heel, you flee back to your room, praying that your pounding heart calms enough before he returns.

🥀🥀🥀Namjoon🥀🥀🥀

It’s almost debilitating to Namjoon having his new wife around him. It’s been only a week—one mere week of his eternal life—and you have made him into a ravenous, salacious blood fiend. This lust for the iron-smelling essence that runs through mortal veins, and one in particular more so than the others, means that he hasn’t been handling all of the new changes to his life well. 

Going from the shadows and becoming the face of the nation he loves so much, that his whole family has given their lives for, is not exactly what he expected. He is much more used to using violence with his bare hands—and teeth—for their gain. Having to navigate politics with his wife’s father, Chief State Councillor Jeong Dojeon, is a whole new experience for him.

Not to mention that he’s insatiably drawn to his titillating wife, but knowing that her father is actively working against the reigning family has Namjoon’s guard up. The way she keeps trying to throw herself at him… Admittedly, he knows he’s spied on her letters and conversations, and she seems none the wiser to what her father is doing, but too much is at stake for him to risk it without knowing where she stands for sure.

Namjoon stretches his arms above his shirtless torso, then sets down the quill to mull over the letter he needs to finish and send to the front lines of their war efforts against the rival faction. They’ve quieted down some, ever since their attack on the true prince which led to an almost absolute destruction of said rival faction, but money will unite anyone against a common enemy if paid enough. 

His ears perk up as he takes in the thrumming melody of your heartbeat as you move around the adjacent bathing room to your communal bedchamber. It’s late, much later than a person would typically bathe, and without the aid of maids, but he’s in no hurry to overwhelm his senses with you. He focuses on the sounds; of the water draining from the side of the palace, of the soft garments sliding along your skin as you dress, and he tenses—readying himself for your scent to overtake him as he turns and stands to face your re-entrance into the room.

Beautiful. Your large eyes are bright, warm even, and the way your body gracefully moves in that—he forcefully exhales as you approach him in an ornately sewn, semi-transparent lace robe. The vision of your full breasts with lace flowing over the peaks stuns him momentarily, and he allows himself a moment to drink you in. He’s so focused on trailing his eyes along the cupid’s bow of your full top lip that he doesn’t realize you’ve spoken to him.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch what you said.”

“Oh,” you look down demurely, taking him by surprise. “My king, please. I would like just a moment of your time.”

“Of course,” Namjoon replies, but hesitates as he sits back down, unsure of what could have triggered such a formal conversation. Though, to be fair, he knows he hasn’t been the best conversationalist with his own wife.

He watches as you pull a small, stuffed stool closer to him and sit on it regally. The robe parts with the movement and he’s able to see that only a thin sliver of fabric covers your mound. Everything else is revealed to him. Your navel, your thighs, so much skin… 

“I know that you’ve given me permission to seek out other men, but I—I don’t want that.” 

Namjoon is still as he reigns in his impure thoughts and focuses all of his attention on you. “What is it that you want?”

“I want my husband. I–don’t you also feel—I just…” you sigh, and the weight of your next words would bring Namjoon to his knees had he not been sitting. “I know who you are. And I don’t care. I—”

Namjoon stands to his full height, eyes slightly narrowed at your small frame. 

“You know who I am?” he questions with disdain. Of course, you were too good to be true and exactly what he expected of your father. 

“Yes, you may be the king, but more than that, you’re my husband.” 

Namjoon pauses, listening on, but can see how tense you remain to continue speaking. “And what exactly don’t you care about?” He questions.

“I don’t care that you’re a—a vampire,” you rush out and continue speaking. “So please, don’t hold yourself back from me, I don’t want you to seek out your pleasure from others in the castle when I’m right here.”

His brain reels with an overwhelming amount of thoughts as you look up at him from where you sit, shoulders tight and lifted towards your ears as your chest rises and falls rapidly with each breath you take as you wait for him to speak.

You know he’s a vampire. How, he isn’t sure, because he knows that your father is not aware of that fact. No, he only assumed that your father had figured out that he was not the true prince, and instead a cousin filling in for the role, and shared this information with you. Nope, you meant you knew that he was immortal and knew of his late-night proclivities. He slowly lowers himself into the chair he vacated, wholly unprepared when you throw yourself forward onto your knees before him.

“Please, I’m right here. I only want you to touch me. No one else.”

Unable to resist, Namjoon does touch you, reaching beneath your arms to lift you to him. Even while standing, your eyes are only a few inches above him as he sits, and you step between his parted legs when he gently tugs you further into his space.

“I didn’t realize that my words made you feel unwanted.” Namjoon speaks slowly as he gathers his thoughts to organize his words. “I’m unsure how you came about this information, but I.. th-there’s some things we should clear up.”    

Your eyes appear to study him intently, brows inching closer as your face wrinkles with apprehension. The flooding of your veins as your heart rate increases leads Namjoon to pause and hold his breath before speaking.

“There is a reason that I have been so distant, and yet have only sought out to take one wife and no others. It came to my attention that your father has been one of the main financial supporters of a rival political party that supports more control from Chief Councilors and less from me. This money helped supply weapons and mercenaries, and there was an…attempt on my life recently. It was nearly successful at bringing down this clan’s reign and ending our family line.”

You gasp as he reveals this partial truth, and say, “I swear to you, my king, I knew not of such plans, I know my father has ambitions and a dislike for the lack of his power due to the crown, but not that he would steep to such levels for gain.” Namjoon can feel the way your pulse reacts as he holds your wrists in his large hands. You truly were not aware, and this knowledge helps quell any lingering doubts he has about sharing more information with you. 

“I believe that you had no knowledge of his plans or his financial support. But, because of that event, it is what led me to say yes to you as my concubine. You see, I felt that by having his daughter in the palace and by my side, that he would pull back his support of any rivals, and even decide to stop pushing for less control, especially since any heir would be his own grandchild to be on the throne.” Namjoon knows this last part is a lie, since he could not provide you with any children and the plan that is in place would not allow any child of yours to be on the throne, but he can’t tell you that. 

You nod, eyes rapt with attention as they pour over his face, gleaning any additional information you can. 

“My king, I do not support my father in his ventures. I promise you, I…he has never been much of a father to me. More like a tyrant or like…like he believes that my life does not matter more than what I am able to provide for him. You have saved me from him in so many ways, and I just want to show you my gratitude. I want you to feel my appreciation.” 

Your tone holds not an ounce of seductive undertones as you continue, “I care not that you are a vampire, I—” he allows you to pull free from his hold, turning your hands so that your palms lay on the outsides of his and you guide them carefully through the opening of your robes to your bare bosom, cupping his hands around your full chest. “I ache for you, Namjoon. I have never felt such a desire before, have never sought out the affections of a man. In truth, I’m terrified, but not because of what you are, but because I have never crossed this line before.” 

And Namjoon, still a man with carnal desires despite his blood lust, wants to be the one you cross that line with. He can feel the weight of your breasts as you move closer, stepping in such a way so that you can straddle him—which you do moments later. He feels his hands tighten around your chest without your fingers leading the motion, and the tiny, breathy moan that you release brushes against his lips from your proximity. 

He’s hardening, lengthening; his cock pressing against your clothed heat and his fangs inching from his parted lips, both aching to open you up for him. And just as the circling press of your pert nipples to the pads of his thumbs begins, you cover his mouth with yours, moaning for his ears only as you lean into his touch at all junctions where your body touches his.

It’s intoxicating; your scent wraps around him and the feel of your blood thrumming within your body as you tremble from the pure lust that seems to ooze from your pores as you, you! devour his lips with no care of his fangs. Your tongue is tentative, but curious—seeking to glide along his and taste all of him. 

When you pull back, he presumes to breathe since he need not this human action, his fang nicks your tongue on retreat. That one drop makes his muscles spasm—you pull back from him faster as his touch turns painful for a moment and then you are flying, landing on the bed in a frenzy and in a blink Namjoon is pressed to the wall farthest from you, his fists clenched tightly as he holds himself back from you. 

“There is…still much you need…to know and understand.” Namjoon strains to get the words out, actively fighting his thirst for his wife—for you—whose blood has never been tasted by another, and whose tight cunt has never been taken by another. “Please, walk slowly to the door and get the Huwon guards…”

“No, please, Namjoon, I want—”

“Now!” he roars, watching fear filter into your eyes as you spring from the bed and rush towards the door. With a speed rivaling light, he is in front of you before you can make it three steps from the bed. His predator instinct couldn’t allow you to leave the room now. Grasping you under your thighs, he lifts you effortlessly, drawing his nose along your neckline.

Instantly, your fear melts away from your body, leaving you boneless as he deposits you forcefully to the bed you just vacated.

“You will take me, and I will drink from you, and then, I will tell you everything, but I can’t…can’t let you go. I must have you.”   

🥀🥀🥀Taelani🥀🥀🥀

The gentle husband whom you had straddled mere moments before, who had kissed you with a softness that you have never known, was no longer the man above you. Instead, a predator climbs onto the covers as you scramble backwards, but his hand grips your wrist and slides you along the silk sheets back underneath his body.

His hands box in your head, with his knees bracing either side of your hips. Your heart is pounding, and you freeze beneath him, finally understanding why he said to walk slowly. 

~~

“Grandfather, what do I do if I encounter a bear or something of the like in the forest?” Five-year-old Taelani asks as she walks along her family grounds with her maternal grandpa. 

“My dear Taelani, you must never run if you encounter a large animal. Predators are wired to chase after prey. Be steadfast, like a deer or a hare. Freeze and watch first. They may not mean you any harm, but if you should run, they cannot stop themselves.” 

~~

Going stockstill seems to work, just as you remembered learning about as a child. Namjoon mimics this, freezing his own body and his dilated eyes close as he leans closer into you and…inhales. 

“I’m sorry, but I—I need to feed.” His voice is tense, a quiet murmur that fills the silence.

“It’s okay, I’m right here,” you say, proffering your own neck. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

“This is not—I wanted this to be different, I don’t want to hurt you. You deserve—”

“—a husband who will make love to me, and feed from only me. Because I am yours, and you are mine.”

His eyes open with a blazing, hungry stare and before you can do anything else, he descends on your lips with a fierceness. His hands move from the sheets to your robe, ripping it open to expose your dusky nipples to the chilled air. He grips the hem of the clothing preventing you from full nudity and all but destroys it as he pulls it from your body in a feral show of strength.

“Mine.” His words are a low growl before his mouth is once again on yours, this time his hands now free to roam your body without clothing to hinder him. His deft hands move in symmetry to cup your breasts, giving them a supple squeeze before drifting down your hips and he moves his body lower along yours so he can hook his arms around the backs of your thighs. 

The silks beneath you allow him to easily slip between your skin and the satin, giving him the right angle to push your legs up and bare all to him. You shiver in anticipation, feeling how wet you are by the air now meeting the heat between your thighs. You want him. The throbbing of your clit makes you want to clench your thighs together for some relief, but the way he’s holding you won’t allow it. 

His kisses trail lower, mouth hovering over your nipple until his lengthened teeth graze the sensitive skin. Arching your back, he takes this as a sign to suck the peak into his mouth, tongue swirling as you moan. He switches sides, treating them equally before continuing lower, tongue dancing across your navel. The caress of the wet muscle has your body jumping with desire. 

“Oh!” You can hardly keep quiet when his tongue tastes you, laving flat across your open warmth before making short, quick passes along your clit. Your hands grip the sheets in desperation—for him to stop, for him to continue—the pleasure is overwhelming. 

“You taste…divine,” his voice rumbles, and you try to keep your eyes on him but squeeze them shut when his mouth returns to devour you. Sensual, plump lips kissing you, sucking you, tongue fucking you—you writhe beneath him. His hands press you wider, keeping you open as your muscles fight against the pleasure and threaten to close around his head.

And he doesn’t stop. Not until you're dripping, and the lower half of his face is glistening with you. You barely register his movements, can barely tell that he’s naked and climbing above you until he’s suddenly in your eyeline. Floating…that’s what this feeling is, like floating on a cloud, carefree. And when the blunted tip of his cock nudges at your still quivering heat, you widen your legs and welcome him, urging him to fill you. 

And, oh! You don’t expect the pressure to build as he thrusts within you, and you cry out in pain, in pleasure, in ecstasy at the fullness he brings as your walls quiver around him. 

Your hands tighten on his shoulders as he begins to move with more gusto, continuing to keen at the feeling—all of the feelings—and slowly the pain lessens and he glides with less stilted motion, bottoming out again and again and again.

A rhythmic chanting sounds, and it takes a few moments for you to recognize your own voice, so laced with desire and lust, pleading for him. “Please, gods, don’t stop, please!” along with a guttural reply, “I won’t,” filling the bed chamber that surely the others in the palace must be awake and able to hear. Namjoon appeases your request and his hips continue to piston fluidly, his strong thighs creating a cacophony of sounds as they meet the backs of yours. 

An inhale, sharp and stilting—a grunt, with hips stuttering—his fangs piercing the tender skin at the crook of your neck as you feel the blood weeping from your vein as he drinks deeply of you. And you shatter from the ecstasy, like a fallen vase of porcelain, pieces scattering like twinkling stars across the galaxy in a vibrant bursting of flames. 

🥀

“I am…older than I look.” You lay with your head upon Namjoon’s chest, fingers dancing along the smooth, glistening skin of his chest. His voice reverberates in your head as his low timbre continues. “And I am not truly the Queen Mother’s son, but her relative.”

You tilt your head to look up at him.

“I died a little over 50 years ago. Many of my family within these walls are like me. Forever frozen in time. When my father was just a boy in 1390, his uncles and aunts all fell ill of the fever. One by one, they passed away, and his father, fearing death, sought out the answer to life. When all was said and done, the only one to survive the fever was my grandfather’s youngest brother. In order to secure his place on the throne, stories spread that the youngest son killed all of his older siblings for power. In reality, my grandfather helped spread this and protected him all the while from assassination attempts.”

Looking with wide eyes at him, you almost can’t believe that what he says is true. Almost.

“This became our family’s mission. To protect the youngest sibling's line. For all of the children born to the older siblings who did not pass from the fever, upon approaching their 30th year and after having a family if they so wished, would endure the change and live forever. We have grown in our numbers and have always worked to protect the one line that history can know about. The Queen Mother’s great-grandfather is that youngest sibling. Merely days before I took the throne, her son, the true heir, was murdered.”

With a gasp, you sit up, clutching the satin sheets to your naked breasts.

“In order to hide that this attempt was successful, I stepped into his place and took the throne. And the Queen Mother will have another child, one who we will raise as our own and be the next successor, rightfully restoring the line to power once more.”

 “I have so many questions, I can’t even begin to list them!” you pout, stifling a yawn at the late hour. You understand that you will have to raise the Queen Mother’s son as your own child so that the correct lineage remains on the throne, but what of your own children? 

“We have plenty of time for your questions, my love. Maybe I shall answer some of them as I tell you more?”

As Namjoon continues to regale you with his tale, spelling out exactly how your lives will be, you settle back into his body and listen intently to his deep tenor rumbling against your cheek, curling your naked body around his own, until you fall asleep. 

🥀🥀🥀

Epilogue

Eighteen years have passed since Taelani first entered the palace as Namjoon’s concubine. 

Eighteen years since you learned the truth about your husband and his family, and full of questions and curious for more information, had kept him up the following nights with all of your thoughts until he lay you down and forced you quiet with his lips on yours and his hands seeking other truths between your legs. 

Now, you are a mother to twins—at least, as far as the kingdom was concerned. Your daughter, Seojin, is truly yours and Namjoon’s, a miracle that even Namjoon’s family had not anticipated. Due to most everyone else in his family waiting until they had chosen a mate and had kids to turn, this was an unprecedented event. And Seojin’s twin brother, Jiho—though not truly siblings—but instead cousins, is the answer to keeping the family line on the throne. 

Queen Mother Sindeok had hidden away, where she bore a son and then quietly returned to the palace with you and Namjoon, cradling a secret that only your family knew. A secret that she bundled tightly for the trip back and handed into your arms a mere day before your Seojin was born.  

By royal decree, the news of the double royal birth spread across the lands, and in short, the Queen Mother’s pregnancy had never happened. Instead, Taelani, beloved Queen Consort to King Namjoon, had given birth to twins—a boy and a girl, heirs to a prosperous future. Together, the twins' birth was celebrated by the populace and secured the power that Namjoon’s grandfather had cultivated over the years, maintaining their hold of the throne their line refused to give up.

The birth of your twins also made sure that your father no longer tried to challenge the current rulers for power over the people. The Chief Councilor must have immediately withdrawn his money and support of the rival factions, as their attacks and their false propaganda dwindled to almost nonexistence. 

With the belief that his grandson would take the throne, as the twin who was born minutes before his sister, your father seemed to think better of his past alliances, and instead made to be a better grandfather to them than he was a father to you, in the hopes that his name would be next to theirs in historical records as a formative familial link to the throne. 

You still watched over his actions, even now, knowing that he may no longer hunger for the death of the emperor, but that his gusto for power and manipulation was never far from the surface. You and Namjoon had raised your children well though, teaching them to think for themselves and avoid manipulation tactics from even the most persuasive of grandparents. 

At eighteen, Seojin showed no outward signs of her father’s affliction, but for a glint in her eyes that she could do more, hear more, see more, smell more—than her human counterparts. Her brother Jiho was smart, empathetic, and set to be a great ruler, carrying on the legacy his forefathers set before him.

It may have been a little over a decade since you joined your husband in an everlasting life, but you have never regretted that decision, not even for a moment. Standing next to him as he pens his speech for Jiho’s coronation, you absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair as you stare out at the full moon, large against the backdrop of the stars and dark clouds. 

“My love, come to bed,” you suggest, wanting to lay with him, to embrace him, to love him.

“One more line and I’ll join you,” he promises with a smirk. He still looks the same, jovial eyes crescenting as his lips quirk up at you. “Strip, and I’ll make sure to keep you warm.”

His lustful gaze watches as you step backwards towards the bed, eyes staying on his face.

A few moments later, he replaces his quill and caps the ink, fingers tugging at his pants to loosen them from his waist. Your giggles carry with the evening breeze as it whistles quietly through the slats in the window, rustling the parchment Namjoon was writing on and drying the last lines he had written. 

“And for our country, with Yi Jiho as emperor, this nation will finally have all we have fought for: strength, power, and a promising future.”

And for you and Namjoon, your sacrifices eighteen years ago continue the legacy of a kingdom destined to be ruled by a lineage of

eternal reign.

↣ all rights reserved © hisunshiine 2024. please do not repost. translations & modifications are not allowed.

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Ready to roll?

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles, day 9

Prompt: No Upside Down AU

Rated: T

CW: one mention of masturbation bc Eddie is a horny little shit

Tags: Future fic; Flirting; Record label owner!Eddie; Waiter!Steve; Steve in rollerblades

Notes: Another collab with the amazingly talented and creative @house-of-the-moving-image - check out their art!

"What?" Eddie says eloquently, tearing his eyes from the laminated menu. 

The waiter is hovering next to his booth, pen tapping against the notepad in his hand. He looks annoyed. Probably pissed at Eddie for interrupting his quiet night shift. Well, tough luck, pretty boy. 

"I said …" the waiter pauses, heaves a brief but heartfelt sigh. "Are you ready to roll?" 

Eddie blinks. 

"Listen, dude!" The waiter says flatly, but there's a blush blossoming on his neck. "I'd ask if I may take your order, but I'm, like, contractually obfuscated to say … this instead. Goes with the theme, y’know?" 

He gestures at the entirety of himself. The cheerfully colored shirt and tiny shorts. The little apron around his waist. The knee-high socks disappearing into a pair of chunky, red-and-white rollerblades, and … oh, right. 

"Well?" 

Eddie snaps his eyes back up and shit, for how long has he been staring at those legs like a creep?

The waiter is scowling at him. He really is pretty. Exactly Eddie’s type. Gold-flecked eyes, stupidly voluminous hair, pink lips twisted into a bitchy little scowl. Eddie imagines pushing him up against the wall on those stupid wheels of his, sucking and biting that scowl right off. 

"Hm," he makes instead. "The guys at the label said I'd enjoy the cake, but I'm starting to think they weren't talking about the menu." 

The scowl deepens. 

"Cheeseburger and fries," Eddie says. "And a strawberry milkshake." 

One elegant eyebrow arches. 

"... Please?" 

Waiter boy smirks at him, a brief flash of perfectly white teeth. Eddie wants to lick them. 

"Coming right up." He jots the order down, shoves pen and notepad into his apron pocket. As he does, Eddie catches a glimpse of the name tag attached to his uniform shirt. (Which has nothing to do with him ogling the way the fabric stretches over that toned chest, because he wasn't doing that, thank you.)

It says "Hi, I'm Steve. :-)"

Wait, what? 

The whirr of rollerblades on the floor tiles jerks him out of his stupor. He's glad he didn't take off his sunglasses, because holy fuck, he must be gawking like an idiot right now. 

Because he knows a guy named Steve. Or knew. 

A guy named Steve with perfect, caramel hair, tan skin littered in moles and an irritatingly pretty, aloof smile. Not that Eddie was ever at the receiving end of that smile. The closest Eddie ever got to him was back in eighty-six, when he was dealing drugs out of his van. In the driveway of that palace in Loch Nora, while the King and his court partied inside. 

Eddie watches how waiter boy comes gliding out of the kitchen, wipes down tables and refills napkin holders. 

It can't be. 

Steve Harrington is back in the hellhole that is Hawkins, Indiana - or maybe at some college halfway across the country, preparing to take over daddy's business. He's most certainly not wearing rollerblades and a pair of stupidly short shorts, waiting tables in a cheap twenty-four hour diner in Seattle. 

Then again, back in eighty-six, who would've thought that Eddie Munson would be owning his own record label one day? 

When waiter boy arrives with his order and leans in to put it down on the table, Eddie peers over his sunglasses to cast an inconspicuous look at his profile. 

There's a pair of moles on his neck, near identical in size, spaced apart like a perfect little vampire bite. 

Well, slap his ass and call him Sally. 

Eddie knows these moles, has spent entire nights jerking off to the thought of sinking his teeth into them. 

"Staring costs extra," Steve mutters at the milkshake. 

Before Eddie can say anything, the phone on the counter rings and Steve rolls over to answer it. Eddie chews on his too-salty fries and can't help the grin that tugs at his lips as he watches the boy twirl the cord around his fingers while taking the order. 

The night just officially got interesting.

Steve looks over, catches him staring and gives him the flattest, most unimpressed look Eddie has ever seen on a person who just realized they were being checked out. The blush has reached his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. Eddie winks and Steve rolls his eyes before he turns his back on him. Eddie doesn’t complain. That ass does look fantastic in the shorts.

He takes his time with the meal. The burger is nothing to write home about, but the view more than makes up for it.

When he is done, he saunters over to the counter, pulling out his wallet. Steve is busy counting mayonnaise packages and muttering under his breath. He blinks in confusion when Eddie slaps down a fifty, starts digging for change in his apron. 

"Nah," Eddie says. "Just keep it." 

Steve frowns at him. "That's way too much." 

"Don't sell yourself short. I thought staring was extra?"

Steve opens his mouth. Hesitates. Closes it. Pockets the money. 

"Thanks," he murmurs, eyes trained at some point behind Eddie's shoulder. "Roll by again."

Eddie just barely manages to turn the incoming snort into a grin.  

"Sure will,” he mutters, leaning across the counter and into the boy’s space. “Maybe I'll try that cake next time." 

"Oh, please," Steve huffs. "As if you could afford me, Munson." 

Eddie feels his jaw drop. "Wait, you knew who-" 

The doorbell chimes. 

"Hi there!" Steve chirps at the guy in the door. "You called, right? I'll check if your order is ready." 

And then he's gone and Eddie is staring at the still swinging kitchen door like an idiot. 

It isn't until he's back out in the dark street that his confusion morphs into something else. His majesty wants to play coy? Well, Eddie can indulge him, can't he? 

He makes his way home with a new spring in his step. Looks like he's found his new favorite dinner spot.

Part 2

All my holiday drabbles

[lgwifey]

Constant Complications

fem!reader x caius volturi

Summary : a short lil conversation <3

Warning : a few words of Google translated Italian

"Can you believe him !"

Y/n had to force herself to not let out a small laugh as she watched as her husband pace up and down the length of their bedroom, poision lacing his words as he ranted about Aro's decicions of that day's court.

"No darling, i can't."

“I mean, the Cullens have broke our main law, and he just lets them get away with it."

The blonde king paused his pacing, turning to watch Y/n calmly removing her makeup before reapplying it so it would be fresh for the next court opening in a few hours. She sat on her vanity stool, now applying mascara as he waited for her attention to be on him. It did remind her slightly of looking after a toddler.

Y/n placed the wand back in its tube and into the makeup bag before turning to him, waiting for his impacient self to start the questioning.

"Yes ?"

"You agree with me, right ? Even if you were at one time a Cullen, you agree with me ?"

“Of course I do Caius. You do well to remember that my loyalties lie with you and the Volturi, not my brother and his new covern."

His eyes softened as she pulled him closer, leaving a small kiss on his frowning features.

“They broke our laws and they should have been treated accordingly, but if Isabella is Edward's mate then she'll become one of our kind soon. We must maintain power by showing we do not kill irrationally."

"Of course." Caius stood, fixing his suit before moving to the other side of the room, Y/n furrowing her brows at his random leaving before carrying on with her makeup, finalising her look by fixing the ruby necklace which hung between her collarbones.

“Caius ?"

The blonde spun around immediately, placing his rings back into their box and giving his full attention to the woman facing him.

"Carlisle didn't know they were here, i'll be informing him next time we meet, he'll deal with them how he sees fit but i'll make sure it's proper."

"And when will that be ?"

A sour look filled the raging vampires expression, he wasn't a fan of his mate’s brother, after he left the Volteri in pursuit of his own covern, Caius lost what little respect he had for the doctor. If it wasn't for Y/n, the entire Olympic Covern would have been wiped out before it started.

"I'm not sure... but it should be soon, i haven't seen him for just over two decades, twenty three years. "

"That isn't that long."

She just rolled her eyes, pulling her cloak over her dress and giving him a small hug seeing how they needed to leave to the throne room.

"Maybe not for you old man, but i'm only three hundred and fifty eight."

"I'm not old, Cullen."

The use of her maiden name as an insult left them both holding back laughter.

"Scilicet."

A few months had past since the incident with her brother's covern and to say Y/n was shocked when a letter arrive in their post for her would be a lie.

"Oh what a surprise. A letter, from Forks."

The queen threw door between the chamber entry and her bedroom open, closing it just as quickly.

She found her husband to be layed down on their king sized bed, stareing up at the ceiling and probably deep in thought on new ways to hurt court arrivals. Her voice was heavily dosed in sarcasm which only intrigued Caius, popping his head up from the pillow. He was holding back his smile at the upcoming lecture about how ungrateful her older brother could be.

“What are the chances that it’s a thank you for saving his creations lives ?”

“Non Sunt.”

Her words came out like a growl, adding in the dramatic eye roll, the blonde could tell that his wife’s upcoming rant was going to be spectacular.

Y/n gave a roll of her eyes before dragging one of her long stiletto nails through the envolope top, acting like a knife.

Her eyes flicked over the inked words in less than a second, taking them all in before growling at the paper and throwing it at her husband.

“Fantastic (!)"

Caius took more than a second to read the page, pausing for a moment before looking up in a confused fashion. He flicked his eyes over it again, at least three times.

“I've never come across that language before. What does this say? How can you read that? "

"It's English Darling, doctor's handwriting. I've just become accustom to reading Carlisle's letters every so often."

She placed a kiss onto his forehead before laying him down again so she could lean on his chest, her brother tiring her out with just the letter. Oh if she could sleep so would’ve blacked out from exhaustion.

"Apparently someone is creating a newborn army in order to kill the Isabella girl, since their covern killed this woman, Victoria's, mate the other year to protect Edward's mate. A lot of mortals are becoming suspicious of the deaths and Carlisle asks if we can do anything about it."

The king let out a sound of complaint before muttering an annoyed "can't we just let them kill her ?"

She tried her hardest to push back the slime growing on her lips from his conclusion, lightly shoved his shoulder, a grin meeting her in reply. Y/n adjusting her head so she could look him in the eyes. They were turning black, reminding her that they both needed some food soon before they both ended up starving.

Caius slammed his head back into his pillow.

“I know Darling, but we have to maintain the first law."

She moved so she could run her nails through his hair, knowing he didn't want to be the one to have to go to his brothers to explain the current Seattle situation.

“I'll go inform Marcus of the news, should I ask him to send Jane and Alec ?"

Caius’ tired out eyes opened up from a slow blink, leaning closer to the comforting circles being threaded and swirled into his hair. His voice came out soft, a tone reserved for Y/n and Y/n alone.

“Felix and Demetri would be a better pair to go."

Caius mumbled before squashing his face under a pillow, hiding from his responcibilities.

Masterlist

[verbenaa]

so that i may dream tonight

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

It was a special torture to be unable to touch him, you decide. You want nothing more than to brush your fingers through his curls as you come, to caress the delicate point at the top of his ears, feel the smoothness of his skin on your fingertips.

It feels absolutely filthy, to be tied up like this, your pleasure left to Astarion’s will as you are powerless to simply lay in wait for whatever he has in store.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life!

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 9.1k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, massage, blow jobs, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, light bdsm, vampire bites, discussion of safe words, vaginal sex, vampire sex, multiple orgasms, orgasm denial, soft dom astarion, TAILOR ASTARION

𝑎/𝑛: I'm back with round 2 baby and somehow its 2k words longer lol. ANYWAYS, this is incredibly indulgent and warm and sexy and INTIMATE. I'm literally screaming. I truly don't know how this ended up so long but oH WELL. anyway, I hope you enjoy reading! below is the a03 link too if you'd prefer to read over there!

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

The water is warm against your skin as you lean back against the edge of the wooden tub, hair arranged in a loose pile barely contained with haphazardly placed gold pins as you recline, your eyes wandering up to greet the carved beams of the ceiling that sit resolutely above you. 

It had been a decidedly long day, working deep within the walls of the city beside Wyll, who it had been altogether wonderful to see again after such an extended period. You still weren’t entirely sure why the two of you had been summoned together to help manage Guild politics of all things, but you suppose that this was simply the nature of your semi-recent and highly publicized acts of heroism.

The tension had built up in your body throughout it all, leaving you more ready for the respite of your home than usual. It had been quite some time since you had spent so many hours in the daylight, the warmth of the sun on your skin never unwelcome, but a rarity you were no longer so familiar with. The deep, velvety blue that marked the night sky had long since become associated with your waking hours, the twinkling stars a welcome companion from their place high above your head.

Your mind wanders aimlessly through a myriad of thoughts, barely focusing on one before jumping quickly to the next faster than you can keep up with. With a deep sigh, you attempt to center yourself, though anything that even closely resembled the act of meditation wasn’t your strong suit. You manage to keep it up for a minute before giving up with a roll of your eyes as you instead move to stare blandly at a botanical tapestry hanging on the wall across from you, the calming greens of woven plants blending into one another.

You lose yourself to your musings once again, going over your day and what was to come, trying to make sense of it all, mind drifting from thought to thought as you luxuriate in the lavender scented water Astarion had so kindly readied for you.

Time passes, though you aren’t quite sure how long, the water losing its steam and the soothing heat finally subsiding, drawing you away from your imaginings and you reluctantly find yourself back in the present with a long-suffering sigh. Your head raises from its resting place on the side of the tub, the stretch of your spine drawing an appreciate groan from you as you sit upright.

“All that work for a hot bath and you’re already done?” You turn to glance over your shoulder at Astarion from where he rests indolently on the bed, clad only in a pair of loose silk pants and book held aloft in an elegant hand, looking for all the world a king presiding over an invisible court as the sheer canopy that surrounds the bed blows lightly in a breeze from the open window.

“Apologies to any sore muscles hurt in the act of carrying buckets of water.” You flash him a wink as you roll your head from side to side, stiff muscles protesting the motions.

“Shall I try a more…aggressive approach towards reheating, love?” He holds a hand up, ready to set spark with the inherent elven magic that runs through his veins, a incredibly familiar devious smile on his lips. It was terribly easy to forget he had such skills sometimes, when those hands seemed so much more well-suited for tasks of a more cunning nature.

“I’d rather you not accidentally turn our only tub to cinders, if you don’t mind.” Your raise a brow and fix a look back at him, daring him to try such an act.

“Suit yourself, darling.” He sends a smirk your direction as you turn back to face forward in the bath, his eyes never straying from your form as he watches stray droplets of water make trails down the exposed skin of your neck.

In a last ditch effort to prolong your bath, you push your body under the water until only your head remains above, intent to grasp at the last vestiges of warmth the water will offer before you move to stand.

The water sluices off your form as you emerge, dripping over the fullness of your breasts and rushing down your belly in smooth rivulets that fall back into the swirling bath below. Steam rolls off your limbs as your body meets the coolness of the air, skin still tender from the heat as you make to step out of the tub and onto a small stool, grabbing at a folded towel left nearby. Limb by limb, you make to gently pat at the wetness clinging to you, the tiny beads of water like little crystals decorating your skin, before settling the towel to rest over the top of the partition screen. 

You make your way over herringbone floors on raised toes, trying to avoid any stray drops from falling onto the wood beneath your feet. Only a moment passes before you finally feel the soft weave of a rug against your feet as you find yourself at your destination.

The shared dressing table sits in front of the bed, wood worn with years of use as a collection of multicolored jars and vials of oils rest on a painted tray strategically placed to hide the worst of the wear. A silver hairbrush rests beside the tray, carefully maintained with no sign of tarnish on the intricate design of the handle, clearly well loved through the years.

The air is refreshing against the your warmed skin as you reach for a small glass vial at random, the viscous amber of the oil inside swishing from side to side as you bring it to your hand. You uncork it with familiar motions and pour the scented oil into the palm of your hand, careful not to spill any onto the patterned rug beneath your feet.

With small, sweeping motions you rub the oil into your skin, mindful to try to reach every inch you can, the scent of bergamot and jasmine (one of Astarion’s curations, surely) filling the room with an easy and familiar warmth. You pay no mind to anything other than your self-care, allowing your focus to settle wholly on the act and nothing more.

Astarion is near silent as he rises from the bed behind you, moving with ethereal grace towards your naked form. You don’t take notice of his presence until he is upon you, the feeling of his cool, muscular arms wrapping around your waist from behind causing a noise of surprise to tumble from your lips. 

The feeling of his cool skin against the warmth of your own makes you jump, nipples hardening and gooseflesh rising on your arms as his hands brush against your belly in affection. His angular jaw comes to rest on your shoulder, nose skimming the elegant column of your neck as he presses in close.

“Need any help, darling?” The words brush against the shell of your ear, his lips touching your skin with every word uttered as the hands wrapped around your waist tighten to bring you even closer to his own form.

“Well, if you’re offering, how could I say no?” You relax into the embrace of your lover, his hands sweeping up and down the flesh of your stomach before finding their way to your tense shoulders.

His hands are a balm on your skin as he rubs the remaining oil into your skin in soothing circles, fingers lightly massaging at your sore muscles. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder as your eyes close at the sensation of his hands on you, reveling in his attentions with a contented hum.

“Why such a bad day, dearest?” Astarion’s question is genuine as he glances up from your skin to glimpse your expression as he waits for your reply. 

“Hm, not quite so bad as long. I think I’m out of practice at this whole hero thing.” Your words are a sigh as his hands work at the muscles of your shoulders, thumbs digging in to release the tension sitting heavily there. 

“I don’t blame you. A day with Wyll’s tireless chivalry would push me to my limits as well.” You snort in response at his supposed honestly, though frankly you are inclined to think he might actually like Wyll for his eternal kindness, but you know he’d never admit such a thing out loud.

Astarion gathers more oil in the center of his palms before his hands continue, moving from your shoulders to your arms and onward, to the curve of your lower back and around the circle of your hips; careful to never press hard enough to cause pain but with enough pressure to relieve your tired body. His thumbs press into the muscles with precision, you body becoming more lax with every pass of his hands.

Astarion lowers to his knees behind you when he is satisfied with his progress, hands skating over your rear as they make their way down your legs, nothing less than reverence in the motions as he smooths his hands down and then back up the skin of your thighs and calves, intent to touch every inch of skin available to him. 

The movement of his hands on your legs, brushing high on your thighs brings a subtle heat alighting inside you, barely a flicker, but just enough for the feeling of arousal to start deep inside much to your slight embarrassment for hoping such innocent touches would turn into more.

There’s a sudden shift in his touches, you realize, Astarion’s motions transitioning from methodical to subtle teasing with every pass, daring to go a little higher on every turn up your thighs before darting back down again to more neutral territory. You shift slightly at the feeling, wishing for more but refusing to acknowledge the urge to push your thighs together to ease the slow growing ache.

Astarion must take notice, you think, so close to the warm center of your body, must be able to smell the soft embers marking the start of your arousal. His hands finally stop their ministrations, moving instead to grasp around the bones of your hips as he presses a single kiss to the base of your spine, before pressing another right above it. Slowly he begins to rise, kiss by kiss, as he follows the line of your spine from your hips upwards; lips moving to touch the back of your waist, the space between your shoulder blades, the base of your neck. 

His lips are as cold as winter air yet they feel like a brand with every press against the column of your spine, stoking the fire deep inside your core with startling ease. 

He raises back up to his full height, his hands draped around your waist once more as he leans in to press a kiss against your cheek, drawing hypnotic patterns against your lower belly knowingly. You lean back into his kiss, head tilting, and rest your body back against his own. As you put your weight into his safe embrace, you feel a familiar hardness pressing lightly against the bare skin of your ass, covered by the same luxurious silk as the pants he wears low on his hips.

Your lips curl, victorious at your discovery and you bring your hands to cover his own where they rest on your stomach before drawing one up along the sinew of his arm to instead press against to the solid expanse of his abs. 

Daringly, you move the hand lower, fingers dancing over the dip of his hips to brush against the subtle erection pressing against his silken pants. Astarion’s body bucks into your own at your touch, the hands around your waist suddenly gripping harder as you continue your exploration.

“If those hands of yours keep wandering, you’ll leave me no choice but to tie them up, darling.” His words are teasing, a gleam of affection in his claret eyes as his head moves low to nip playfully at your throat.

You quirk your brow at such a delicious idea, and with a purposeful motion your hand presses harder against him, finger tracing the curve of his cock with mock innocence. 

“If that’s supposed to be a threat, it’s a very poor one.” You lean your head to the side, giving more room for his lips to move against.

Astarion lets out a disappointed sigh, one hand sliding up from your stomach to palm at your breast, squeezing lightly as he runs a thumb over the nipple in response to your shameless disobedience. His other hand travels lower, fingers brushing past your stomach to reach between your legs and glide through the wetness he finds there as he lets out an audible tsk, the beginnings of your arousal decorating his fingers as a low moan escapes your lips.

“You just never learn, do you?” You gasp at glide of the oil on his fingers against your skin as Astarion weighs your breast in his palm with one hand, the other pressing lightly against your clit, your back arching at the sensation. Your pleasure lasts but a moment, Astarion’s hands moving back to hold at your waist once more, and you whimper at the loss.

He walks the few short steps backwards towards the bed, pulling you in tow until his knees meet the soft edge of the mattress and he lets himself fall backward, taking you with him.

Your bodies land to rest upon the blankets with a soft bounce, Astarion’s arms still around you as a small laugh bubbles up from your throat. It only takes a second for you to quickly turn in his arms, pressing your naked breasts against his bare chest as your eyes meet his own in mirth.

His hands never leave your waist, fingers dancing up the curve of your spine as your legs find their place on either side of his hips. You let your body melt into his own, quick to begin to press kisses into the expanse of his chest below you. Your lips make their way towards his neck as you push yourself up to straddle him, his hands falling to rest on your thighs where they bracket his hips.

The growing wet of your core presses against his lower stomach and the feeling of your arousal on his skin does not escape his notice. With a feline smile, the hands on your thighs make their way back to your waist and with the lightest of pressure, Astarion encourages you to move your hips. 

Your breath catches at the feeling as you move to work with him, his hands guiding you back and forth to grind yourself against his chiseled stomach as the hands on his chest steady your movements. Astarion’s eyes meet your own as he helps you along, each slow brush of your clit against his skin has your pleasure building, your lips falling open as your desire multiplies. 

Astarion moves a hand up your body as your hips find their cadence against him, only stopping when he reaches the curve of your breast, brushing a finger lightly along the full bottom of it as your hips undulate against him.

“You’re so very beautiful like this.” His eyes are molten with mounting desire as he watches you move back and forth on his body, your nipples pebbling under his touch and your wetness growing with every pass along him.  

“I could say the same to you,” You hips move with seductive grace, gliding across him. “It’s quite a treat to have such a beautiful man like yourself beneath me.”

Astarion brings his wandering hand back to your empty hip before drawing it farther down to press against the place where your slick glistens against his pale skin. He draws a finger through the dew he finds on his abdomen, gathering it on a fingertip before pressing it into his mouth to lick at your arousal. 

“Delicious, as always.” His eyes are the deepest of garnet, sensuous as they meet your own.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight, empty core clenching with want as an idea forms in your mind, one that promises certain pleasure to you both. Swiftly, you lift yourself off his chest to slide lower, your dripping folds brushing against the silk covering his cock, darkening the fabric before you continue down until your knees touch the ground before the bed. Your sudden change of position has Astarion leaning up onto his elbows, watching you intently as your hands run up and down his covered thighs.

“And just what do you think you’re doing?” You meet his eyes, a coquettish smile on your lips as your hands move higher, brushing dangerously close to his hardness. You lean your head in and lick lightly against a slight dampness you see on the silk, eyes never leaving his as Astarion’s hips jump and a sigh breaks from his lips.

“Do you want me to?” Your question is genuine as you move your head away from his erection, giving him space to answer as your eyes gaze at his elegant features, waiting for his blessing.

“Do your worst, darling.” His lips take on their trademark roguish grin in response to the sly one now decorating your own. The sight of you on your knees before him is always a welcome one, and he would be remiss to deny such a gift of pleasure from you.

Astarion moves to sit, intent on not missing a single moment as he helps you free his hardened cock from the silk of his pants in a flurry of movement before they are discarded onto the floor, soon to be forgotten entirely.

“It would be my honor.” The words leave your lips moments before they press against his newly uncovered heat, searing kisses moving against the vein running from the crown to the base of him. You lick greedily at the precome leaking from the tip before laving your tongue along the head of his cock, a hand coming to brush lightly against the base before your fist closes around him.

You feel his hands in your hair, nimble fingers finding the golden pins barely holding your hair up before throwing them to the side with surprising accuracy, until they’ve all but disappeared under furniture never to be found again. Your hair falls in a messy curtain around your face, Astarion quick to brush through the errant locks as your mouth works him. 

Astarion lets you move at your own pace, basking in the feel of your soft lips and clever tongue working around his cock in fluid motions as the moans that fall from his lips spur you on, urging you to take him deeper, to love him harder. Your hand helps your actions, making sure to keep contact where your mouth cannot easily reach, eager to bring him to the brink.

You hollow your cheeks as you suck at his cock, his eyes closing in pleasure as the hands in your hair tighten in time with his moans. You break off his length with a pop, taking in a lungful of air before you lavish his erection with your tongue, the same hand still massaging him at the base. 

There were few things better than this, you can’t help but think as your tongue flicks at the head of his cock again, the feeling of bringing Astarion to the brink of pleasure with your mouth as he loses himself to the feeling nothing less than exhilarating.

You lips wrap around him once more, taking him as deep inside your mouth as you can manage, the tip of cock near the entrance to your throat as you gag slightly, eyes watering in response. Your head moves back and forth as you take him as deep as you can manage, intent on tasting his come, until you feel the hand in your hair moving. 

Fingers caress your cheek, brushing against the tears staining your skin as you hear Astarion speaking, your mouth slowing to a stop.

“Enough, darling,” his words are strained with effort, Astarion barely managing to hold back from coming on your tongue as he speaks them.

You break away from him the minute you hear the words, a string of saliva connecting your lips and his cock remaining as you bring your eyes to look up at him in question. Astarion groans at the sight, breathing heavily.

You feel his hand come to rest around your upper arm, curling around the lithe muscle there as he gently pulls you up to stand in front of his seated form. Astarion’s breathing is heavy as he looks you up and down before pulling you into his lap, your knees resting on either side of his own as his hands touch everywhere they can, your own coming up to cup his cheeks.

“Are you alright?” Your fingers brush against the planes of his face as it rests in your warm hands.

“Oh, I’ve never been better darling,” he leans into a palm, head tilting with the motion. “I’m just not ready to be done with you yet.”

His admission has heat surging in your belly with anticipation, a smile on your lips as you lean in to press them to his own. Astarion responds in kind, the hands on your body pulling you closer, deepening the kiss, as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip in a bid of entry.

You open your mouth to him, his tongue caressing your own as your lips move against each other’s, the kiss passionate as you pour you love and desire into it. Astarion breaks the kiss first, hands squeezing at your hips as he gestures with his chin towards the plush pillows sitting at the head of the bed. 

“Up you go, my sweet.”

You are quick to react, getting out of his lap and moving your body up the bed as his eyes follow you, your oiled skin brushing against the linens as you make to lay your head upon a pillow resting there, the crochet trim tickling at your nape. You arrange yourself with ease, hoping to look as though you were the picture of obeisance as you wait for him to follow.

Astarion gets up from his place at the foot of the bed and pauses, his gaze running over your body as you lay there in wait for him, perfectly poised in the middle of your shared bed. Your skin glows with the leftover hint of oil still remaining, the shine of it reflecting in the moonlight that dances in through the intricately paneled windows, tracery-like shapes reflected onto the floor the same color silver as his hair.

With that thought Astarion moves away, footsteps taking him instead to his bedside table, pulling open the carved wood front to search for something within. You resist the urge to peek, content instead to wait for him to show you whatever it is he searches so intently for. Finally, Astarion seems to find the item of his fancy and he rises to his full height with the treasure in hand.

It’s a length of delicate pink satiny ribbon; clearly brought here from his studio,  perhaps the leftover from some long-finished project. But maybe, maybe, he had been waiting for a very specific opportunity to arise, and the idea that he had envisioned such a thing brings a fresh wave of heat to your center. You can only hope he is willing to make good on his earlier threat and use such a beautiful material.

“Do you trust me?” The thick ribbon dangles in curls from his elegant fingers, the candlelight illuminating the highlights of the satin a luminous hue.

“With my life.” Your response is quick, slipping from your lips with ease as you gaze at the figure he cuts, moonlight coming in the window in silvered beams illuminating the lines of his body.

Your move your arms up to rest around your head where it lays on the pillow, wrists delicately crossed above your hair like a halo as you follow Astarion’s form as he moves toward where you lay waiting.

The bed dips down where he kneels upon it as he swings a leg over you, his body hovering over your hips as he leans forward to grasp at your wrists. Astarion works quickly, clever fingers moving faster than you can follow. You don’t take your eyes off his face, intent to watch the thoughts as they cross his features. Within moments, he has finished as fast as he started, moving off of you to stand instead at the foot of the bed to watch as you test the bindings. There is give in the ribbon, naturally, you know Astarion would never bind you so tightly you couldn’t truly move or escape unless you were to ask for such a thing. The lack of motion, the ability to truly be unable to do much of anything with your hands or arms is a sensation that feels as strange as it does alluring.

Astarion looks down at you, examining his work as his eyes move to take in every inch of you, from the sight of your hands bound together with that demure pink satin tied in a neat, tidy bow and thoroughly secured to one of the carved freesias that decorate the wooden headboard to the way your body lays waiting for him in loving submission. You are a vision for his eyes only, the sheer image of you like this is sure to be burned into his mind for eternity, something he will see in his dreams for a millennia to come.

“Now, what ever am I to do with such a pretty, lovely thing like yourself?” The way Astarion’s eyes travel over your form makes your thighs rub together on instinct, his heated gaze ratcheting up your arousal as you force yourself to let your legs fall open for him to see the evidence of your anticipation.

He moves to kneel on the bed at your feet, eyes glued to the sight of the damp clinging to your center. Gingerly, you reach out a bare foot and rest it against the center of his chest, toes daintily pressing into the bare skin there, eager for any connection with him you can get. 

Astarion eyes move to glance at your offering and he wastes no time, a hand coming to grab at the foot resting on his sternum, fingers quick to trace the delicate arch with a light touch. He leans his head to press a kiss to the top of your foot before moving further up your leg, pressing kisses to your ankle, your calf, the space behind you knee. 

“You look terribly lovely like this, darling, all tied up and at my mercy.”

His kisses continue their exploration, light brushes of his lips touching your thigh, the gentle softness of your stomach, the valley between your breasts before ending their journey against your neck. Astarion’s body rests between your open thighs as his lips caress the skin of your neck, his cock hot against your lower stomach. Your arms shake against their bonds, aching for the ability to touch him where he lays against you.

“Did you come up with your word, darling?” His voice is a whisper against your neck, his tongue licking at the places where his fangs have left scars as you recall words from a prior conversation. An exchange of words, he had said, to let each other know our comfort level. 

You nod your head, wrists flexing slightly against the ribbons as you try to hide a teasing smile, unable to resist such an opportunity to fluster him with your answer despite the headiness you feel. “Blingdenstone Blush.”

Astarion scoffs at your choice, head coming up from your neck to shoot a look your way, noticing your poorly hidden smile with the raise of a brow. 

“Could you pick anything more terrible?”

“Well, initially I was going to go with Bullywug Trumpet but it doesn’t quite roll of the tongue, now does it?” Astarion rolls his eyes at this, mouth curling up with distaste as he mutters something along the lines of unbelievable or is normalcy truly so much to ask for? under his breath.

“I am very open to discussing other word choices though, if you so desire. After all, there are so many mushrooms we could choose from.” Your smile is sly as you raise your eyebrows in amusement.

“Is a discussion on mycological nomenclature really what you want to be talking about while I have you all trussed up and ready to be devoured, darling?” Astarion’s hips grind into your own, driving home his point with little delicacy.

“Fine, you make a fair argument. Please do continue your previous exploits, sir.” A brief look flits over Astarion’s face at your use of such a word, gone as fast as it comes. The slight twitch of his cock against your skin, however, is far more telling.

“Hmm? Sir? Should I be looking to expand my vocabulary or—“ You move against your bonds to roll your hips back against your own in response, though Astarion is quick to cut you off when his mouth lowers to your breast, tongue circling the nipple, silencing any further conversation from you.

“That’s enough out of that clever mouth of yours for now, sweetest.” He rests his head against your breast, nipple damp as his eyes find your own.

“Sunmelon,” The word is a sigh on your lips. “We can go with that.”

“Consider it sorted, my love,” He presses a light peck at the swell he lays his head on before continuing. “Now, forget about your day, darling, and let me make you feel good.” 

Astarion seals his words with a kiss to the space where your heart beats in your chest before moving to capture the nipple resting below, his tongue circling the peak with precision. 

The motion has your back arching, pressing closer into his waiting mouth, and Astarion does not relent as he alternates between flicks of his tongue and closing his lips around to suck. Your hips jump at the sensation, fresh heat rushing to fill the space between your thighs.

Astarion moves his attentions to your neglected breast, as thorough in his ministrations with it as he was its twin as a hand comes up to brush against the damp nipple recently abandoned. He is resolute in his actions, paying no mind to your rolling hips searching for stimulation.

The feeling of his cock resting against the skin of your stomach is maddening when you want its heat so badly to fill you, Astarion’s motions against your breasts driving you higher and higher with every pass of his tongue. His hands trace down the contours of your body reverently as his mouth continues its exploration at your chest, hands moving to wrap around your arched back to grab at the flesh of your rear. 

He aligns his hips with your own as his hand squeeze at your ass, his cock pressing against your folds as he grinds at your center, drawing a ragged moan from both your lips. The dual stimulation of his lips on your breasts and his hardness against your weeping cunt feels euphoric, breathy whimpers escaping with every brush of him.

With a pop, Astarion breaks away from your nipple, his lips making their way north towards to mouth at the column of your throat. He kisses everywhere he can, his lips tracing the red of the blood in your veins as his hips continue their slow roll. 

He licks a stripe up a vein to press his lips against your ear, tickling the lobe with his tongue, the eroticism of the touch bringing a shiver to your naked form. 

“You’re absolutely perfect.” Astarion’s words are reverent, lips pressing soft kisses to the spot behind your ear as you whimper at the sheer adoration in his voice. Your hands writhe against their bonds, aching to touch him, to run fingers across the lines of shoulders and to bury them in his silver curls. 

His hands leave the skin of your rear, fingertips pressing in as he drags them up the expanse of your back before settling them to rest on your hips as his tongue licks down your neck before changing course to press kisses down to your chest. 

Slowly, Astarion makes his way down your body, kissing as he goes, every touch alighting your body with fire. His lips trace the skin below your belly button as his hands move to spread your thighs apart, settling his body between your open legs.

Astarion mimics your earlier action, pillowing his head innocently on the plushness of your thigh as he glances up at you from his place between your spread legs, a finger running up and down the skin there absentmindedly as he takes in the sight of you from this new angle; your dewy folds, the softness and warmth of your body, the light pink of the ribbon wrapped around your wrists practically iridescent in the dim light.

“As pretty as a painting.” Astarion sighs, adoration spilling from his lips, as the finger drawing lines makes its way up to run through your wetness in a barely there caress, collecting the arousal on a fingertip before moving to press lightly against your entrance. His finger brushes light circles, tracing the ring of muscles before dipping inside your heat. The warmth of your body draws a hiss from Astarion as he pushes that finger deeper, meeting no resistance as it sinks in to the knuckle, your moans filling the room.

He watches, entranced, as his finger disappears inside you before he draws it back out, bringing a second finger to join as they plunge back in. Your entrance weeps with the movement of his fingers, the coolness of the skin against the heat of your body only serving to contrast the feeling more. Your legs fall open farther the deeper Astarion’s fingers go, the dive of them in and out driving you closer to your orgasm. 

Your moans are pure sin as they fall from your lips, the sight of Astarion between your legs, as he watches his fingers slowly disappear inside your body with such intent drive you higher towards your completion. 

It was a special torture to be unable to touch him, you decide. You want nothing more than to brush your fingers through his curls as you come, to caress the delicate point at the top of his ears, feel the smoothness of his skin on your fingertips.

It feels absolutely filthy, to be tied up like this, your pleasure left to Astarion’s will as you are powerless to simply lay in wait for whatever he has in store. The feeling is intoxicating, more than any wine could ever hope to be. You certainly never expected that being denied the ability to touch would put your other senses on high alert, the scent of your own arousal evident in the air of the room, the sound of your wetness loud to your ears with every movement of his fingers. 

Astarion’s eyes flash to yours in the same instant his fingers start move faster, beginning to piston in and out of you faster. With every plunge in, Astarion crooks his fingers just so, perfectly placed every time to brush against that sweet spot deep inside. Your cunt clenches around him, intent to draw him in, to keep him there, as your orgasm draws nearer and nearer. 

The precipice of your orgasm is right in front of you, the warmth coursing through your veins in its nearness and you begin to let yourself fall into the feeling of it, Astarion driving you closer and closer towards your high until you feel the sudden emptiness of his fingers leaving you, ripping away the pleasure that was so closely awaiting you and your orgasm disappearing into the ether. Your mouth falls open in a cry, head tilting up from its place on the pillow to look down upon him in utter surprise as he rests between your legs.

“You know, I never did repay you from the other day in the studio. Surely you remember denying me my orgasm, hm?” The words are sly, brimming with confidence as you whine at the loss of his ministrations.

Astarion’s fingers press into your waiting body once more when he is confident your orgasm has disappeared, your sensitive cunt still weeping, curling inside to press against your g-spot. His fingers don’t leave your body this time, instead staying seated firmly inside you where he can manipulate them to curl into the area over and over again. Your pleasure ratchets back up faster than you can follow, your head thrown back against the pillow in ecstasy, eyes closed as your lashes dust against your flushed cheeks. 

Astarion leans his head in towards your waiting core, pressing soft kisses to the area around your clit, careful to never touch it all the while he remains intent on  breaking you apart on his fingers. 

He never stops the motions deep inside, curling with ruthless efficacy to leave you hanging on the precipice as his lips begin to work their way back up your body until they meet your lips. 

Your eyes open as he presses his mouth to yours, blinking through the slow haze of pleasure building as his forehead comes to rest against your own. 

“Word, darling?” Astarion fingers never slow, but his eyes are clear as they gaze into your own.

“I’m alright, I promise.” Your words put him at ease as you raise your head slightly to press a kiss to his cheek, your hips rolling against his hand. Astarion returns the gesture, kissing at the high point of your face before moving down the softness of your cheek to your neck, finally stopping to rest his head against your collarbone. 

“Good, because I’m not done yet.” He punctuates his words by stopping his fingers, keeping them warm deep inside your body but no longer allowing them motion, cutting off the burning pleasure you were once again so close to. You keen at the loss, bucking your hips in an attempt to regain it, willing to fuck yourself on his fingers if that was what it took. Astarion doesn’t give you the chance, pulling his fingers from your body to press them against your clit instead.

Your breath comes in shaky moans, body desperate for the chance to finally come. Astarion doesn’t relent in his quest though as he brings you to the peak once more with his fingers moving against your clit, giving your poor core a break as his lips press against your bare skin anywhere they can. He licks at your nipples, nips at the dip of your waist with his fangs, kisses the juncture where hip meets thigh. Always so good, beyond good, but never enough to bring you careening over the edge as his fingers diligently press at the pearl between your thighs, Astarion careful to halt when he notices you moving too close to your orgasm.

Your breath comes in uneven moans, your mind delirious with pleasure, both given and denied, when at long last Astarion’s lips and hands leave your body, their absence stark.

With elegant movements, Astarion moves back from your body, intent to simply watch you from his place near your feet, his pale skin like carved marble as he settles back to rest on his heels against the soft plush mattress as he watches you, his gaze considering. 

Your skin is flushed, a light sheen of sweat setting your skin aglow along every dip and curve of your body with a beautiful softness only echoed by that rosy pink ribbon still lovingly tied around your wrists. Your body writhes under his observation, the way he takes in every inch of your form in its fucked-out state with the otherworldly crimson of his eyes making your breath catch in your lungs.

His cock bobs between his thighs, tip weeping with precome as his eyes continue their perusal. He brings the hand that had been inside you so many times now up to wrap around his shaft as he pumps himself, spreading the leaking wetness down his length as his fist works himself up and down in slow motions.

Your body shakes with pent-up pleasure, skin flushed with being brought to the brink but denied your release time and time again.

“Now, my dear, I want you to tell me exactly what you want me to do.”

Pink tinges your cheeks at having to say the words you know he wants to hear, your body writhing with incompletion as you rub your thighs together while you think of how to possibly voice your desires out loud.

“Use your words, darling.” Astarion urges you with a glance as his hands move to spread your legs once more, pushing them wide as he looks at the glistening mess between your thighs, poised like a cat ready to pounce on its prey. 

“I…I want you to make me come. Please.” You lick your lips and pull slightly against the ribbons around your wrists, breathing deep.

“You’ll have to give me more than that, sweet thing.” His smile is wicked as his thumbs rub circles on the skin of your thighs.

“I want you to lick my cunt. Fuck me with your fingers, a-and your cock. Drink from me.” Your words rush out on an exhale as you grant him the information he so dearly wants, the blood rushing through your body coloring the skin of your cheeks and chest even darker as the admission pours from your lips, hips rolling in a desperate bid for release.

Astarion’s hold on your thighs tightens at your words, more beads of precome decorating his cock as it bobs in response to your request.

“Good things come to those who ask for them.” And with those words, Astarion lowers his head towards your waiting body, licking a stripe from your aching core to your clit. 

His mouth laves at your folds, tongue running through from your entrance to your clit over and over again, never focusing on any particular place for long, your pleasure ticking up with every brush.

Your body is so sensitive like this, the prior denial of your pleasure making every movement of his mouth seem more intense than usual, the sheer touch of his tongue on your most intimate areas making your hips jump. He laps at your clit with broad stokes, tongue flattened against the small bead before moving down to lick around your entrance before dipping inside to taste. 

Astarion continues like this, pressing his tongue deep with practiced motions, whorling against your walls before exiting again to ring around the area, your moans spurring on his attentions.  

He moves up to work your clit with precise flicks of his tongue, never breaking his rhythm as he replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, sliding in with ease. Astarion pumps his fingers, once, twice, before curling them to press against your g-spot once more. You teeter on the edge, Astarion masterful as he conducts your pleasure with mouth and fingers.

Astarion’s tongue darts down from your clit to run against the place where his fingers enter you, the sensation of both his tongue and fingers on your entrance drawing a harsh cry from your lips as he laps eagerly. Your arms jerk against the ribbon as your thighs begin to shake, every lick and push of his fingers making up for any pleasure previously denied. 

“That’s it, darling. Come for me.” His words are adoring as he speaks them against your center before returning to lick, your eyes rolling back at the vibrations of his mouth against you as his words make you clench harder around him.

He separates his fingers inside of you as his tongue continues to lick, scissoring them wide, as he stretches the walls of your cunt as your eyes squeeze shut in ecstasy. The burn of the stretch is minute, any discomfort replaced by the addition of his tongue pushing in deep in the space made by his spread fingers. His tongue thrusts in time with his fingers, and you are powerless but to follow your body as you finally crest over the edge, his words ringing in your ears as you come on his fingers and tongue. 

Your orgasm washes over you with a rarely felt intensity, your body spasming with pleasure as Astarion works you through it, not relenting in his mission. White-hot heat rolls over you, body and mind, as you cry out, the pleasure denied to you coming back tenfold as you ride the wave of your orgasm.

Body shaking, you slowly come back to yourself, taking in lungfuls of air as your body finally relaxes, arms falling to rest on the pillow as your eyes open blearily. 

“Dear Gods, Astarion.” You breathe out the words on a laugh as you look down at Astarion between your legs, fingers still massaging inside you softly as his head moves to press kisses to the skin of your thigh.

“We still have a few more requests to cross off your list, darling.” He licks at the flesh of your inner thigh, nose nuzzling the spot as his eyes meet your own.

“By all means, please drink your fill.” Your let the tension leave your legs as you open them wider for Astarion as he searches for a place to feed. 

His fangs pierce the skin of your upper thigh, so close to the sensitive junction where your leg meets your hip. The pain is a familiar hot prick as his fangs enter your flesh, but the satisfaction you feel from the pull of his lips sucking erases any thoughts of pain that cross your mind. He drinks at your lifeblood, intent to get his fill and enjoy sating his hunger. 

He hums against your skin as he drinks, the sound setting you ablaze with need once more as you watch him from his place between your thighs, the red of the blood on the white of skin stark and beautiful. 

Astarion takes one last pull, dragging the last bit of blood into his mouth before he retracts his fangs, moving to lick at the bloody wounds left there on your leg. He swallows the remaining blood as it enters his mouth before propping himself up on his elbows to glance up at you, tongue moving to lick at a stray drop of your blood making its way down from his lip.

He is beyond beautiful, the sight of his tongue licking at the stripe of your blood on his face driving pleasure straight to your empty cunt and you feel tired of waiting for it to be filled once more. You roll your hips slightly at the thought.

“Will you fuck me? Please?” You lick at your lips, asking as kindly as you know how, pulling at the binds on your wrists.

Astarion doesn’t answer you, instead leaning in once to lick at your slit, gathering your leftover cum to blend with your blood on his tongue as you whimper, skin still sensitive. The taste is intoxicating, Astarion moaning into your cunt at the piquancy of your essences.

Astarion’s mouth leaves your center as he moves to sit, grabbing at your legs as you wrap them around his hips, drawing him closer. Taking his cock in hand, he lines himself up with your core before beginning to push in.

He teases at first, short thrusts that never bury anything more than the head of his cock in your entrance, your slick coating him. 

“Gods, you’re soaked.” He throws his head back as he finally relents to his desire, pushing the rest of his hardness inside your waiting body, moving further and further until he bottoms out, dragging moans from both of your lips at the feeling. He sits like this for a moment, letting you adjust to the fullness of him before he rocks with slow, deep motions, the head of his cock brushing against your walls feels like bliss as you move your hips in a rhythm to match his own.

A hand on your hip makes its way down the skin of your thigh, Astarion lifting your leg to prop it up over his forearm as he begins to pump in and out of you with smooth thrusts, your thighs opening up to him. 

Your lower back lifts to accommodate the change of balance with your leg now being held, Astarion’s other hand anchoring itself to your other as it wraps around his hip. He moves to his knees, his thrusts speeding up as you are content to let him set the tempo.

Astarion moves fast and hard, his cock hitting your g-spot with every thrust. Your moans mix together as they fill the room with their sweetness, the sound of your lovemaking only adding to the pleasure building inside both you as you move towards your mutual releases.  

“Astarion, please, I need to touch you,” the words are a desperate whine as they leave your lips and Astarion is quick to acquiesce to your request, arm letting your leg fall as he leans over your body to pull at the bow adorning your wrists to free them from their binding. Without wasting a second, your hands find their way around his neck and your lips meet his in a passionate kiss, his thrusts never stopping their cadence as you run your freed fingers through the curls at the base of his neck. Your hips move to meet his own in frenzied thrusts, trying to match his pace with every press of his cock deep inside you. 

Without warning he flips you both and you suddenly find yourself sitting on his cock, the new position drawing a surprised moan from you lips as Astarion lays beneath you, curls splayed against the plush quilt. 

“Are you sure, love?” You gasp out the words as his hands find your hips again and he begins dragging you up and down his cock in smooth movements. His cock is deep like this, hitting places inside you with an intensity that drags you both closer. It had been some time since you had the opportunity to ride his cock like this, to watch him laying below your hips as you work him from above.

“Yes, gods please,” Astarion begs, the words only serving to ratchet your pleasure higher at the fever of his words, willing to do practically anything for him when he asks like that. His hips piston up in you, faster now, as you move your own up and down, body easily matching his like this as you settle your hands on his chest to help you balance.

Astarion’s pupils are practically blown out, your own mirroring his as you ride his cock, the slap of skin on skin with each thrust absolutely sinful. His thrusts are fast, quick and hard, his rhythm difficult to follow as he loses himself in the feeling of your body, the sight of you on top of him, breasts bouncing with every thrust and your head thrown back with your hair cascading around you. 

His hands grasp at your hips, fingertips pressing hard enough to bruise as his own orgasm approaches, your own not far behind as you both give yourself over to the feeling and let your bodies dictate their own pleasure. Every thrust has his cock driving cries from your lips, breathy moans falling from his own as you finally feel Astarion lose control beneath you, his cock pulsing as his eyes close, spilling his come deep inside your cunt. 

His frantic thrusts have him pressing against your spot relentlessly, and the sight of him as his orgasm washes over him, the feel of his come filling you sends you over the edge with him, grinding down on his cock as you ride the wave of your own completion, vision practically whiting out as a mixture of come leaks from where you are joined onto his skin. 

Astarion’s body slowly relaxes below yours, grip on your hips softening as he helps you ride him as you come. He watches you as you finish, and while he’s never been the religious sort, Astarion is certain the vision of you working his cock as you orgasm is nothing short of divinity at work. Finally, your hips slow their motions, your body practically collapsing against his own as you work on regaining your breath in between pressing kisses to his chest. 

“Well. That was quite the ride, wasn’t it?” His expression is open, contentment obvious on his features as his fingers draw up and down your sides. His cock softens inside you as you smile against his skin, pushing up slightly to roll off of his chest and settle into the cool skin of his side. Your combined spend leaks onto the linens below you but you pay it no mind as Astarion reaches for your wrists, checking for any possible injury before pressing kisses to the slightly reddened skin where the ribbon had lay.

“It’s certainly my favorite one, at the very least.” You relax into his touch at his chuckle, your head cushioned on a muscled shoulder as you let him pepper your wrists with kisses. The two of you delight in the moment, happily basking in the afterglow of your lovemaking, neither making to leave the bed.

You’re the first to break the moment, sitting up beside Astarion as you stretch, pressing your shoulders back to stretch along your spine. You turn to look at him with a smile on your face, crossing your legs in front of you as your head tilts to the side, observing him.

“You know, if this is going to be the response I get every time I happen to have a ‘bad’ day, I will gladly arrange for more of them.” Your smile turns mischievous, reaching out to walk your fingers up his chest.

“Greedy thing, aren’t you?” Astarion gasps in mock shock, reaching to grab at the fingers on his chest, bringing them to his lips to nip at the tip of one.

“What can I say? I did learn from the best, after all.” You shrug, leaning forward as his tongue licks at your fingers, squirming slightly as he reaches out to grab you around the waist. Astarion pulls you back into his arms, rolling the two of you playfully as he kisses your lips, threads of your joined laughter echoing out into the night.

[pursuitseternal]

“Master me:” the Sub!Ascended Astarion x F!Reader fic of your nsfw dreams, update to “The Rogue You Were”

Ascended Astarion x F!Reader | E | 5.1 K of Sub!Vampire Lord

Summary: It’s all yours, the power, the wealth. But your Vampire Lord wishes to give you something he’s never given willingly before… his submission.

CW: NSFW, Dom/Sub Dynamics, soft!dom for his trauma healing, ThroneSex ™️, body worship, oral s3x, orgasm denial, orgasm control, “only come when you’re told,” begging, pleading, whimpering Astarion, praise kink…

Read here if you prefer AO3

For @marimosalad and @anaisbaillon

Continue and accept the gift of his submission…

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

He has summoned you, his lady, his bride, his beloved. The right hand and consort to the Vampire Lord. Of course, you didn’t come right away when the servant knocked on your door. He had been attending business all day. So many deals and promises and threats and examples to be made, he’s been attending from his throne all day. Yes. He held his court from his magnificent chair, staring down from his mighty gilded seat of power, glaring with vermillion eyes at anyone who entered the presence of the Ascendant Lord.

Now he calls for you, after hours behind closed doors. You give it… a little time. Not so much as to try his patience, but enough that you don’t go running into his arms in front of all of Baldur’s Gate. A delicate balance, one you can excuse by flouncing your dress, changing the jewels around your neck. You settled on something dark and sheer and elegant, nearly see-through in places, enough to catch the eye and make the mouth water.

Make his mouth water. That’s all you cared for anyway.

Leaving your chambers, you sweep through the halls, every servant, every guest, or Patriar, or merchant in your palace stops to bow and curtesy. Careful not to disrespect you. For you are his.

You arrive at last to the large, thick doors to his great hall. You can feel his eyes on you before you even turn the corner and breach the room. Astarion sits, reclined. Bored. Distant. But the moment you sweep into his presence, he claps his hands.

Silence falls on the crowd. “Leave,” he hisses quietly. It slices through the din. People retreat in an instant. They cleave around you, separating around where you stand just inside the grand chamber, distances away from your lover, enthroned, and yet you can almost feel his breath on your skin. Even from here.

It takes but a moment for you to finally be alone. His eyes rake over you, his back reclining in his throne, his knee crossed over his leg. But his gaze is only on you. He crooks a finger at you as the doors close, pushed by his magic and sealed by his power.

It is just him now. And he wants you to come… closer.

You obey, feeling more than seeing as his smirk curls his lips and skews his brows. One step, then another, you climb the dais. Then, you stop. Waiting. Eyes locked into one another, his breathing is rapid and shallow. And you furrow, sensing something swirling beneath that cold exterior. You see it then, a slight tweak at the corner of his eyes, a clench of his jaw. And then he lets out a muffled, half-swallowed sob.

“Everything, my love, it’s all ours. Sovereigns of Baldur’s Gate. King and queen in all but name…” his chest shakes. His eyes, wide and wet, look up at you. “It feels… wonderful… horrible… I- I don’t know…”

Without another thought, you hurry to his side, wrapping your arms around his head, cradling him into your breast. His tears are wet on your chest. You can almost feel it, that facade of his power and callous attitude crumbling in your arms. He takes a breath, inhaling your scent, his arms clutching hard around your waist.

“I thought you wouldn’t come, when you were late. For a moment… I thought you had…” he swallows the rest of his fears.

“I would never leave you,” you whisper, warming your words with all the feeling in your heart, running your hand through those silken, silver, unruly curls.

“I… I want to give you something, my love,” he steadies his voice, pulling back from your embrace, arms tugging you into his lap.

“Name it, and I will gladly accept, Astarion,” you smile, gently, settling yourself on the spread of his thighs.

“I want…” he swallows again, his face so close to yours. Haunted, troubled. Something is gnawing at him. “I want to give you everything…”

“You already have,” you smile sweetly, palming his cheek.

“No,” he shakes his head, “I don’t mean…” he clears his throat, eyes scanning the room around you as the shadows begin to lengthen, the colors of sunset pouring in through the arched and vaulted windows. “I… we have won. I have power; influence, riches, comfort…” his brow arches a bit rakishly, “…love. I have everything that Cazador deprived me of for centuries. More than he ever did. I am the most powerful vampire in the realms.”

You pause. Waiting. Watching those eyes flickering with the embers of his power. His voice rings with his pride, those traces of shattered confidence evaporated. But then he looks square in your eyes again.

And all that pride and power disappear.

“And I want you to have me submit to you, my love,” he breathed, his voice hissing between his teeth. As if he is in pain. In agony. “I want to give you my submission.”

“Submit to me?” you drop your hand from his face, letting it rest on his chest.

“You are the one thing that grounds me, you know, that pulls me back from becoming a… the very thing I once feared. I want… I want to give you… everything,” he leans in to place a shaking, hesitant kiss on your lips, “I want to grant you even this favor, darling.”

“If you wish,” you reply, tapping your hand on his heaving chest. “I do not require it of you.”

“I know,” he smiles so, so slightly, “that’s why I can give it to you. That's why I can… trust you.”

Your breath catches. The need in his eyes bores into you. He’s waiting. Waiting for you. For your command. “Very well, if it would please you.”

“Greatly, but you’ll have to be harsher than that to make me submit.” He flashes his teeth, a bit of that wicked, cheeky flare you know and love in him.

“I don’t want to be too harsh, I don’t want to hurt you…” you bite your lip, careful how you mention your worry. You can almost hear the ghosts of Cazador’s voice from… you shudder to remember.

He purses his lips, thinking. “Don’t call me boy, or belittle me, don’t starve me, just be the decent person I know and love, and I’m sure this will be pleasurable for both of us…”

You nod, gently. “Then kneel,” you whisper. Sweetly. Too sweetly. He raises a brow at your tone.

“No,” he pushes, that irascible smirk teasing and twitching the corner of his mouth.

You fight the foolish grin that your mouth aches to show. But you keep yourself stern. Commanding. “On… your… knees… Astarion,” you order, warmth in your voice even as you bite at your words.

He moves you by your waist, reverently sliding you off his lap to make his way to the steps of the dais.

“Too far, my love,” you chuckle, savoring his quick little turn as you settle yourself in his throne. “There…” you give a sigh for affect, nestling yourself in the gilded confines of this chair, running your fingers over the gold filigree arms. “Kneel at my feet, lover, and take that doublet off while you’re at it. It’s far too expensive to be ruined by the things I am about to have you do….”

Oh, how he obeys. Shivering and shuddering in delight. A coy, contented smile on his face as he slinks off the heavy- embroidered jacket to leave in a pile on his floor.

Slowly, he sinks to his knees at the top of the dais, close to you. So close, you can see his nostrils flare with every breath, you can watch the muscles of his bare chest clenching as he sits back on his heels. He places his palms on his thighs, one on each, eyes looking right into yours.

Waiting. And eager.

You smile, ready to lavish him with praise. “What a good darling,” you purr. “Quite the sight, the most powerful vampire in all the realms… kneeling before me. It can make a consort quite heated…” you fan your face. “Perhaps I need to remove some of these trappings,” you pluck the black fabric between your fingers. Slowly, you slink the hem of your dress higher. Higher. His crimson eyes darting to watch your unfolding display.

“Might I be of… assistance?” He offers, honeyed tone even as he remains perfectly still.

A laugh leaks from your throat. “You may, only, don’t touch my skin just yet, Astarion. Soon you can, but not… now…”

You watch him rise slowly, licking his lips as you lean forward in the throne. His hands are slow, reverent as they catch up your hair to part it over one shoulder. The lacings at the back of your dress bared for him to attend. It’s deliberate, filled with care, his long fingers deftly pulling the bindings out, lace by lace. His touch is heavy, making certain you feel his every ministration through the fabric of your dress. His hands skate lower, ghosting over the silk to your waist, bunching the fabric to reveal your skin, to expose your shoulders and arms.

You turn your head to look at him, rising to your feet. “Finish the job, my love,” you order, keeping that edge to your voice. Hand raising to his cheek, you caress him, softly, slowly, running your hand down the column of his neck to press on his shoulder. He smiles at your touch, slinking back to his knees… looking up into your face as his hands ruck your skirts in his fists. Pulling, shimmying your skirts to reveal the bare pale flesh of your belly, your thighs.

You step from the puddle of fabric at your feet, closing right into the distance between you where he kneels. Your hands bury in his hair, pressing his eager face into your embrace. His lips caress you, sucking and licking into the soft center of your stomach. His voice hums low, reverberating into your flesh. “Such a reward for so little,” he whispers against your skin, “you can push me harder than that, darling…”

“Really…?” You purr, canting a brow, mischief rising within you. “You just be sure, my love to say when it is too much.”

“Like too much sugar in my tea, I’ll say when, I promise,” he chuckles, slow and languorous, his face creeping lower and lower until his tongue barely laps between your folds. His breath stirring in the soft curls of your mound.

“Then, darling, you can touch,” you step away, seating yourself back in his throne. The velvet lining cushions your bare skin, the metal cold and shocking to the touch. But you recline, the same posture he had assumed at your arrival. “Come and give me your worship, my love,” you toss at him, hearing his steps slowly round on you. His eyes glow with hunger, his teeth glinting as he smiles. He laughs, eyeing you as your thighs part for him to give you more.

His hands rest upon the tops of your legs, settled on his heels before your seat.

“Tch, tch,” you tut at him, brushing his palms from your skin. “Your tongue alone, darling,” you smirk, watching your command making him fairly salivate. “Since you insist on using it, it seems,” you feign disgust, wiping the trails of his saliva from your belly.

He laughs, lowering his kisses to where your hand just touched. “Yes, my love,” he clasps his hands behind his back, glancing up with eyes of red fire, making certain you saw his obedience. “It would be my… pleasure,” he growls, nose pressing into where you ache. You gasp, the demanding dart of his tongue between your folds sending an instant curl of heat in your belly. Attentive, aggressive, he growls into your thighs, and you watch the muscles of his forearms clenching behind his back.

With every lick, he pushes hard, struggling to get just where he wants.

“Something the matter?” you coo, sliding your hips closer to the edge of the chair.

“You could be helpful and master me, you know darling? Give me a little to gain a lot…”

Your hand slips between your legs, fingers spreading yourself wide after a few caresses of your own fingers deep into your channel. You hear his breathing heavy in his chest, watching every muscle in his body wind tight like a spring.

A predator who would love nothing more than to pounce and devour you to his satisfaction. But you pat him on the head, throwing one leg over the cool metal arm of the seat.

“Better?” you dare, your answer is nothing more than his tongue diving with all his hunger deep into your channel, lapping and circling your clit, fangs catching the edges of your folds. You feel it creeping up with each pass and swirl of his tongue. So close, that wave of heat. You can hear his voice rasping, breath heavy as he works inside you. “Touch me,” you order. “Do it, Astarion.”

Released, his hands are on you, everywhere all at once. His fingers claw into your sides, tugging your hips closer. You slide on the velvet aimed right for his hungry, devouring mouth. Long, strong, his fingers delve hard and fast into you as he sucks on your clit. He groans to feel you tighten on his hand, to feel your juices flowing, your back arching and hips bucking on the seat of his throne.

Your hands fist into his hair, pushing him away as he insists on lapping you through the very last wave of your orgasm. He trails his drenched tongue to the delicate inside of your thigh, tracing a circle over the spot he loves most. “Just a bite, darling? May I have some reward?”

“Just a bite,” you pant, still easing down from the writhing muscles, warmth releasing through you.

His fangs pierce your thigh, a moment of pain, quickly masked as he slips his fingers into you again, crooking and stroking your channel.

“That’s enough I think, for now,” you hum, gripping gently into his hair to lift his face. “I said a bite and just a bite it will be.”

He bares his teeth at you, the points of his fangs barely dipped in red. “Darling…” he pushes, voice barely more than a growl.

“Just for now…” you softly stroke his cheek, running the pad of your thumb over his trembling lower lip as he sneers. “Just until you make me come again…”

His lips sneer wider, twisting into a barely contained feral smirk. “As you wish,” he croons, “may I use all the… tools at hand?” His eyes glance down his own body, his hips shoving against the bottom of the chair.

You tilt your head, feigning consideration. “Not yet,” you sigh. “But you may kiss me, my love.”

The last thing you see before he pounces on you is that smirk that makes your heart rap against your ribs and sucks your breath from your lungs at its beauty. His knee shoves in beside you, his lips dancing and plying yours. The tip of his tongue darts between your lips, salt and tang from your blood, your cum, a heady concoction as he tangles it with yours.

One hand claws into your neck, trapping you, pinning you to his ravenous mouth.

Those fingers conjure magic inside you. Twisting and thrusting, sweeping through every ridge inside you just the way you like. It’s a dance, the darting of tongue timed in perfect rhythm with the pumping of his fingers and the scoring of his thumb on your clit. His humming, growling into your mouth. “Oh, so wet and tight, if only I could feel that same release…”

You smile into his kiss, your hand grazing lightly against the cool, clenching muscles of his chest. Stroking, scratching your nails down to the edge of his trousers, you barely brush over where his erection stretches against the straining fabric. Those hips buck into your palm, making you press against as much of his length as you can hold. He grinds into you, his breath heavier than ever, you can almost feel his cock hardening, tightening, his every movement chasing his own release. You ease your fingers away, stroking just a single finger over the edge of his waistband, feeling the soft skin of his seeping head bursting out the top.

“Me first, darling,” you breathe between his fangs. “Then, you’ll have to choose…” you graze your hand down your neck, “…feed…” You grab that bulging cock, gripping it between your thumb and finger to run hard over. He grunts, fingers stilling inside you at the delicious, painful pleasure, “…or fuck, my love.”

“But first,” he hums, fingers renewed as he lightly tugs you clit, “you come.” It isn’t an observation. It’s an order. He pinches you, hand gripped into your neck, holding you fast as you do rip in two, rent apart to shatter in his hand.

You gasp, panting, trying to strain and arch as you writhe in exquisite bliss. His hand stays you, pressing you to his shoulder, savoring the way you clutch your hands around his side, letting you shudder and clench until you are still at last. His breath rattles in your ear, for as relaxed and limp as you feel, his body writhes with his fervent need, bound and cramping with his unsated hunger. “Is it… my turn?” he hisses, teeth already scraping your neck, hands pawing your hair back to reveal that pale flesh he craves.

“Say please,” you give a single laugh, one you swallow the instant you feel his hands raking up your body, palming your breasts and plucking your straining nipples.

He swirls his tongue, bringing your breast into his mouth, one hard suck makes you instantly flush and writhing again. “Please,” he purrs around your nipple. Fire floods your veins, his lips and hands kneading you, molding you as he waits for your command.

All you can do is clutch your hands into those locks, cradling him softly, moaning your assent. “Yes, my good, good darling, yes.” You tilt your head again, waiting for his fangs to mark you, to claim his well-earned reward.

But the second you feel his low-throated chuckle on the top of your breast, you gasp, your breath burning in your lungs. Fangs slice into the sensitive softness, his fingers plucking and twirling your nipples even as he feeds from the blood that runs down into the valley of your chest.

He laps at you, greedily, famished, growling with little noises as he drinks from you, his consort. His love.

But you feel that power begin to shift, that possessive edge crawling under his skin with every suck of his lips and every clasp of his fingers around the fullness he caresses.

“Enough,” you whimper, hands pushing at the broadness of his shoulders. He resists, another long suck on your breast, licking at the blood that bathes it. “Don’t be greedy,” you hiss, finally getting him to raise his face from your skin, his eyes glowing, insufferable and provoking as he licks his bloodied lips with a smile.

“Yes… my treasure,” he fights to reply, struggling to find that restraint. You can see him gritting his teeth, concentrating on moving his body off of yours. His eyes spark, barely bridled power almost tickling your skin, but he manages to stand before you. Before where you sit, naked on his throne. He lets the sight fill him, his chest rising and falling as he breathes in your scent.

“You’re so good,” you purr, slowly rising to your feet, feeling that surge of desire, of power swirling under his skin, as you stand just an inch away from him. “And if you stay good, I might even let you free this…” You clutch at his erection, palming it with a twisted smirk. Savoring the grunt he makes as you run that grip over his confined length. “Yes, that’s it, my sweet, sweet lover…” You stand on the tips of your toes, craning to whisper right in his ear. “How badly do you want to come, my love?”

“More than anything,” he growls, turning his face sharply towards you. “I’d give anything for you…”

“Anything is a lot, you know…” You smile, running your hand over his cock until you feel him shiver under your touch. That’s when the thrill hits you, the control, the power he has given you. It’s… intoxicating, that restraint he gives only for you. That trust he shares only in you. The weight of that responsibility sobers you for a moment, and you break, reaching for his neck encircled in your arms, pulling him down into your lips for a kiss. “And I’d give anything for you too,” you breathe into your hungry mouth.

“Not getting soft on me, are you?” he growls into your mouth, hips bucking into your waist. But the slight softness in his eyes makes your heart thrill, a look of total affection. Of love, swirling behind that veil of domineering power.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, not when you’re as hard as you are, my love,” you purr arching against his body. He’s rigid, careful. Watching your every little movement as he breathes heavily under your touch. You stroke him, that soft fabric of his breeches straining at the seams to be released. Fingers slowly draw the laces out, one by one, your nails dragging sharply over his skin, as inch by inch, you let out that straining cock. As inch by inch, he grows harder, more ravenous, under your featherlight, scoring touch. You finally let him out, making him shuffle off the rest of his clothing until he’s nothing but skin and fangs and a ravenous smirk before you.

“Sit,” you grip him by his arms, spinning his frame as you shove him into his own throne. His eyes flicker in delighted surprise, shifting his body in anticipation for yours to join him.

“Yes, darling,” he croons, giving his ass a clench that makes his cock twitch and pulse. And you can’t look away. You want this, so badly, your entire body trembles for him inside you, that heady concoction of your lust for him and his unwavering trust in you goes right to your head, and to your loins.

You calculate your every move, every sway of your hips, the way you let your hands caress your curves, tracing your fingers into your folds. And you savor that way he licks his lips, his eyes glossy with his need, his hands clenched into the arms of his throne. “You’re trying so hard to be good,” you purr, tossing your hair down your back, crossing to slowly straddle him. You wrap your hands around his length, so hard, pale marble beneath your fingers. You give it a slow stroke, his lips twitching as he gives a groan of pleasure. “You deserve some pleasure for all you’ve done for me,” you lean against his chest, catching his lips in a shallow kiss. “But you’ll have to ask me nicely before you come… darling.”

Astarion whimpers, his lips baring his fangs as you raise your folds above that seeping head of his. Letting your slick just barely graze over him. “Please,” he groans, a swiveling thrust of his hips into you, one you avoid as he tries to sheath into your wetness.

“Not yet,” you tutt, teasing that blunted tip over your clit as you moan, eyes shutting as you make yourself the perfect picture of reckless abandon. A swivel of your hips, a nibble of your lip, as you tear his cock between your thighs. So silken and so hard, you groan with each sweep of him you make down your seam, each tantilizingly shallow dip you give of it into the clenching walls of your channel.

“Darling,” he groans, thrusting up into you, claiming just a little more traction into your cunt, “please… can’t I at least touch you?”

His eyes are wide, hands still clutching at the golden filigree of his throne. You can see every muscle in his neck taught and straining, balancing on the edge of his submission and his overwhelming need to fuck you.

“You may,” you moan, cupping his cheek, “but remember… you only come when I say… darling…”

His brows tweak, pained, but his hands rake up your arms, ghosting over your shoulders to cup your breasts. Even where your blood is drying yet.

You moan, the little teasing of his fingers making your honey drip even more over his shaft. It’s too much for you. So you sink onto that stiff and pulsing member. He bites his lip, clawing his fingers into your flesh, eyes half-lidded as he gives a muffled groan. His breathing is harsh. Unsteady. And you flash him a devious smile, just sitting on his lap, letting your belly stretch to fit that long length of his. “Shhh,” you wipe the sweat that’s formed on his pale brow, “wouldn’t want to have anything this sweet end so quickly.”

“Of course,” he pants. “Not when it’s so deliciously painful…” his brows furrow in agony.

“Oh, the pleasure will be…” you sigh heavily, “far greater than the pain…” his lips smirk as he hears his own words thrown back at him in your lustful voice. “Once I let you have that pleasure, of course…”

His hands tingle, featherlight as they skate up and and down your sides, he softly holds your arms, bringing them to his neck. Reverent, gentle, despite the inferno that rages behind his eyes. He places a kiss against your arm as you brace yourself on his shoulders. “Take your time, my treasure,” he groans as you treat him to a canting of your hips on his lap, “just don’t forget about me…”

“Never,” you groan, not at the way he fills you, but at how his arms wrap snugly around your waist. As if he can’t bring you any closer to him. You move, grinding up and down on him, riding that length as you look him square in the eyes. At how they glow, how they brim with unshed tears, so dilated and dark with his desire for you. At how the sweat begins to drip down his brows, his thin creases at the corners of his eyes deepening their grooves as he twists his face in relief. In the anticipation of his building pleasure.

But he barely blinks, that intensity boring into your soul. You bite your lips, riding the ridges of his cock through you, every sense of your body uniting with his as he gives you his everything. You can almost feel his ascended heart in his chest beating in yours.

Your fingers lock at the base of his neck, clawing into the silver tangles of his hair, even as it dampens with his sweat. You grind on him, keeping your pace agonizingly slow, his poor, neglected cock so hard and so thick, you know he’s not going to last long after what you’ve put him through.

But that only makes you smile harder, your breathing heavy between your grinning, slack lips.

“Hngf,” he groans as you give an extra hard slap of your cunt on him. “Please, my love,” he pants, nearly drooling with his unquenched lust. “You’ve had some fun…”

“Oh, just a little more,” you moan, “you wouldn’t deny me a little more fun, would you, my love?” You give a breathless laugh, reaching your hand around beneath you to grip those smooth, tight balls of his in your palm.

You feel him twitching inside you, his manhood in your palm so hard and tight. Ready to burst. After all, he has been good.

You look at his face, strained and red and sweating. You watch the way he can’t control his mouth, his tongue darting haphazardly over his teeth to lick his lips. His hips beneath you buck at random, hitching out of rhythm with how you ride his shaft. He has never been more handsome, your pleasure wave cresting at the mere sight of his unraveling.

“Please, please darling,” he’s panting, hand gripping so hard on your hips as you gyrate, you know he’s drawn blood. “You’re so good, so tight and wet. Please, let me come…”

You say nothing for a moment, letting your ears fill with the wet slap of your cunt on him. He begs you again, louder, his groans hurtling you into your own climax. You writhe. “Yes, darling,” you moan arching away from his chest. “Yes you may.”

His eyes go wide with your release, the centers so wide, so feral and unbridled. He shifts his ass to the edge, legs braced on the floor. Bouncing you, spearing you. Just that wild, growling, snapping desire is enough to shove you into orgasm. Every muscle grips around him deep inside you. You scream, pleasure tearing through you, but he doesn’t ease his pace.

No you’ve released him from his binds, set him free to fuck until he’s done. So you ride, you jounce, as he begins to hitch his pace. Arms clutch around your body, trapping you, supporting you as your own frame threatens to go limp in the aftershocks of your orgasm.

Astarion careens into you. “Thank you,” he moans, over and over again. His breathing rasps, fast and hot in your ear. Deafening you. Overstimulating you, making your neck and spine twitch as he slams into you over again. With one last grunt, the loudest of all, he fills you, the heat of his cum spurting and slipping out from your folds. “Thank you, darling…” he rests his head on your shoulder, an edge within him easing, slipping away.

Dissipating.

Dulling.

And then you feel him breathe. You can feel his heart beating into you as he holds you so tight.

Nothing but his absolute love, his submission, a pulsing rhythm between you. “That was…” he sighs, his breath cascading down your front.

“Delicious?” you offer, stroking your fingers through the damp curls of his silver hair.

He looks up slowly, eyes soft, that same subtle smile that you would see from before, the one that would play around his lips when it was just you two in those fleeting moments on the road. Those moments that made you both who you were. Just you and your rogue. “Precisely,” he purrs, catching your lips delicately in a kiss. “So delicious, I’m sure I’ll need another sampling…”

His kiss turns on the edge of a knife, consuming, tearing. All fangs and tongue in your mouth.

“Tut, tut,” you press your hands against his chest. “If you insist, then at least let me take you somewhere more.. comfortable. Somewhere I might spread you out… tie you up, for once.”

“Oh, darling,” he pouts his swollen lips with a langurous lick, “how could I say no?”

🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸🩸

Thank you for the reblogs, likes, kudos, and comments 🥰. You are truly all darlings!

My Master List for more Astarion naughtiness

[leth-writes]

Hello. Could you write for yandere Volturi Kings (separately or poly) and soulmate female reader?

Yandere Volturi x soulmate reader

Aro

oh no. Oh no. I’m so sorry.

Aro is honestly quite manipulative. He’s able to read minds, afterall, and he spends a lot of time just sifting through your memories, picking out your insecurities and anyone who’s ever said anything mean to you. He sends Felix after the latter and comforts you about the former, but the fact that you’ve never told him about your insecurities definitely means you’re unnerved.

Is really obsessive. You occupy his thoughts most of the time, and he spends most hours of the day with you at least at the back of his mind. Every time he sees a new painting, he thinks about bringing it back for you.

You have a small museum in your rooms, just from the gifts he’s stolen from the various galleries around Volterra and Italy as a whole.

Keeps you locked high in the tower, Corin constantly beside you. You’re essentially drugged, constantly loopy and exhausted. You’ll be awake for a couple of hours out of the day, in which Aro spends time reading to you and quizzing you endlessly about your life, as well as feeding you by hand. He prefers fruits like strawberries, loving to watch the way you bite at them, then kissing the juices off you lips. He’s just kinda like that.

Loves watching you sleep. He spends most of his time just looking at you, eyes wide and face frozen into a creepy grin. Sometimes you bolt awake and he’s just… staring at you in the dark. Has definitely made you scream and cry in fear before. Doesn’t really feel bad, wants you to think he’s more dangerous than he actually is.

Probably exaggerates the truth about vampires, for example, not telling you about the glittering. You just see him coated head to toe in blood and know something’s happened. It helps keep you in line, seeing him with that horrifying smile, face completely obscured with blood.

Honestly the worst out of the three. WILL kill your family if you try to escape, and shows you the bodies. Don’t try, it’s for the best.

Has Chelsea weaken the bonds with friends and family until they’re practically non-existent, giving you a sort of amnesia.

Makes you sit in court, just to see how ruthless he is. He wants you terrified of him.

Caius

Caius is strategic, yes, but he isn’t nearly as sadistic as he may seem. Aro is more terrifying you on purpose to keep you in one place, while Caius accidentally terrifies you through his temper. He’d never hurt you, but you’ve seen him in court.

The second he learns you’re scared of him, he forbids you from going into court. Secretly has Corin make you happy while you’re alone with him, so you begin associating that contentment with him.

Otherwise, doesn’t let anyone use their abilities on you, including Aro. Keeps his brother far away from you, though he does let Marcus spend time with you.

Seeing how hurt Marcus is by the death of his soulmate puts it into perspective for you, and you’re noticeably nicer to him afterwards.

If another vampire even looks at you, he’s attacking them and ripping their head off.

Also keeps you locked in the tower for your own safety.

If another member of the Volturi hits on you, they’ll be tortured for days before Caius deigns to kill them. Death will be a mercy.

Turns you as soon as possible, though probably still keeps you in the castle complex. You aren’t allowed to leave, he’s still quite protective.

Marcus

Marcus is a bit of an odd case. We don’t really see what he’s truly like, only what he’s like after years and years of depression.

However, St. Marcus day was named after him for a reason, hinting toward toward his wisdom and cunning mind.

As a result, Marcus slowly becomes more and more… himself. The others liken it to him waking from a long slumber.

You’ll have quite a lot of freedom, moreso than the other two’s darlings combined. He absolutely does not want a repeat of what happeend last time, so he focuses a lot on keeping you happy. Long walks through parks, visits to museums, anything for you. However, he does rent those spaces out prior, so you can’t actually see any other people, sorry. It sucks, but it’s better than the tower and the constant sleeping.

He’s a hopeless romantic, and works really hard to get you to trust him. He wants your relationship to be genuine.

As he wakes up, he starts to show more personality and to be more possessive. He’s still quiet, but he takes on a more intimidating exterior to anyone except you. He just kinda lurks behind you like a silent shadow, waiting for a guard to try something, at which points he just fucking decimates them. He’s an extraordinary fighter when he isn’t so focused on his depression.

Tells you stories about Didyme. He’s not comparing, but he knows she would’ve loved you, and he wants you to feel her presence.

[willesredlights]

Chapter 3: Escapism🧚‍♂️👑

I'm enjoying this fun, little thing so I'm continuing it! Elf Simon is attached to me now. So here is chapter 3 of King of My Heart.

Wilhelm escapes all the drama at the palace. With his horse, Silver, he runs through the woods. There he finds a boy. A boy with blue wings.

A.k.a. Elf Simon fic

Read below or on ao3.

Trees rush past Wilhelm as he races through the woods on his white horse. It calms him down and makes the anger bubbling inside of him disappear. He had another fight with his mother. Another fight about his tasks as Crown Prince. This weekend he is supposed to give a speech at the school where he graduated high school last year. He hates giving speeches, he hates speaking in front of a large group of people who stare at him. He wishes he could escape, for the weekend, or even forever.  He wishes he and Silver, his horse, could keep running forever, hiding away from the real world. He doesn't have the energy to deal with this real world. Normally he would escape to a realm far from here with his poetry and short stories. He fantasizes about realms existing outside the human world. You could call it other universes attached to the one he lives in. In those other “realms” there live creatures known from all kind of fairy tales and folk stories. Creatures like fairies, angels, elves but also witches, vampires, werewolves and other demons. He knows it's just a fantasy, something his mind makes up to make him feel better. As a kid he already had a lot of fantasy but he still has it now he is an adult. It's some kind of escapism from the cruel reality he lives in.

In an ideal world Wilhelm's life would be filled with reading and writing books while he is hidden away in a cottage in the woods, ideally together with his partner. He doesn't have a partner yet. There is no one interesting who catches his attention. Another thing he frequently fights about with his mother who thinks he should search for a partner. Doesn’t love come when it comes? He doesn't want love to feel forced, something doomed to fail. He wants to feel the real thing. Wilhelm lets his horse come to a halt as he notices someone by the creek. These woods are normally empty as they are property of the Royal Court. He keeps his distance, watching the person while hiding behind a tree.

The person stands up looking kind of disorientated. He looks around with an empty and tired expression on his face. He turns around to look at the creek. Wilhelm watches how the person pulls his shirt off and a pair of beautiful wings get revealed. They look blue and sparkly but thin and a bit see-through. This can't be true. He is hallucinating from the lack of sleep from the past few days. This is something he would see in his fantasy, not in real life. Confused he rubs his eyes but the wings are still there, attached to the man's body. He looks at how he cups some water from the creek into his hands, splashing it in his face. He washes his arm and then searches for something. He plucks something in the grass and binds it around his arm. Maybe he is hurt? Suddenly Silver neighs loudly drawing the attention of the person whose face is full of terror. He looks caught, trapped. He picks his shirt from the ground and pulls it back over his head, folding his wings and hiding them under his clothes. Slowly Wilhelm steps away from the tree, closer to the boy who looks scared. He would estimate him around his age.  “Hi?”, he tries but the other boy just stands still.

“I'm not going to hurt you”, Wilhelm reassures him but the closer he comes the more panic is visible in the other's eyes. When Wilhelm is almost there the boy runs away, further into the woods. He runs faster, faster than a normal human being would do. He still thinks he is dreaming or something, that this isn't real. Wilhelm jumps back on Silver and follows the boy. He needs to find him.

[cannibalsrider]

fallen stars scene one Vampire Empire

In the world of Delarus, where regal courts and majestic mislands intertwine, Fallen Stars  weaves a tale of passion, sadness, and obsession. At the heart of the story is Lady (Y/N) Shoko, a girl just trying to save not only herself but as many souls as she can before time runs out. The stage is set for an elaborate dance of power, obsession, and secrets. 

"In the maze of affection, He finds solace, weaving a web of devotion that traps the object of his desire."

pairings: yandre vampire!gojo x Ieiri! reader

warnings: slight smut but its lowk poorly written since it was my first time and it was from January

A/N: I'm reposting this since I never posted it earlier but this kinda ate I think

“To be the object of his love is to walk on a tightrope between adoration 

and danger, with every step a dangerous gamble.”

“Lady Kanna, how lovely to see you!”

The mysterious voice said in a tone too snarky for a lady of Kanna’s class. Kanna looked at the tall figure standing not far from her, his recognizable eyes staring right at her as they stood in the streets below the dreary Keep of RavenStone. Her hands moved to take down the hood of her cloak.

"I should be surprised to see you here? I'd thought you would be cooped up in those dreadful Brothels by this hour," she commented as she moved to draw closer to the man she knew all too well. Even after ages of being stuck at his side, she wished some days she didn't know him just by the look in his eyes.

The mystery man took a step from the wall he was leaning on, the armor he adorned clinking with his movements. "Dear sister, even after all this time, you still choose to think so low of me. Have I not shown you that I haven't wasted my time just paying for pleasures?" he said, shaking his head in a distasteful way. Kanna’s eyes rolled at his voice; she had a feeling inside her that he had gone and done something stupid.

"Even after all this time, somehow you manage to almost blow the cover we have had for years now, Satoru. I know you haven't fed recently. Why are you coming to find me now? You know I don't have anything to offer you," she stated flatly, her accent almost seeming soft in her usual annoyance with her elder brother.

Satoru leaned forward, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Now, dear sister, don’t assume I need you for something every time we meet. We’ll be meeting much more often, and I’ve had more than my fill with the distasteful blood of the animals harboring within the brothels. Why do you think there’s been no reports?" he said, not revealing his entire motive of finding his sister.

The girl huffed in annoyance as she fiddled with her rings, a nervous habit she had picked up throughout the years. "I'm not surprised you would choose the whores waltzing in and out of the establishments you've visited throughout the past few weeks," she stated almost uncharacteristically calm versus her usual annoyance.

Kanna watched him for a moment, her icy blue eyes looking up at him. "You want something, don't you? Toru, you never seek me out unless it's grown important. I can't help you if it is truly dangerous, as we almost got caught the first time you wanted something big," she told him, suspicion coating her tongue.

Satoru stared at her for a moment, a bored look now adorning his face. "Sister, you are only half right. I sought you out to inform you I am to become the commander of the king's guard and only thought to ask if you knew of any food sources within the house. I am dreadfully tired of drinking the blood of common whores," he said, sticking his tongue out to show his distaste.

She nodded. "I may have a few options you could have," she answered almost in a faint grumble when she heard him announce his move to Commander of the Kingsguard. "You can't climb far in the idea of feeding off any of the royal family. It would be a quick way to have us caught. If you find a way, though, brother, I wouldn't oppose you doing as you wish, as long as I am not an accomplice," she added, her tone almost seeming firm.

A Knight catching her almost piercing gaze traveling the crowd she recognized him in a split second Okkotsu Yuta, the Sworn Guard of the Princess. "I think I might have you a way to get better-tasting blood on your palate," she murmured as she nudged him, the two silver-headed siblings locking eyes onto Okkotsu.

Satoru followed the so-called guard of the princess with an almost thrilled look in his eyes. "And how is he going to get me to the blood of a princess? Don’t tell me my little sister is going to whore herself out," he said, putting a hand on his chest in fake surprise.

She smacked his arm. "Oh, piss off. I'm not a whore. At least I'm not a frequent visitor to all the brothels in the city like you have been," she retorted, her eyes not leaving the ink-black hair she had known as if it was the back of her hand.

"You want an in, don't you, Toru? This is how you get that in," she added quickly as she fixed her silver curls. "This might take a while, so keep yourself busy, you bloody whore," she called out as she made her way towards the brothel she had watched him enter, unclipping the gold clasp keeping her cloak secure on her shoulders.

The hours passed by as if it was sand in an hourglass, his incoherent whimpers and groans filling the room, mixing with Kanna’s moans and whines as they overstimulated one another. His length buried deep inside her core, tears of pleasure brimming at her eyes as she was kept atop of them. The pace of his hips bucking up into her almost transferred her thoughts back into reality – the true meaning of why she was doing this. She had to kill him. Her eyes glassy as she heard his praise falling out incoherently from his lips. “Such a good girl, f’me just like that, pretty girl,” she could make out of the strings of words he spoke. Her lips left sloppy kisses around his carotid artery, her tongue tracing shapes against his throat as she sank her fangs into his neck. The piercing feeling of his flesh against her fangs, the pooling crimson blood filling her senses as she began to drain his body. 

Small gulps taking in liters of blood as the man slowly went silent, his body growing cold, a final breath being drawn from his body. The satisfaction shown with the grin on her blood-stained lips, dismounting the now ice-cold Okkotsu. “Such a shame you had to die, you’d been so handsome,” she mumbled, dressing quickly, making herself look decent, throwing the cloak over her shoulders, clasping the gold sigil of House Gojo. Her blue eyes trained on the brothel frequenters, eyeing her as if she was their prey. She had made her way out of the poorly lit establishment, rain pelting down. She wasn't sure how long she had been with the knight; all she had known was it grew later and later by the second. She had to find her elder brother before it had grown too late for her to find him in the winding streets of Troria.

Satoru watched his sister trace after the knight with an almost disgusted look. Sure, he’s done the same thing, but watching your younger sister go to do it with some knight is gross. Having watched his sister enter the brothel, he sighed, choosing to turn around and continue his patrol and other meaningless tasks that a king's guard was tasked with. The cold chill of the night left Satoru time to think, a dangerous thing.

The man walked down a familiar path one has walked for ages, the clicking of his armor and the sound of the wind the only thing to be heard. “Riko… Why did you half go and die on me?” Satoru sighed for the hundredth time tonight. The path he's walking is one filled with dying flowers and decrepit houses aged by time, the same path he met who was supposed to be the love of his life. Years and years before he became the monster he is today, before the streets of Troria became waste-filled streets, before the Fushiguro family became the royal family. 

The time when he and his sister were humans, humans with blood pumping in their veins who ate normal food, who could die. That's when he met Riko. She had just stolen something from a shop no longer around, the dirt from the ground staining the front of her skirt. Something about her drew Satoru to her. “Now, stealing isn’t very ladylike, now is it?” he asked, stepping in front of the girl, causing her to take a large step back. “Excuse me, as you can see, I am currently running from someone – hey, wait, how do you know I stole this?” Riko asked with an annoyed tone on her tongue. “Satoru, HEY, earth to Satoru!?” Kanna yelled, trying to get her brother out of whatever dream he was in.

Satoru, having been torn from his memory, almost hurt his sister, having been spooked, grabbing his sword hilt from his side, his armor making a loud noise in response to the speedy movement. “Jesus, Kanna, are you trying to have me kill you?!?” he whispered, sweat dropping at the annoyed look on her face. She scanned his eyes for a moment before speaking. “Not even a ‘thank you sister for opening up a spot for me to have access to good food.’ It's as if you're ungrateful,” she grumbled as she adjusted her cloak hood over her silver hair. “You looked as if you’ve seen someone we know, Toru. What's wrong?” she asked, concern almost lacing her tone as she looked up at her elder brother, almost with more curiosity than concern.

He stared at her for a moment, trying to clear his mind completely of the memory. “Nothing, sister, just thinking of when we were human, when this city used to be lively, pretty,” a reminiscent tone laced his tongue. Satoru often thought of before the city was the way it was now, back to when she was still alive. Kanna nodded as she listened to him speak, a sense of understanding between the Gojo siblings. “I'll assume you had been thinking about Amani again?” she breathed, almost a hint of annoyance at the reminder of the past. “You'll find someone, Toru, especially in the keep. It wouldn't surprise me if you found someone better than she had been,” she added, almost trying to reassure him so he didn't forget the task at hand. Satoru nodded along, deciding she was right. “Yeah, I guess you're right. Anyway, I have to go; my coronation is tomorrow, and I still have to feed. I’ll see you soon, dear sister,” he said, turning around, and throwing his hand up in a sign of goodbye. Kanna watched him leave, worried her brother would never find someone else. “Yes, goodbye, Toru,” she said, knowing Satoru had not heard her, for he was lost in his search for food.

And finally, within the last few hours of the night, both Gojo siblings went to sleep, one ready for his coronation, the other worried for her brother.

[prythiansfavoritefox]

Pairing: Elucien

Elain stared at Lucien, shock clear on her face. "I...but I'm a human. This doesn't make sense. How could I-how could we possibly be mates?"

Lucien slumped over in his chair, head in his hands. He was just as stunned as she was. Something had compelled him to walk into the Lion's den, the place where his father held court like he was a goddamn king (well, not his father by blood, but the father he'd unfortunately grown up with). That something had driven him crazy, explosions of magic bursting out of him at the sight of the human woman they dragged by her hair. It was only after he'd killed everybody in the vicinity, grabbed her, and escaped from there that he'd realized what had happened.

Lucien sighed. "I'm not completely human, Elain." She was the most exceptionally beautiful woman he had ever seen, and he'd been surrounded by vampires most of his life; he just wished they'd met under different circumstances. Lucien had had no idea he could even imprint considering his mixed nature, but this answered his question. She narrowed her doe-brown eyes on him. "You have the mark of a vampire hunter," she said, indicating the small bit of skin exposed at his wrist revealing the magic mark. "Are you a werewolf, then?"

Lucien snorted. His skin did not feel cold like most vampires; it ran red hot because of the fire in his blood. Because of it, his relatives had a higher tolerance to sunlight then most vampire breeds. Hence, they were sometimes mistaken for werewolves whose blood ran hot. It also made them more dangerous than most vampires.

"No. I'm half-vampire."

Elain blanched and jumped away from him. Her eyes were wide as she exclaimed, "You're a hybrid? And you're hunting your own kind?"

Lucien couldn't help but be amused by her reaction, leaning back in his own chair and smirking slightly. "If you knew my family, you'd understand why. Besides, I like my human side better."

Elain stared at him haughtily, placing her hands on her hips. "I can assure you, nothing about your behavior thus far has remotely resembled that of a human's."

"Consider me an upgrade, then."

Elain rolled her eyes, walking away from him. Drawn by the mating bond instincts, Lucien followed her. "Are you a vampire hunter too, then?" He was pretty sure he'd seen the mark on her skin as Beron's servants had dragged her towards the dais.

"In a matter of speaking." Lucien followed Elain into some kind of kitchen, where various strange smelling herbs and stews were kept in closed pots. Lucien inspected one, and the pungent odor made him smile.

"Don't go near that!" Elain shouted, rushing towards him, but Lucien just chuckled. "Relax, little witch. This won't harm me. It wouldn't kill any of my family members either, but it would certainly do them a great deal of damage. Any other vampire would get one whiff and die instantly."

Elain heaved a sigh of relief. She had put on an apron now, and Lucien couldn't help but think of how adorable she looked in the squirrel and acorn print. She reached for the cupboard above him, getting on her tiptoes. Lucien, suppressing his laughter, reached up and handed it to her. She took it from him with a little huff, gracefully placing them beside yet another pan before going to the fridge and pulling out vegetables.

Lucien's brows rose. "Don't tell me you're making another potion? Don't you have enough of those?"

Elain turned back to him, the faintest of smiles on her face. "This isn't a potion, silly. It's dinner."

Oh. Lucien blinked. "Ahhhh, well, tell me what you're making so that I can help."

Elain opened her mouth to speak, but suddenly, there was the sound of a garage door opening, and she paused, something pained crossing her expression. "Quick! You need to hide!" she hissed.

Lucien wished he hadn't put it together so quickly, but he did. "Your husband?"

Elain shook her head. "My fiance. I...well before I met you, I was engaged. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, but...truthfully, in the moment, I had forgotten." The words she didn't say hung between them.

Because I was so enamored by you.

Lucien quickly threw himself into a closet. He clenched his fists, squeezed his eyes tight, and took deep breaths to try and control his mating reflexes. There was the sound of a door opening and closing before Elain's lovely voice cried, "Graysen!" and nimble feet ran towards heavier feet.

There was a thud, and a yelp from Elain, and Lucien could guess what had happened. She had been slammed against the wall.

"Where is he?" Graysen snarled. Elain blinked. "Where is who?"

"Your mate!" he bellowed. "I know he's here; I can smell him."

Lucien could smell Graysen too; his mate had unknowingly gotten engaged to a vampire's sworn enemy: a werewolf.

"What do you mean, you can smell him?" Elain demanded. "What are you, a dog?"

"That's exactly what he is." Lucien swaggered out of his hiding place, lazy grin on his face. Inside, he was seething as he saw how helpless Elain was, pinned to the wall by her own lover. "Elain, your fiance is a werewolf. Dog, I'd advise you get your hands off the lady, right now."

Like a dog, Graysen barked at him and charged towards him. Lucien laughed. It was a werewolf's greatest weakness: their impulsivity and lack of control over their emotions. As Graysen barreled at him, Lucien easily sidestepped, grabbed his wrist, and slammed him against the opposite wall, whipping out a knife to press against his throat.

Lucien crooned in his ear, "Bad. Dog."

He looked back at Elain, and the hurt in her expression had the mating bond raring at him to slit Graysen's throat where he stood. But Lucien knew that wouldn't solve any problems, especially since she still loved him.

Instead, he pressed against a spot on Graysen's neck, knocking him out. "We'll deal with him later," Lucien assured her, and the slightest of smiles bloomed on her face. Lucien couldn't help but answer with a wider one of his own.

@tacocattacocattacocatexplosion

[zapreportsblog]

Markus X Reader (any gender)

It Is dark out and the reader is in bed trying to sleep. But they couldn’t so they get up to find Markus, only to not find him and the reader being sad so they go to the library to distract their head and maybe help them get sleepy.

When the reader goes to the library, they find a book to read and sits on a chair right beside Markus usual spot.

After maybe 45 minutes Markus goes to the library looking for the reader while being worried for where they ran off, only to find them passed out on their chair, the book in hand about to fall off.

Markus relaxes and stares at the reader when the moon shines down at their body, showing the reader how relaxed they are and is in peace. And so, Markus picks up the reader to bring them back to the room and lays down beside them and watch them sleep (since vampires don’t need sleep) with a content look, wondering how he got so lucky.

Just lots of fluff 🤭〈(•ˇ‿ˇ•)-→

Very wholesome, we need some happy moments after that sad fic I just wrote a few minutes ago

↳ moments like these ↲

✭ pairing : marcus volturi x reader

✭ fandom : twilight x reader

✭ summary : marcus can’t find her and that’s when the panic really starts to set in, luckily she isn’t that far from him

✭ authors note : look at this man, he needs happiness

✭ twilight masterlist

The moon hung low in the sky, casting a dim light through the curtains of (y/n)'s chamber. The room was still, the only sound being the soft rustling of the sheets as (y/n) tossed and turned, their mind a swirl of restless thoughts. Despite the late hour, sleep seemed to elude them, leaving them feeling frustrated and restless.

With a sigh, (y/n) pushed the covers aside and swung their legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floor met their bare feet, sending a shiver up their spine. The chamber felt empty, a reflection of the unease that had settled in their chest. The bond that tied them to Marcus, one of the Volturi kings, had been pulling at them relentlessly, leaving them yearning for his presence.

Determined to find some sort of solace, (y/n) left their chamber and began to wander through the vast halls of the Volturi castle. The torchlight flickered along the stone walls, casting long shadows that seemed to dance with the uncertainty in their heart. They had hoped to find Marcus, to be comforted by his presence, but it seemed that fate had other plans.

After a fruitless search through the castle's corridors, (y/n) found themselves standing outside the grand chamber where Marcus often held court. They pushed open the heavy doors, their heart fluttering with a mix of hope and apprehension. But to their disappointment, the chamber was empty, the throne unoccupied.

A heavy sigh escaped (y/n)'s lips as they stepped further into the chamber, their shoulders slumping with defeat. The bond that tied them to Marcus should have been a source of reassurance, a connection that provided comfort and understanding. But tonight, it felt like a cruel reminder of what they couldn't have.

Feeling a sense of restlessness, (y/n) decided to head to the castle's library. The room was a haven of knowledge, its shelves lined with countless books that had the power to transport them to different worlds. Maybe immersing themselves in a story would help quiet the turmoil in their mind and coax them into sleep.

As they entered the library, the soft glow of lamplight enveloped them. The shelves stretched high, their contents a testament to the history and wisdom contained within the walls. (y/n) walked along the rows of books, their fingers trailing over the spines as they looked for something to distract their thoughts.

Finally, they selected a book and settled into a comfortable armchair by the window. The words on the pages seemed to come to life, transporting them to a different time and place. The stories wove a web of distraction, drawing them away from their worries and into the world of the written word.

As time passed, the tension in (y/n)'s shoulders began to ease. The stories provided an escape, a respite from the weight of their own thoughts. The library was a sanctuary of calm, a place where they could lose themselves in the pages and let go of the restlessness that had plagued them.

With each turned page, (y/n)'s eyelids grew heavier. The soft light and the comforting surroundings began to work their magic, lulling them into a state of tranquility. The turmoil of earlier seemed to fade into the background, replaced by the peaceful embrace of the words on the page.

The castle's halls were quiet as Marcus made his way towards the library, a sense of unease settling over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, that (y/n) was in some kind of distress. The bond that tied them together felt like a thread pulled taut, vibrating with a sense of urgency.

As he pushed open the library doors, the soft glow of lamplight welcomed him. The room was still, the shelves of books standing sentinel as if guarding the stories within. His eyes scanned the area, searching for any sign of (y/n), and that's when he spotted them.

There, in an armchair by the window, sat (y/n), their head tilted to the side and their eyes closed in sleep. The book they had been reading was precariously balanced on their lap, the pages threatening to slip from their grasp. The soft rise and fall of their chest indicated that they were lost in a deep slumber.

A mixture of relief and concern washed over Marcus as he approached (y/n). He couldn't help but marvel at the sight before him—their features softened in sleep, their expression free of the worries that often haunted them. But at the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that they had been struggling, that their restlessness had driven them to the library in search of distraction.

The moon's gentle glow filtered through the window, casting a silvery light across (y/n)'s sleeping form. Their features were serene, the tension that had plagued them earlier now replaced by an air of calm and contentment. Marcus watched, his gaze fixed on them, his expression one of quiet admiration.

He had been drawn to (y/n) from the moment they had crossed paths. Their strength, their vulnerability, and the depth of their emotions had captured his attention in ways he hadn't anticipated. The bond that tied them together was a constant reminder of their connection, and as he gazed at them now, bathed in moonlight, he couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder.

Quietly, Marcus approached the bed, his steps soundless on the floor. He looked down at (y/n), their features illuminated by the moon's soft rays. He reached out, his fingers brushing against a strand of hair that had fallen across their forehead. The touch was gentle, a testament to the care and affection he held for them.

With a sense of tenderness, Marcus carefully lifted (y/n) into his arms, their body light and pliant against his. He cradled them close, their head resting against his chest as he carried them back to their chamber. The bond between them seemed to pulse with warmth, a shared connection that resonated with every heartbeat.

Once inside the chamber, Marcus carefully laid (y/n) down on the bed, arranging the covers around them. He positioned himself beside them, propping himself up on his elbow as he watched them sleep. Their breathing was steady, their expression peaceful, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude that he had the privilege of being a part of their life.

As a vampire, Marcus didn't experience sleep in the same way humans did. He had lived for centuries, his existence marked by timeless nights and endless solitude. But in (y/n), he had found something that transcended his immortality—a connection that made him feel alive in ways he hadn't thought possible.

A soft smile graced his lips as he continued to watch (y/n). He traced the contours of their face with his gaze, committing every detail to memory. The moonlight seemed to dance across their features, highlighting the delicate curve of their lips and the flutter of their eyelashes.

In the quiet of the chamber, Marcus's thoughts turned reflective. He marveled at the twists of fate that had brought them together, the moments that had forged a bond between two souls. He couldn't deny the feeling of contentment that settled within him as he lay beside (y/n), his presence a silent promise of support and companionship.

As the night continued to unfold, Marcus remained by (y/n)'s side, their breaths in rhythm with each other. He knew that the road ahead would have its challenges, but he also knew that he was willing to face them alongside (y/n), their bond a source of strength that transcended the darkness.

And so, as the moon cast its glow upon their entwined forms, Marcus allowed himself to bask in the quiet beauty of the moment. He watched over (y/n), his heart filled with gratitude and a sense of wonder at the profound connection that had blossomed between them.

[butternuggets-blog]

FOR WANT OF A NAIL

@baldwin-montclair @adowobsessed @sylverdeclermont @nicki-mac-me @thereadersmuse @kynthiamoon @wheresthesunshinesblog @adowbaldwin @beautifulsoulsublime @lady-lazarus-declermont @adarafaelbarba-blog @dogblessyoutascha

Part Sixty-Three

Summary:  Baldwin Montclair had a string of ex girlfriends, a single child, and a  lifetime longer than most people could dream of to make all kinds of  mistakes. His family knew one which kept coming out of the woodwork to  irritate him every other century

Also on AO3

The man offered no resistance as he was dragged from his horse and paraded through the streets. He'd timed it all perfectly; enough people around to whip up a violent mob, but not quite enough to tear him to pieces.

Château de Beaune loomed large ahead of them. The fields to the left of the castle were still there, blooming green vines with tiny white flowers looped along wooden stakes spiked through the field. The château was imposing and striking as ever, Martin's banner of blue and gold flying high above the buttresses.

But beside the château, to the right...Louis de Clermont felt his breath catch in his throat.

In the centuries to come they would call it a miracle. Two hundred and sixty-two meters squared, carved from striking local limestone in the Demer Gothic style, the cathedral-like mausoleum housing Yvette Bouchard's remains had taken two years to complete, three years ahead of the quickest-built churches in Europe. It had been an almost round-the-clock family effort, and Louis admired their commitment.

Louis let himself be carried into the castle and thrown onto his knees before Martin. He kept his head low, hands cupped in his lap, while the men around him bobbed into bows and kept their makeshift weapons trained on him.

'He requested an audience with Sieur' the man was a baker but he'd found a billhook from somewhere and was holding it firmly under Louis' chin. Louis tried not to sneeze from the flour clinging to the man's apron.

'I did not give your family permission to come here.' Martin growled. The men around them stood firm and Louis tried to look smaller, even more helpless and pathetic.

'The vampires' are Louis Mettler and Jürgen Wolf' Louis annunciated.

Martin froze. So did the men.

'And how in hell-' Martin looked torn between the thought of killing Louis on the spot and hearing out his explanation in case he wasn't lying, '-do you know that?'

'News filters through the twilight underground,' Louis began, his flair for the dramatic wilting immediately under Martin's deathly gaze. 'My mistress was courted at the opera who claimed that his siblings were very important. When she asked what he meant, he explained what Mettler and Wolf had done.'

'Where can I find this man?'

'Buried with the Holy Innocents'' Louise shrunk back further in the face of Martin's furious dissapointment. 'He was found slain in his apartment some days later. My mistress is in hiding, in fear for her life.'

Martin held back a sigh, gesturing for the men to leave the room. They reluctantly did so, bowing as they went. Louis stayed on the ground until Martin waved him up to his feet.

'Useful and useless.' Martin stared at Louis, 'Thank you for the information. Now-'

His smile didn't reach his eyes.

'-how to reward you?'

________________________________________________________________

Louis' horse had been found wandering the wilds at the border of De Clermont land. Baldwin had heard about the bloody saddle bags, but neither he nor Philippe had looked inside. His father had ordered Pierre to burn them and Ysabeau had spread the ashes in the rose garden.

King John II had summoned them to the royal palace in Paris shortly after for ceasefire talks and Philippe had been surprised to hear that Martin had agreed to the king's request. Baldwin wasn't.

He didn't think Martin had had anything to do with Louis' untimely demise. The man was as unsubtle as a brick through a window; most likely he'd ridden over the borderline and been struck down by the first aggrieved peasant he bumped into who recognised their sigil.

Philippe should never have agreed to let him go. What was he thinking?!

Philippe had been thinking that wet-sop Louis would be just benign enough to get Martin to actually consider Philippe's proposal that Martin keep the ban on the family but let them send their workers and representatives north, passing through as quickly and quietly as possible.

A door opened and the negotiating delegation stepped through. Philippe was at the King's shoulder and he gave Baldwin a subtle wink that meant things were going well.

Baldwin nodded, forcing himself to focus on his father so that he didn't look over-

Goddamn

He looked to his right.

Martin's expression was as black as thunder since the king had his back to him and couldn't see. His hair caught the sunlight for a second from the high window and the angle caused a rainbow across his face.

He looked like an avenging angel, and the overwhelming urge to kiss him welled up inside Baldwin's chest.

Gods he's beautiful

He shouldn't do this. He really shouldn't. But Baldwin was already on his feet and moving, skirting past the last of the king's advisors shepherding His Majesty out the furthest door while everyone else milled about deciding what to do for lunch.

If he would just hear him out. If he would just listen, Baldwin was sure he could make Martin understand that he'd just been taken aback by his words, that of course he'd help him, he'd always help him, he just hadn't expected to be told to choose and the moment got away from him...

But now, here he was, standing before him again. And Martin would call him Lucius and he'd correct him, and he would explain and apologise and everything would be alright.

'Baldwin.' Martin said curtly.

Baldwin's soul shattered and broke down to his boots.

Author's Notes

The size of the mausoleum should be about the width and length of a two-storey house, but with an elevated cathedral-like roof.

Cathedrals could take anywhere between five to ten years to finish, or more! But when a family of vampires is motivated enough, and has architecture expertise, anything is possible!

The Holy Innocents' Cemetary in Paris was used from the 18th century until 1780 when, due to "overuse", it closed, and in 1786 all final corpses were removed and reinterred in the famous Catacombs. It was named after the Biblical massacre of the innocents (King Herod vs Moses: This Will Surely End Well) and Place Joachim-de-Bellay covers the area where the cemetary once was.

King John II (the Good) was king of France from 1350 to his death in 1364. He created the franc!

[purpleyoonn]

One-Shot Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Individual Masterlist

This is my one shot masterlist which will include all of my one shots and one shots series including poly and individual member. I will have each one shot categorized by member or if they are poly au. 

00:00

“and you’re gonna be happy…and you’re gonna be happy. when everything is new, zero o’clock”

When everything seems to go wrong, you come home to the comfort of your boys and realize that maybe the universe isn’t against you.

idol!bts x office worker reader

mean kitty, soft kitty

Your injured form was the last thing Jin had expected when waking up one morning. But after healing you, and watching you leave, he wished he would wake up to you again, if only to see if you were okay. The rest of his home felt the same way, and when a storm comes, it brings you back to the men who made you feel safe.

hybrid bts x hybrid reader

Crumble

“You are ours, little one. And we would crush the world in our fists, watch it crumble to pieces just to make sure it remains so.”

You had decided to make a change, not realizing your men would notice. The consequences bring to light your own insecurities, with which the boys decide it’s time you realize how precious you are to them.

mafia bts x plus-size reader

Eye Of The Beholder

As you begin to notice minute details unseen to you before, you start to realize that what you thought was the truth, was anything but. The people you thought were acquaintances had different ideas of their meaning in your life, and needed to show you who they really were to you.

mafia bts x neurodivergent reader

Doughnuts and Shell Casings 

you finally gather the courage to leave your routine and do something different. your expectations are blown out of the water as you meet your soulmates in a less-than-expected way. 

mafia bts x cafe owner reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Secret Story of The Swan 

You were staring into the stream, contemplating life when someone decided to take matters into their own hands. 

hybrid mafia bts x human reader

Seokjin

My Queen 

Seokjin had just returned to find his court and staff were not treating you how they should when he was gone. You were hurt, and his instincts were telling him to claim you and make sure you were unharmed.

Pairing: Vampire King Jin x Human Reader

Yoongi

My Home 

It was close to winter, and your medicine was nearly complete for you to use. But when it came to, you helped another whose wounds were life threatening. Now, random items kept showing up on your porch, with each item bringing you closer to the creature you healed. And when he returned, he saved you. Now, with him, you felt like you were home.

Dragon Yoongi x Human Healer Reader

Hoseok

My Prisoner 

You were trying to buy a new notebook for your writings, not expecting to get lost in a forest you didn’t recognize from your map. After passing the same tree multiple times, you stop to rest for the night, only to be captured and taken to a King’s castle for judgement. You weren’t expecting a Fae King to keep you as his…prisoner?

Fae King Hobi x Writer Reader

Namjoon

My Goddess 

You tried to escape again, only to epically fail. Nothing seemed to work, and Hades just smiled as he watched you walk away. He knew the real reason you kept trying to run away, and was just waiting for you to realize it.  

God of the Underworld Namjoon x Human Reader

Jimin

My Light 

“Your beauty brought out the light in him, made him see how dark the world truly was He couldn’t bare the thought of leaving you in the dark.”

Your uncle had left you a home in some seaside town you hadn’t heard of. Moving out there was easy, but living there was harder. Until he found you, then…you didn’t know what to think.

Mermaid Prince Jimin x Human Reader

Taehyung

My Witch 

It was Halloween night and you were in the old church fulfilling a dare your friends tasked you with. Little did you know you were being watched, and he had been waiting a long time to finally make you his. Now, you were his, and he wasn’t letting you go.

Taehyung x Human (witch) Reader

Jungkook

My Mate 

Your village was surrounded by a never-ending forest. Every 20 years, for as long as the village people could remember, offerings were held for the beast who roamed the forest. It was the only way your village could remain safe. This times offering, you were one of the women being offered up to the beast. You only hoped that you could make it out alive.

Werewolf Jungkook x Human Sacrifice reader

[eternalchiyo]

𝔼𝕧𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕊𝕡𝕒𝕣𝕜 ~𝔻𝔸ℝ𝕂: ℙ𝕣𝕠𝕝𝕠𝕘𝕦𝕖~

Hello, hello! I am so excited to finally share my little story with you. I hope you have fun reading!

Summary: Chiyo is ordered to pack her things and start living in the human world.

Word Count: 1923

„Close your eyes,” the boy said.

She closed them and felt something cold touch her neck. After he moved away from her, she opened her eyes again and looked down. An amber pendant was now hanging around her neck.

The girl looked at the boy, a curious look on her face. She wondered what this was about, there was no special occasion for him to be giving her presents.

“It reminded me of you.”

He wasn’t very talkative by nature, more so if it came to showing his emotions. But the stone from the pendant radiated the same warmth he felt whenever he was around her. Mesmerized he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way she looked at him when she smiled. Her eyes were almost sparkling and emitted the same kind of warmth.

Only for him, his everlasting spark.

Chiyo was lying in bed, doing nothing except staring at the ceiling. She turned her head when she heard a quiet thump against her window. A big moth had flown against the glass, trying to get to the only available source of light, the candle by her bedside. There weren’t that many lights on at this hour and she didn’t really need one either. However, she still liked to have it around. It was weirdly comforting.

She stood up from her bed. The floor was cold against her bare feet as she made her way over to the big window. The moth flew inside when she opened it.

Then she caught it with both her hands.

She observed the struggling insect as she held it by its wings. They were so delicate, so easy to destroy, if she wanted to.

“You poor thing…” she said quietly, her delicate pale fingers slowly tearing through the wings until she ripped them off completely before throwing the creature into the flame.

Earlier that day she found out her father was sending her to that house. Ever since she heard that, her mood began spiraling downwards gradually. She didn’t want to see him again, yet alone live under the same roof as him and his brothers!

She overheard the servants talking that it was by direct orders of none other than King Karlheinz himself. She respected the Vampire King, of course, but she felt that her father was a bit too eager to please him. He was obsessed with trying to be favored by the King. Why? She had no idea, they were relatively wealthy, or at least had a high enough standing at court to be part of all the important festivities and high enough for her to be able to casually get to know his sons even though she was only half a Vampire.

Being able to get to know the King’s sons also meant she knew how horrible they could be, and she worried about the reason she was told to go live with them. She never found out why. Of course, she had tried to fight back against her father, but he only chastised her with a hard slap to her face, telling her how much of a spoiled brat she was. Her cheek still hurt where his ring-clad finger had hit her.

One of the things she learned years ago though, was that the King never did something without reason. The brothers would also often comment on how their father used people as pawns. Like a very elaborate game of human-sized 3D chess. So there was definitely some sort of reason that he wanted her there and it would be very beneficial for her to find out why. She doubted any of his kids would know and there was very little time before her departure. Chiyo disliked that.

She did hear about the sacrificial brides that were sent to the Sakamaki sons every so often, and she also heard about their tragic fates. Surely, they wouldn’t be interested in sacrificing one of their own. Then again, she hardly was recognized as one of them anyway. Vampire society made it painfully clear it didn’t like her ever since she first stepped into court as a young girl.

“God, I hate this.”

Too bad God didn’t exist.

She was sitting inside a black, fancy car. She didn’t care enough to know what brand it was; a car was a car. All she knew was that it was black and shiny and that she did not like the smell of the leather seats. She preferred the carriages from the demon world, but she realized they might be seen as a bit outdated in 21st century Japan.

She had visited their mansion in Japan once when they freshly moved in there. She wasn’t sure how many years ago that was, her sense of time betraying her since she spent most of her day-to-day life in the demon world.

The house looked bigger than she remembered. The sun was already setting when she arrived. The familiar that drove the car also carried her luggage inside the house, but soon enough she was left alone in the empty hallway.

It didn’t seem like there was anybody at home right now. While she did not expect a welcoming wagon and flowers upon her arrival, this was disappointing. She felt so out of place. Business as usual.

She crossed her arms and huffed, sitting back against one of the velvet sofas.

After what felt like an eternity, she heard the door from the main entrance open.

“Huh? Do you smell that as well? Someone’s here.” She heard the distant voice say. Did that mean they weren’t aware of her arrival?

“Oh? It looks like Chiyo from the Himura estate decided to pay us a visit.”

Tall, dark hair, and this way of articulating himself.

“Reiji,” she said. She knew nobody else that was so stuck up in their way of speaking.

“Chirin, what are you doing here? Did you miss us?”

She looked at them in disbelief. They really didn’t know!

“What is that disgusting half-breed doing in our house?” This angelic tone could only belong to that brat, Kanato.

“What do you mean, what am I doing here? Direct orders from your father,” she said.

Everyone was visibly confused, the question of ‘why’ hanging between them heavily. She couldn’t answer even if she wanted to.

Their gazes shifted to the oldest when he entered the room. Shuu seemed like he was going to just try and escape everyone, using the flight of stairs, hadn’t he been discovered by his siblings before he managed to.

He stared at the group lazily before shifting his gaze to Chiyo for a moment. He frowned slightly at the sight of her.

“Right…he mentioned something like that, but it was too troublesome to pay attention to the details,” he said and made his way through the carefully stacked suitcases, knocking some of them over in the process. His younger brother sighed exasperatedly, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I apologize. It seems there has been some miscommunication here, so we weren’t able to prepare for your arrival. We do actually have another guest staying here at the moment.”

Another guest?

It turned out, in the time she hadn’t seen the odd family, a few things had changed in that household.

Kanato successfully expanded his wax doll collection for one.

The other thing was their long-term guest that went by the name Yui Komori, who was painfully human. How she survived for so long, Chiyo had no clue, but she either had enough wits to escape blood-loss for months, or there was something else special about her. Both would be equally impressive. The rumors about the unfortunate young girls being sent to the Sakamakis in the human world turned out to be true and Chiyo assumed most of the vampires running their mouths were jealous of the free meals that such an arrangement implied.

Reiji arranged so that a room on the upper floor was prepared for her as soon as possible. It was far away from the triplets but dangerously close to Shuu. Seeing as her stay in this house had been marked as indefinite, she would have preferred it to be as far away from him as possible.

Chiyo groaned as she threw the last one of her suitcases open. Unpacking was never a favorite of hers. She blew at one of the strands of hair that came loose to get it out of her face.

She wanted to go home!

The helplessness of her situation annoyed her. At least the rooms came with big closets, so she could fit all of her dresses.

“Huh… how did that get in here?”

An amber necklace was between the fancy fabrics of her favorite clothes. She hadn’t seen this piece of jewelry for many years, and she had no idea how in the world it could have made its way inside her suitcase. She didn’t recall putting it in any dress pockets but maybe she did and just forgot about it.

She took it out and let it dangle in front of her face. The big stone glowed as warm as ever, as if it were new. But it wasn’t. It was as old and outdated as the feelings associated with it.

It reminded me of you.

She threw the necklace away. It landed between the pillows on her bed.

What a jerk.

“I can’t believe you simply ‘forgot’ something important like this. Do you not listen to our father at all?” Reiji asked. He was pacing around the living room, complaining as per usual.

Shuu was sprawled out on one of the couches, one earbud inside his ear so at least it looked like he was listening to his brother. Yes, he had been listening to what their father told him, but he simply decided to ignore the fact that this woman was going to live with them for who knows how long. Besides, that guy hadn’t specified that he wanted Shuu to relay this information to anyone else.

“It would have saved me a lot of trouble had you just told me she was arriving, but no, you choose to make running this household even more difficult. If you do not want any responsibility even though you are the eldest, then at least try to not make it any more complicated for me.”

The track on Shuu’s MP3 player ended and a new one began playing. Chopin.

He tried to focus on that instead of Reiji’s irritating voice.

“Are you done complaining?” he asked finally.

What use was there getting worked up about this after the fact? She arrived here fine and alive anyway. She had a room and was probably arranging her perfume bottles or something pointless like that.

“Good grief,” Reiji said, “there really is no point in trying to talk any sense into you.”

“Exactly, so you can leave me alone now and do something more worthy of your time.”

Reiji scoffed and left shortly after.

That woman was already getting under his skin. He was irritated and not even his favorite music could help calm him down. Shuu had done his best to erase the memories he had of her. Up until now he had the impression of having done a good job. Clearly that was not the case at all, when as much as looking at her almost made him lose his cool. Even now he could feel her presence, her scent already clinging to the furniture in the room. How terribly troublesome.

[mrs2224]

A Court OF Shadows and Shields

Chapter 2: Shadows That Can Kiss

Relationships: Azriel/Female OC, Rhysand & Female OC.

Summary: Milla's Journey into Prythian is just starting.

TW: Panic Attacks.

Music Suggestions while Reading: 'I Want to Live: Instrumental' By Borislav Slavo From the Baldur's Gate 3 Soundtrack

~

We walked up a somewhat winding staircase until I was brought to a large and ridiculously fancy room. My stomach turned and my body was shivering with nerves. I felt my chest get more firm from the coldness that surrounded me. My wedding dress was all torn up. My hair was a mess. The long braid was now supplying flyaways coming out in large chunks. My face was still bruised and bloodied from my father and his men hitting me. My makeup smudged all over my eyes and onto my nose.

The devil-winged man stopped me from behind. His hand on my shoulder gently pushed me forward. I fell to my knees and my head lifted slightly taking in the sight. A man and a woman were sitting on what appeared to be a throne. They looked at me. With puzzled and somewhat stern faces. The commander with his devil wings. His long dark brown hair went to his shoulders. His beard was scattered here and there. He came in afterward. It was just the four of us. I was breathing heavily, and my bones ached. My eyes were stinging and pounding in my head. 

“Who are you??” The voice said from the same man. I gaped at him. He was in all black. His violet eyes were staring into my soul. His deep tan skin and short blueish-black hair pushed back. He also appeared to be some kind of elf. He looked like Astarion from Baldur’s Gate if he was sitting on a throne. The only thing missing was the glass of blood in his fingers and White hair. Maybe he was a Vampire?? But it was all in my head. I am not Faerun. Though I was kneeling before some kind of prissy king. So I remained quiet and still. 

“I won’t ask again…” He got up from the chair and trodded down the few steps before him. His fancy designer shoes stopped right in front of me. “Who are you??” His voice was nothing but rigid. 

“Milla…” I mumbled out from my wobbly huge lip. “…W-where am I?? Who are you??” I responded. My voice was hitched with defeat and tiredness.

“You should know where you are and Who I am. You wandered into my territory.” He responded. 

“But I don’t! What is this place?” I reacted. “I was running. I jumped off a cliff…. I landed in the snow…. I-I needed help..” I said each word as if it was eating me alive. I didn’t want to give too much information about who I am. In case they would send me back to my father. “…I Thought… I was in Heaven...But Faerun?? Or maybe Hell??” 

The Commander let out a laugh. He held his hand to his chest. His shoulders lifting up and down. Like what I said was funny. 

“That’s a good one… Hell…” He rubbed a tear that came out from the corner of his eye.

The ruler surveyed me. He raised an eyebrow. Studying me. He walked behind me. And was looking around the throne room. 

“Interesting… But your eyes glowing blue... Maybe you are a spy from one of the other Courts” He plundered to me. 

What did this knock-off version of Astarion Elf want?? How could I spy if I don’t even know where I am? My head was aching so powerfully. I thought about that game. It gave me such happiness. The only thing that kept me sane other than Brayden… Even though words hurt to say. My horse was shot in front of me. My father was the one responsible for it. It made me feel nothing, but anger. I felt the fire burning up inside of me. I didn’t show any physical emotion right now. Just in my brain, I was in pain. 

“The what???…” That is all I could get out. I raised an eyebrow. “… Look, I don’t know where I am and who you are… But I thought I was dead. or had died at least.” 

The girl on the throne spoke finally. She stared at me. 

“She’s telling the truth. She is not a threat. But she is badly injured.” She spoke in a soft tone. 

“But Feyre, We have no idea. This girl came from the mortal lands with power that cannot exist there.” He replied. 

“Mortal lands?? What in tarnation is that?? I am from Virginia. in the United States.” I bitted out. 

They all looked at me with eyes of shock. The Quiet man behind me with his hand stilled on my shoulder. His hands in general were larger than my shoulder bones. But they were soft and felt warm. Calming. I felt connected to them. Like something was pulling on my heart from them. But I wasn’t aware or paying attention to it at all. I would be honest. I felt it twice with two thumps I heard from the chests that were surrounding me. 

The girl named Feyre stood up and walked down to meet me. She kneels before me and looked into my eyes. She could see the sorrow and confusion. 

“She is not from here” Feyre spoke. “She somehow made it to Prythian... I don’t know how. But she not is in her world anymore.” 

“Am I dead??” I looked at her. 

“No. You are not” She looked at me. Probably seeing the black eye. The gash across my nose. The busted and bloodied lip.“But you are badly hurt. We need to heal you.” 

Feyre stood up and looked at the elf behind her. She nodded to him before she helped me up from the floor. Her arm went around my shoulder as she walked me out of the throne room.

 I turned around and looked at the three men staring at me walk away. The one with his hand on my shoulder turned to me. His eyes finally matched with mine. They were the most beautiful eyes I have seen. Hazel but you could see some specks of gold. I turned my head forward before walking out of the Throne room. 

Feyre led me to another bedroom downstairs. She brought me in. It was larger than the one I was in earlier. And it was far more fancier than another bedroom I had growing up. A Balcony was overlooking the view of the mountains.  She looked at me admiring the space. And smiled at me.

“That was the same reaction I had when I first came here” She laughed a little. 

“Yeah. I guess it’s a lot.” I laughed with her too. That was when I noticed that she was an elf too. 

“I was a human once, I understand how you feel.” She responded. Her voice was so calm and smooth. She sounded like she could narrate books for children or adult readers. 

“How did you turn into an Elf??” I raised an eyebrow. 

“Elf?? No, I am a High Fae.” She glanced at me with a confused face.

“Oh?? Is that a fancy word for Elf” I was also very confused. Is a High Fae another word for an Elf?? My eyebrow raised. She laughed though. Shaking her head. 

“No. I am a Faerie.” She smiled. Even if I was confused as hell as where I was. And Why these guys are Faeries? Because I have seen Tinkerbell and Pixie Hollow. And whatever Feyre was, definitely was not the kind of Faerie that I had seen.

“Oh. Well, That’s interesting. I have never met a Faerie before. But I lived on a farm and owned cattle” I giggled while sitting on the edge of the bed. 

“Cattle?? Interesting I never knew Mortals were able to do that.” She crossed her arms in a relaxing pose.

“Well, I had earned my keep somehow” The words flowed from me. The sound of my Virginian accent caught her eye and made my words sound funnier. 

“I like how you talk, it’s funny. Anyways why don’t you take a bath? There are some clothes in the drawers. Come meet me in the library.” Feyre smiled at me. “It’s nice to meet you, Milla.” She left the room. And I was alone again.

Out of everyone that I had met, in this strange universe. She was the nicest. She looked young, younger than me. But she was gentle and kind. I stood up from the beautifully decorated bed. And made my way to the bathroom. The room itself was like something I had seen out of a ridiculously fancy hotel room. I stripped out of my dress thanking myself that it was not tied up in the back. I tossed the dirty and bloodied fabric onto the floor of the bathing room. My feet walked onto the black sparkle tile. I stepped into the beautifully large tub. Slowly sinking into the warm water. The scent of rose petals and lavender. I unbraided my hair. letting my long dark brown hair get wet. I grabbed some bottles that looked like shampoo before scrubbing myself clean. My face was stinging with pain, and my lip still hurt whenever I touched it. 

I looked out at the night sky and the mountains through the large opened windows. Wherever ever I was. It was not home. It was not the wide-open pastures of my land. It was not the maple and oak trees that were surrounding the area where our cattle would graze. It wasn’t the place that I would trail my horse on whenever I wanted to get away.  I studied my dirty fingernails a little trying to forget the memories of the last twelve hours of being here. 

I slowly got out of the tub after an hour of being alone. Taking in the pleasantly calm atmosphere. I grabbed a towel. heading back to the bedroom. I poked my head back into the bathing room and my dress was gone. Like it disappeared. I panicked a little. 

“Oh… Where did you go??” I narrowed an eyebrow trying to find it. They were on the floor next to the tub when I left but the bloody dress was gone. I sighed and palmed my face. 

Feyre mentioned the drawer of clothes. And boy was she not wrong. There are all sorts of clothes. Not the kind of outfits I had worn back at home. My eyes finally snagged onto an outfit. A See-through top in dark blue. with the cuffed sleeves it sparkles all over it. I found some flowy pants that matched the shirt. I looked for a bra and panties that matched the color of the outfit. I dressed myself up looking at the floor-length mirror. 

If I wore this at home, I would have been considered a slut around my town or at high school. Before I graduated and got my Master’s in music. But maybe the fashion trend here was ‘let’s get completely exposed’. So I would rock with it. It was either that or wearing a dress. And I was done wearing dresses for now. I chose to go barefoot. I re-braided my hair. pulling some strands out from the frame of my face. 

I walked out of the room. I had no idea where the Library was. There was a body that was leaning against the wall right next to the wooden door. It was still the same quiet devil-winged man with those beautiful eyes. He gazed me up and down. I rolled my eyes and his face narrowed at me. He was covered in shadows. 

“Where is the library??” I said looking up and down the halls. I was pretty sure he wasn’t going to say anything. But then the voice spoke. 

The winged man finally said, leaning off the door. His bat wings relaxed. 

“This way” His voice was so cold, but god was it somewhat hot. He nodded for me to follow him. He only made a few steps before turning to me. I sighed following him. as we walked through the halls. 

The place was less like a dungeon and more like a palace you could see the night sky everywhere. We walked up a few steps before reaching the small room. It was cozy and decorated like a traditional library you would see in someone’s old antique house.

Feyre and the man next to her sitting in their seats. Feyre smiled seeing me. The man was serious and not giving any emotion whatsoever. I had no idea what his problem was but I didn’t let it push me. I had thoughts of pushing him off the…

“Milla! Come sit!” Feyre interrupted my inner thoughts with her smile. And she gestured to the seat in front of them. 

I slowly lowered myself in the chair. Quiet as can be. 

“Would you like something to eat??” She questioned me. 

“Uh, sure. Thank you, Ma’am.” I bowed. 

“What did you call her??” The man next to her raised an eyebrow. 

“Ma’am? It is just good manners” Had they never heard of that?? Is Ma’am like a bad word or something?

“No, You will call her High Lady” He corrected me. His face narrowed to me. He looked like an overly dramatic man-child when you tell him no to something.

“Rhys!” She barked at him. “She can call me what she wants” 

Feyre smiled and nodded. 

I avoided Rhys. My gaze turned to the night sky trying to count the endless amount of stars. I was only watching for a few minutes. Before turning my head. there was already food in front of me. I almost jumped getting out of my seat. I didn’t hear plates being brought out or being placed. I breathed in look at the coffee table. I studied it from afar.

“How?? What??” I looked at the meal and backed up the young female faerie. 

“It’s ok, Don’t worry” Feyre raised a hand in protest. I sat back down in the chair. I took the knife and fork and took a bite into the meal. This was different than the food from home. But god was it good. Whatever this was. It was better than any I could make. It looked like a chicken with vegetables and potatoes. It was also supporting some kind of gravy or sauce. But it was so mouth-watering good.

“This.. this is better than anything I can cook” I snorted. I did not like eyes on me while eating and being the only one to eat. I made myself look small.

“Good, I am glad” Feyre responded. 

There was silence for a while before Rhys cleared his throat. I looked up from my now empty plate. My stomach was full and I felt cozy enough that I could have taken a nap.

“Now that you have eaten, and cleaned yourself up. We need to know how you got here??” He crossed his arms over one another. What is with this guy?? Do they have an FBI or CIA here in this world that is called Prythian?

“I-I don’t know. I jumped off a cliff and I ended up here. I was for certain I died.” I responded to him. I put my hand over my eye. Trying to avoid his intoxicating eye contact.

“Why did you jump off a cliff?” Rhys stared at me. God I hated being in his presence so much right now. I looked away from him completely. Because I felt something beating inside this library. I couldn’t pinpoint where it was or what it was to be exact. But I kept my eyes forward looking around the place. There were only four of us.

“I-I don’t feel comfortable saying that” I replied still distracted. Feyre’s eyes were on me with concern. But Rhys wasn’t tolerant he snarled. 

“Listen, if you are going to be here. You are going to need to say everything just in case you are not some spy.” He scolded me.  

Anger rose in my bloodstream. My body was hotter than it was before. I rose from my chair and narrowed my eyes at him. I felt like I was burning up on fire.

“I. Am. Not. A. Spy” I gritted at him. His eyes widened to see the fire-like an actual fiery glow coming from them. I turned away and breathed in. “Do you think I wanted to be here?? I did something to get out of a misery. Isn’t that good enough” I lastly bitted out. 

“Rhysand, let her be!” Feyre spoke behind me. 

I walked out onto the large balcony. Watching the night skies. I was high up in the mountains. I sighed and tried to hold back tears. Counting down to keep myself from crying. Cowgirls don’t cry .

“I am not from here. Because Home doesn’t have Elves or Faeries or Bat-winged people with shadows as Pets… But I cannot go back home. So I will leave and go back out in the wilderness and let whatever is out there kill me” I spoke in a silent tone. “Since you think I am some fucking spy.” My teeth clenched and I gritted. I felt Feyre approach me. Her hand was on my shoulder. 

“You can stay here. With us. As long you want. If you wished to go home. I bet we can find a way to bring you back.” Her voice was genuine.  She pulled me into a hug. I was hesitant But I wrapped my arms around her. As I let her hug me.

“As long it’s fine with pretty boy, I’ll stay.” I sighed gesturing my thumb to Rhysand. Rhys frowned from his chair at the comment. 

Feyre smiled and laughed. “Of Course, We agreed before you came up here to see us. We want to help you. We will help you.” 

“Thank you, High Lady. Whenever you want me to leave. I’ll just go” I responded looking down at my feet. I felt her pull away studying me.

“Call me, Feyre. And you won’t ever have to. If you feel like it. I’ll take care of it” She said again as if she made an oath to me. 

“Okay, Feyre. Thank you” I smiled at her. 

“That is my Husband, Rhysand. He is the High Lord of this Court. And that is Azriel, he is the shadowsinger” She gestured to the other men in the room. 

“Nice to meet you.” I nodded to them both. 

“Likewise, Milla” Rhys replied looking at me. “Sorry for getting you on edge” 

“It’s fine,” I replied. It wasn’t, I still had plans for him .

Azriel looked at me and then at his High Lord. Back at me. 

“Nice to meet you too, Milla” He spoke. his voice was so raspy but filled with coldness and he was quiet.

“Well now that you have met these two. Why don’t you get comfortable here for the night? I’ll have someone come in the morning to get you.” Feyre gave me a look. She was walking back into the room. Her hand was on Rhys’s shoulder.

“Alright.Thank you. Goodnight” I bowed my head a little. I stayed still. 

“Goodnight Milla.” She replied Gesturing Rhys to follow her. He got up from his chair. He gave me a look. Before following his Wife out of the Library. Till I was left alone with the Shadowsinger. But it wasn’t for long because he disappeared into the shadows. Then I was once again alone.

I looked back out at the mountain range before turning to look at the small library. It looked like something you would see out of Beauty and the Beast but if the library was cut in half. I looked around the bookcases looking for a book to read. Since I couldn’t use my phone or anything like that. I did like to read when I was at home. Normally anything that was fantasy or Sci-fi related.

I was probably in the Library for a few hours. Because when I was trying to figure out which book to take to bed. The candlelight went out and there was darkness throughout the aisle. I panicked grabbing a random book. As if someone was in the Library with me. I panicked since being in the darkness didn’t always sit well with me. My feet skidding out of the library. 

I finally made it to my bedroom. Slamming the door, the candle in my room was still lit. I took a deep breath. The book was set on my bed. I went to the balcony to get some fresh air. I took some long deep breaths. It took me a minute before I could settle in. 

Stripping out of my clothes. I looked to the bed and found a Black long-sleeved shirt that just somehow showed up. I looked around the room. That shirt wasn’t there before. But I picked it up. It smelled so good. Like cedar mist scent. I pulled the shirt onto me and It was super long. But I didn’t care. I got myself under the covers in bed. Grabbing the book that was down at my feet. Leaning my back against the soft pillows and opened a few pages. It was the history of Prythian which seems like to be the place that I am in. So since I'm stuck here for a while or forever. I decided why not read about this land. And what kind of creatures are as arrogant as the dumbass of the High Lord of this Court.

I was deep into an adventure about the High Lord of the Spring Court before sleep took over me. I fell deep into a slumber. Pulling the sheets up close to my face. I closed my eyes a little. But then I felt shadows surround me. I didn’t realize at first but I was trembling. My body was. 

I looked up and saw the shadows wrapped me up in a blanket. I was scared. But then they kissed me on my skin everywhere. And hummed a tune that made me feel so calm. Whatever these Shadows were It was so comforting to me. I was able to sleep in such a deep slumber.

~